The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I hope you’re ready to start work Nichole. We’re going to push you to your limits. This isn’t an opportunity most people get.”

Nichole Stevens made herself stand up straighter. Which was hard, considering she’d been trying to her best to look professional already. She didn’t think she quite matched up to the office she was standing in.

“Yes Ms. Henderson. And thank you again.” The twenty-year old tried to decide whether she should nod to emphasise her point. Her head bobbed once before she could stop it.

The woman sitting behind the desk smiled up at Nichole. “Don’t thank me Nichole. You earned this. I’m sure you’re aware of how many applicants for our internship there were. Plus we can only take one intern at a time.”

Nichole actually didn’t know how many applicants there had been. But she could guess that there were a lot. Henderson and Associates was the hottest advertising agency in the city. She couldn’t believe that she’d managed to land the position.

Angela Henderson’s office, Ms. Henderson’s office Nichole corrected herself, was just as chic as her company’s reputation, minimalist furniture and a totally uncluttered desk. The most eye-catching feature of the room was the row of industry awards decorating one wall. Outside Ms. Henderson’s office was another matter. On the tour she’d been taken on that morning Nichole had seen all the clutter and bustle she’d expected.

But this office was like an island of serenity.

It matched the woman herself. Nichole knew that Angela Henderson was in her early thirties, a rising star in advertising even before she founded her own company. Nichole had some idea how much work that involved. But Angela looked completely unruffled, not a blonde hair out of place and her expensive skirt suit immaculate.

“Did Clara show you where your desk is?”

Clara was Ms. Henderson’s PA. Nichole’s desk had been the first thing she’d been shown. It was right outside Ms. Henderson’s office, but she didn’t expect to be working with the company founder all that often.

“Yes Ms. Henderson,” Nichole replied crisply.

“Good,” Angela nodded. “On your way out ask her if she’s put the folders there.”

“Folders?” Nichole risked asking. She wondered if they were more orientation material. Her head still hurt from the amount of that she’d already read that morning.

“Yes Nichole, folders,” Angela declared, reminding Nichole of some of her school teachers. The young woman told herself to stop asking stupid questions. “They have two proposals in them for the Aramco pitch. The links to the electronic versions are in there as well, but I always think that having something tactile helps, don’t you agree?” The agency owner didn’t wait for Nicole’s response before continuing. “I want your opinion on them. By 2pm.”

“M-my opinion?” Nichole stuttered. Then mentally kicked herself. She’d just told herself to stop asking stupid questions.

“Yes Nichole,” Angela smiled, warmly. “Your opinion. I know that you have a year to go until you earn your degree, but if you can’t form your own opinions by now you never will. Oh, and lose the stutter. It can be charming. In the right circumstances. But not here.”

“Yes Ms. Henderson,” Nichole replied. Again. She fled the office before she could make a bigger fool of herself.

“Is there something you need Miss Stevens?”

Nichole waited until she was certain that the door to Ms. Henderson’s office was closed. Then she looked at her new questioner. Clara Richardson, Ms. Henderson’s Personal Assistant. Nichole didn’t know what to make of Clara. The raven-haired woman wasn’t all that much older than Nichole, probably early twenties. But she’d been so cold every time they’d met. She’d never called Nichole by her first name, always referring to her as ‘Miss Stevens.’ Somehow the PA managed to make it sound like an insult. Her makeup, all icy blues and greys, matched her demeanour. As did the jagged bob-cut of her jet-black hair. The look was finished by Clara’s ruby red lipstick, a shade that Angela wasn’t at all sure had any place in an office. The only thing out of place was the woman’s conservative glasses. And there was something about the way she dressed. It wasn’t that her clothes were short or revealing. But she was sure Clara’s outfits were a size too small, even though her figure was decidedly trim.

“Um,” Nichole managed. “Angela said to check you’d put some folders on my desk? And she wants to see me at 2pm.”

“Yes,” Clara replied. “I did exactly as Ms. Henderson requested. I suggest you do the same. And the appointment is already in her calendar. And yours.”

Nichole slunk away, quickly finding her desk. She could see the folders on it as she approached. What she didn’t see was the faint glow, blue and sparkling, that surrounded her chair as she sat down.

Just before 2pm arrived Nichole presented herself at Clara’s desk. She’d had to work through most of her assigned lunch break, but she’d finished the folders. Just.

“Ms. Henderson will see you now,” Clara declared, regarding Nichole over her glasses in the way that a scientist might regard a particularly uncooperative experiment. Or a teacher might examine a recalcitrant student.

What is your problem? Nichole wondered. It wasn’t as if she’d occupied that much of Clara’s time. She hadn’t been here long enough to do anything Clara disapproved of. Maybe it was just the woman’s normal attitude. But she wondered why Ms. Henderson would put up with a PA with so little in the way of people skills.

She didn’t have long to worry about it, Clara’s boss firing questions at Nichole about the proposals the moment the intern was inside the door. She was soon flustered and stumbling though her answers. “Um, maybe. I’m not sure how that will go over with the older demographic. The other one was better for that I think. Let me check. Uh. Hell.”

“Stop!” Angela commanded as Nichole desperately started flicking through the folder. It dropped out of the intern’s nerveless hands and fell to the floor with a clunk.

Ms. Henderson regarded her for a moment. “That’s not bad Nichole,” she commented her head tipping to one side. “I wondered how long it would take you to break.”

“Um, sorry?” Nichole attempted.

“Never be sorry dear,” Angela quipped. “Just do better. Although I must admit I have had new employees crack before you did. It’s almost a pity. But never mind. So which do you think is better overall?”

“Well,” Nichole replied after a moment’s consideration. “The first one had some good ideas. Better ones I think. But the second one had better presentation.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ms. Henderson smiled. Although it was a little too thin for Nichole’s liking. She reminded herself that you couldn’t give too much away in a professional meeting. “Ideas and presentation,” the agency’s owner continued. “You need both in advertising. Speaking of which. I think you need to work on yours.”

“Ideas?” Nichole ventured.

“Presentation,” Ms. Henderson replied drily. “Even as an intern you represent this firm. And that outfit just won’t do. As your mentor it’s my responsibility to ensure you learn everything you need to know.”

Nichole went to echo the word ‘Mentor’ but caught herself just in time. She doubted that Angela, Ms. Henderson, wanted someone who just echoed her statements back as questions.

She wasn’t sure what Ms. Henderson had against her outfit though. It was a nice, dark blue, pant suit with a pale blue blouse. It wasn’t designer, but it was new, she and her mother having gone shopping together especially to pick it out for Nichole’s internship. She thought it looked better than the blouse and skirt she’d warn to the interview.

“Yes,” Ms. Henderson said, although Nichole wasn’t sure if the comment was directed at her or her boss was talking to herself. “It’s only 2.30. More than enough time. Clara, come in here please,” she added, the last comment directed into the office phone that sat on her desk.

Moments later Ms. Henderson’s PA entered the room, one eyebrow raised sceptically. “What?” Clara snapped, Nichole wondering at the lack of respect.

“I need you to take Nichole shopping,” Ms. Henderson declared, waving her hand in the intern’s direction and ignoring Clara’s attitude. “Suitable office wear. With her colouring you shouldn’t have much trouble finding a decent outfit. Put it on my personal card.”

“Ah, Ms. Henderson,” Nicole protested. She couldn’t afford another outfit. And she wasn’t going to let her boss pay for it.

Ms. Henderson stared at her, the woman’s blue eyes deep pools. “Something the matter Nichole? As I said, I am your mentor. Now I shall leave you in Clara’s capable hands. Just make sure that you are back here before five so that I can see the results.”

“Yes, Ms. Henderson,” Clara replied, grabbing Nichole’s arm and heading out of the room. The PA moved so fast Nichole almost toppled over before catching herself.

“Take this. And this. And this,” Clara directed. Nichole didn’t know what to say, arms outstretched as the PA loaded her with yet more garments. She didn’t want to even think about the price tags let alone look at them.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Clara huffed, pointing in the direction of the changing rooms. “Go!”

“Hey, there’s no need to be like that,” Nichole protested. She might value the internship, but that didn’t mean she was going to let the PA keep pushing her around. “This one really isn’t my colour,” she said, handing a lemon yellow blouse back to Clara.

Without a word the PA took the proffered garment and hung it back on the rack. But the thin smile on the woman’s face meant Nichole wasn’t too sure just how much of a victory she’d achieved.

Rather than get involved in a staring contest, Nichole spun on the ball of her two-inch heeled shoe and headed for the changing room.

“No. No. Uh, no way. No.” Clara had flung the clothes at her so fast Nichole hadn’t had a change to register most of them. They were definitely expensive. Beautifully tailored. Material that was a dream to run her hand over. But many of them were skirts. And all of those appeared to Nichole that they’d be way too short on her. Nichole’s height was above average. Sometimes she was self-conscious about it, but she also knew what the right outfit could do to her legs. She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to understand what Ms. Henderson had thought was wrong with her outfit. It showed off her youthful figure decently well, at least Nichole thought so, without being too tight.

Professional. Not like a certain PA. Dubiously Nichole held up one of the skirts. At least it looked to be her size.

Nichole knew that she was considered attractive, with long, sandy blonde, hair and what she hoped was a nice smile. She was sure that her outfit didn’t look that bad. But Ms. Henderson had said that she needed a new one, so she didn’t have much choice. She started sorting through her options, certain that Clara had picked out one pant suit.

“There you are,” Nichole smiled. It was black. The PA had given her a white blouse to go with it.

“No,” Clara declared the moment Nichole exited the changing room wearing the pant suit.

Nichole stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean no? You picked it out.”

“Be quiet,” Clara ordered.

Nichole wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. She tried again, not wanting to let the PA push her around. The result was the same.

“Now get back in there and try something else.”

With a huff Nichole re-entered the changing room. She picked out the longest skirt she’d been given.

She made it two steps out of the changing room this time before Clara said “No.”

The next skirt received the same reaction. But this time Nichole was determined to stand her ground. “If you didn’t like these skirts why did you give them to me?”

“Because I had to see them on you of course.” The PA’s tone was as dry as the desert. “Now try another one.”

“I like this one,” Nichole declared. She didn’t, not really, but she liked it better than the options she had left.

“Ms. Henderson put me in charge,” Clara shot back. “You’ll try on what I decide. Understand?”

Something in Nichole wanted to fight back. But it was as if that part of her was trapped under glass. She could see it. Hear it. But she couldn’t touch it. Dutifully she turned around and trooped back into the changing room.

“Oh, much better,” Clara declared after Nichole re-emerged. The PA’s smile was predatory. Nichole didn’t like it at all. Not one little bit. “Now just stand there.”

This skirt suit was in dark blue. The same as her pant suit. And it was very comfortable. But the skirt barely reached mid-thigh. It could be called professional. Just. But Nichole didn’t like it. She also didn’t like the way Clara was circling her.

“Arms out,” the PA directed.

“Wha?” Nichole cried as her arms shot out to form a T-shape with her body.

“Shush,” Clara ordered curtly. “I said just stand there.”

Nichole wanted to look around but she was frozen in place. She knew that she should move. But something was stopping her. Maybe the easiest thing to do was just wait and get this over with.

That’s not … right? Nicole could sense something wrong with her thoughts. She should be worried about not being able to move. But she couldn’t hold the thought. The harder she tried the slipperier it became. Maybe it really was easier just to let it go. That thought was easy to hold on to. Comforting. Just standing now seemed the right thing to do. Nichole was sure she’d been thinking something else but she couldn’t remember what. It mustn’t have been important.

She could hear Clara slowly moving around her. “Oh yes,” the PA smirked as she came back around to face Nichole. “Yes, this will do. Adequately. Now let’s get out of here. I’ve wasted enough time.”

With a sigh of relief Nichole realised that she could move again. What the hell was that? Her first action was to try to tug the hem of the skirt a little lower. It was a futile gesture.

“Remember that Ms. Henderson wants to see it,” Clara directed as Nichole headed back to the changing room. “So leave it on. It does do wonderful things for your legs.”

Nichole stopped in front of the mirror, gazing at her reflection. The skirt suit was amazingly well-tailored, the cut emphasising her trim waist before flaring over her hips. It wasn’t too daring, she supposed. Even if the skirt was much shorter than she’d have chosen for herself. It did show off her legs. She could imagine someone looking at her the way she was looking at her reflection. She did look good. Maybe some hunky guy would look at her. More than once. Maybe some dark-haired millionaire, a client of Ms. Henderson’s, would sweep her off her feet. Nichole could just picture him, confident smile, a well-toned body under his designer suit. There was a warmth spreading from her centre.

“What?” This wasn’t like her. She didn’t indulge in fantasises all that often. And certainly not in the changing room of an expensive boutique.

But the feelings radiating from her centre were just too good. Nichole could feel the man looking at her. Imagining what she’d look like out of the skirt suit. His eyes tracing the length of her legs. She could use one finger to lift her hem just a little higher.

“What the?” With a start Nichole realised that her hand had done much more than that. It had slipped under the short skirt, hiking it half-way to her waist and was currently stroking the front of her panties.

Hastily she pulled her hand away, smoothing the skirt down.

“Are you done in there?” Nichole could just hear the smirk in Clara’s voice.

“Yes,” Nichole shot back as she picked up her own clothes. She’d done everything she needed to. And more than she wanted to.

“Oh yes, Clara, an excellent choice.” Ms. Henderson declared approvingly, her eyes fixed on Nichole.

The focus of the executive’s attentions still wasn’t convinced. “Ah, you don’t think it’s a little, um?” Nichole asked

“Short?” Ms. Henderson smiled, kindly, before rising from her desk and heading around to stand in front of her intern. “It’s no shorter than mine is it?”

Nichole had to admit that was true. If anything Ms. Henderson’s skirt was shorter, a breath under mid-thigh in length.

“You may not like it Nichole, and I understand if you don’t. But business is a cut-throat world. You have to use every weapon at your disposal.”

Nichole allowed that Ms. Henderson’s legs, which could have graced a super model, could easily be classified as weapons.

The agency’s owner laid a hand lightly on Nichole’s shoulder and smiled warmly at her. “As your mentor I’d be failing in my job if I didn’t make sure you could get as much out of this internship as possible. You trust me don’t you?”

Nichole nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Not with the warmth that was spreading from her centre again. It wasn’t like her at all, fantasies of that handsome stranger again dancing in her mind.

She pushed them away.

“Anyway,” Ms. Henderson declared, her ash-blonde hair flowing out as she spun back to her desk. “The teams have made some revisions to their proposals while you were out. The folders are on your desk. Let me know what you think before 5pm.”

Nichole could recognise a dismissal when she heard it. Again the folders were sitting on her desk.

Again, she didn’t notice the faint blue glow that surrounded her chair.

Nichole managed to finish her reading just before five. It hadn’t been easy. Both proposals had been improved. That wasn’t the problem. For some reason she hadn’t been able to get comfortable in her chair. There was something.

Oh God, I can’t be.

There was a warmth spreading from her centre, a need to be touched. She couldn’t. Not here. Not where someone might see. But the need was pressing on her, urgent and hot. She shifted in her seat, the sensation across her rear sending sparks through the young woman.

“Nichole,” she heard Ms. Henderson call. “Have you finished looking through the revisions?”

Unsteadily the young intern got to her feet and headed to her boss’s office.

“So what did you think?” the agency’s owner asked.

“Well, um,” Nichole began uncertainly. It was so hard to think. Even out of her chair the sensations hadn’t gone away. If anything they had gotten worse. She could feel her nipples pushing in to her bra, a dripping, empty, need, clawing at her centre. She had to clench her fist to stop her hand reaching under her skirt

“Well, they’re both better,” Nichole attempted. “Ah, but I think the first one really goes for it.”

God, I wish I could. She could just imagine her hand reaching under her skirt. Then she stopped herself. She couldn’t do that. Not in front of Ms. Henderson. She hardly ever touched herself down there.

“Really?” Ms. Henderson asked, leaning forward. “But do they nail it? Do they give you what you want? Do they make you feel it?”

“Yes!” Nichole cried. Then swallowed nervously. She was certainly feeling something. Or at least she wanted to.

“Well,” her boss smiled. “I’ll check them both out and let you know what I think tomorrow. You can go now. Wouldn’t want to miss your train, would you?”

“Thank you Ms. Henderson,” Nichole mumbled, fleeing the building as quickly as she could.

The journey home on the train was torture, Nichole’s centre calling out for attention. At one point she even risked rubbing her thighs together, but that only made it worse, the delicious sensations crushing in on her. For a moment the carriage, everyone in it, disappeared. There was just the need, crying out, desperate. She could answer that need, all she had to do was lift up her skirt, let her hand find her centre. Stroke it, slip her fingers in.

Her fingers were grasping the hem of her skirt when Nichole realised that she was still in the middle of the crowded carriage. She let go of her skirt. Even as part of her wanted so much to just let her hand find her needy, dripping, centre, no matter where she was.

What the hell?

“How did your day go dear?” her mother, Elaine, asked as soon as Nichole stepped in the door of her family’s home.

“Uh, not bad,” Nichole replied, edging towards the stairs. She wanted to be alone.

“Is that all?” Elaine scoffed, “My eldest daughter’s first day at a big advertising firm and all you have to say is ‘not bad’. Get in here and tell me all about it.”

Reluctantly Nichole headed to the kitchen. She hadn’t even expected her mother to be home from her own job yet. Elaine stood in the middle of the large and well-used space. Nichole thought she couldn’t have been home long, her mother still wearing her own pants suit.

“Um, where did you get that outfit?” Nichole’s mother asked, awarding her eldest child with a doubtful look.

“Uh, Ms. Henderson said I needed a different one. She paid for it. It’s not as short as hers.” The last statement was added hurriedly in response to mother’s dubious expression.

Elaine still didn’t look convinced. “Oh well. I suppose it’s not too short. But I thought your pants suit was so professional.”

“Ms. Henderson likes it,” Nichole grumbled, not sure who she was trying to convince.

“Well I suppose. Now sit down and tell me about your day,” Elaine insisted.

“Um, can I get changed first?” Nichole suggested.

“Alright,” Elaine sighed. “That might be best. If Alice sees you in that she’ll want to wear something that short to school.” Alice was Nichole’s youngest sister, at eighteen in her last year at high school. “But then straight back down here.”

Nichole wasn’t surprised by that. Despite her own career and being the single mother of three daughters Elaine always made time to talk to each of her children.

“And I’ve cooked Thai. That’s still you’re favourite, right?”

“Yes” Nichole called back as she scooted upstairs. Hurriedly she shut the door of her room behind her.

I’m just going to get changed, the young woman told herself.

Her resolution lasted for just a moment, as she caught sight of her reflection in her mirror. The skirt suit clung to her body. Her legs, shaped by the heels she was wearing, almost totally revealed. She could imagine that dark-haired stranger looking at her. Taking in her legs. Wondering what lay hidden under her blouse.

Desire, hot and wet and insistent, radiated from her centre. Nichole watched her reflection as her hand snuck to the hem of her skirt. It was almost as if she was watching someone else. Watched as her fingers slowly pulled the hem higher, the tops of her thighs coming into view. Imagined what that man would be feeling if he was watching. Would he like what he saw? Would he want to see more? Would he want her?

Nichole’s breath caught as the edge of her light blue panties came into view. What would he think of her if her saw her doing this? Would he think her easy? A slut? Nichole didn’t want that. But if they were alone. Maybe after he’d taken her to dinner. Taken her back to his room in some expensive hotel. They’d have drunk expensive wine. She’d be a little tipsy. Not too much. Not so there’d be any questions about whether she could say yes. But enough to make her daring.

Her fingers glided over the front of her panties, the skirt now bunched around her waist.

She’d give him a show. Show him how much he wanted her. How much she wanted him.

Her fingers pushed against the front of her panties. Not too hard. Never too hard.

Nichole didn’t do this very often. Hardly at all. And she never let her fingers slip inside.

That was waiting for a special someone.

Her fingers traced down the length of her opening, her breath catching as she watched herself in the mirror. Then back again, to find her clit so erect. So could feel it so easily through the thin fabric. She pushed, grinding the heel of her hand into her nub. Then gently, so gently, tracing the line of her lips. So could feel how puffy they were, how wet she was.

She couldn’t remember ever being this wet. Ever needing it this much.

Back and forth, pushing, grinding. She was getting closer. She wasn’t sure to what. Her self-exploration had been hesitant at best. It felt good, but she was always too afraid to go too far.

Not today.

She pushed a little harder with her fingers, felt them slip a fraction inside through the fabric of her panties. Her breathing was coming in gasps, her knees buckling. But she had to keep looking at her reflection. Wanton, her skirt about her waist, her hand pressing into her centre. She could see her lips quiver, the flush in her cheeks, her lips parting. Something was coming.

She ground her palm into her clit, hard.

She was cumming.

For the first time in her life.

“Oh fuck!”

Nichole’s head snapped around to the door, eyes wide in horror. Had anyone heard her? She held her breath, aftershocks coursing through her.

She couldn’t believe what she’d done.

Or that, just for a moment, the image of the dark-haired stranger had wavered and a picture of Ms. Henderson had taken its place.