The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Invisible Hand

Chapter 3 — Gripped by the Hand

Luke was over in two minutes flat, and his eyes lit up when I pulled the condom out of his pocket. The moment he’d surely been waiting for had arrived. He drove me out to the edge of town and stopped under a tree that would give us a little protection just in case someone got nosy and decided to make a big deal out of two teenagers hooking up. I grabbed his crotch and stroked until he was hard (which didn’t take very long; clearly he’d kept himself distracted while waiting for me), then unzipped him and beckoned him into the backseat. I didn’t know which of us kissed the other first, only that we couldn’t get enough of each other.

It took only a few minutes to complete the act. As he entered me, the mantra began to cycle through my head again, along with the reminder that pleasure affirmed the control over me, and I thrust harder against him, much to his delight. I sealed the deal with a deep kiss, watching his eyes grow heavy in the afterglow. After one last satisfied makeout to wind down, I let him drift off to sleep, dressed again in my jeans, and started walking back. Every step was harder to take without the constant reminder that I was under orders to return. By the time I reached the end of Oak Street, I felt like a windup doll, every step precise, slow, and robotic, spurred by the mantra and the thought of being part of the invisible hand.

I walked up to the door and knocked once, then let my hand fall to my side as I waited. I knocked again, then let my hand fall to my side as I waited. I knocked again, then let my hand fall to my side as I waited. I knocked again. This time, the husband answered me. He took my hand and led me back into the den. Katie was unconscious on the couch, her legs still parted, a trace of a smile on her face. The damp spot under her indicated just what had put her to sleep.

“Stare at Katie 1/20/84. When you cede control, happiness enters your body. I am Russ 7/19/82. I am senior to Katie 1/20/84, therefore she must obey me. All those senior to you will be superior to you. In time, you will control those who are junior to you. For now, you are subservient to us as part of the invisible hand. You will wear skirts and dresses to class from now on. When you are ready, you will learn the importance of this. You may keep Luke until your paths separate you. Corrections may be necessary to ensure that your paths are separated; you will not be concerned with these corrections. We will speak more about this when you are ready. Return to Luke. If he is awake and questions you, lull him back with pleasure until he believes that you took a walk. Your next lesson will be Tuesday, at 4:30 PM, at this location. You will be alone whenever commanded from now on. Return to Luke and act as if nothing unusual happened.”

I accepted the orders without moving, without thinking, without questioning. When he was finished, he turned me around and led me out the door. My sense of self returned as I walked back to Luke’s car and curled up next to him. He was still asleep, but stirred slightly as I pressed against him. “Just needed to walk off the excitement, babe,” I said, licking his neck.

“That’s nice,” he mumbled, stirring just enough to get comfortable against me.

We spent the night in his car. If my parents were angry, they never let on.

That weekend, I barely remembered my lessons with Katie and Russ—except when I was at the Smile Mart with Luke. Something about the rack of skirts and dresses for the spring sent a tingle down my spine, and soon I was changing my wardrobe. The fashion show I put on for Luke made him not care that he was paying for the endeavor. He was never one to give up an opportunity to see more of me, and the changeover from practical flannel and jeans to stylish blouses and skirts made him stand behind the racks for reasons I was never going to let him live down.

That was, if I cared enough about him to tease him that way. While I was seducing him on the outside, with every dress that went on over my shoulders and every skirt that went around my waist, I cared less about him on the inside. He was a means to an end and an attachment that would not be relevant to part of the invisible hand. The mantra was constantly playing faintly in the back of my head, a whisper of to control everything, one must be controlled/to be controlled one must become part of the invisible hand that reshaped my thoughts. With every repetition, my feelings towards him grew weaker and weaker, while my desire to become part of the invisible hand grew stronger. Still, the thrill of Luke falling over the rack at the sight of me in the pastel sundress that flowed perfectly around my figure made me grin from ear to ear.

After Luke paid for everything (and after a quick trip to the bathroom for both of us, where I closed my eyes and pretended my hand was invisible), I wore that sundress out of the store, teasing Luke all the way back to his house. As soon as he shut the door, I ripped my panties out from under the dress before even kicking off my shoes.

“Guess I didn’t finish the job last night,” Luke teased.

“Eh, young drivers always go too fast at first,” I replied, flaunting my cleavage before wrapping my legs around him and starting to kiss my way down his neck.

“Whoa! Glad it’s my folks’ date night and I’m an only child!” Luke said, struggling to keep his balance from my leap. Somehow, he got everything sorted out and carried me into the bedroom. He took my dress off with reverence I would have appreciated a year before, and as the dress came off, so did my will. Pleasure affirmed the control over me; the more pleasure I felt, the more submissive I became. I let him lay me down on the bed, let him gently part my legs with a hand, let him thrust into me over and over again. My eyes drifted closed and the mantra filled my mind.

The invisible hand controls everything. To be part of the invisible hand, one must be controlled. If I am part of the invisible hand, then I am controlled. The invisible hand controls everything...

At some point, I pried my eyes open, but Luke looked more like Russ in my blurred vision, so I slammed them shut. Maybe it was in some vain attempt to keep myself; maybe it was a need to be alone with the pleasure that affirmed the control over me; maybe it was something else. Whatever was going on inside my head, it wasn’t affecting Luke, who decided to experiment with sucking on my tits as I screamed in delight.

After some time—maybe soon, maybe forever—it was over, and the world was spinning at a million miles an hour, but my reaction was nothing compared to Luke’s. He looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Okay, so you like me on top. Wow, you like me on top,” he panted with a satisfied smirk. “I control you enough for your liking?”

That was apparently the only clue I gave him to what was going on in my head. I looked at him with a lazy smile and purred, “Oh, yes.” He didn’t have to know that he was the last thing on my mind.

I must have cleaned up and dressed, taken my things, gone home—but I didn’t remember any of it. Luke seemed satisfied with my reaction, probably because he’d get to tell all his friends how awesome I was and how great he was. He was so sure he had totally conquered me, but he was nothing but an afterthought. All I wanted—no, all I needed, all that was required of me—was to dial the 555 number and let the mantra sink into my head again. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I spread my legs and let the control over me lead to pleasure. My mind went blank, and I was out like a light.

I went to church the next day, but my brain was still at home, wired into the phone number. I came back with my parents, and my mother gave me a more detailed safe sex lecture, but I was still listening to the mantra, smiling at what I was becoming. My parents passed it off as the glow of a first time, giving me a couple of more warnings, then sending me off to finish my homework. I wrote things and solved problems, but there was no thought behind them. Questions had been posed to me by people who were senior to me, so I had to answer them. Then I drifted off to the comforting sound of the tape loop

I was no longer sure if I had called the number to hear it, or if it was so ingrained in my mind that I could let it repeat in my thoughts over and over again, and the idea of being that programmed made me climax again before the mantra picked up without missing a beat. My next sharp memory was when Katie’s eyes met mine in history class. I had to bite my tongue to remind myself that here, she was Mrs. Ward—but when I looked at the header on my notes, I saw that my hand had written Katie 1/20/84. Her lecture made more sense than ever. I was beyond gleeful that I could explain it to half the class at lunch. Something had changed in me, but my memories were unclear—except when they were. I sounded and felt clearer than ever, but it was like being a character in a play—the role of Tina Clark easily picked up and performed flawlessly, but distant and easily forgotten.

“Man, you’ve really gotten into that economic stuff, huh? You aren’t becoming a teabagger, are you?” Luke teased me.

My answer told me just how far I’d come. “They’re just politicians. They can’t really do anything,” I replied.

He grinned. “Word.”

And that was it before we returned to normal boyfriend-girlfriend talk.

The next day, Tuesday, however, I was all business. For some reason, the red skirtsuit I had bought to impress potential employers at some point in the near future was all I wanted to wear. The matching red heels made me look twenty-five instead of eighteen as I walked into class. I drank in Katie’s lecture, loving the important lessons she was teaching me. After class, she pulled me aside. “Passing notes, are we? I saw you scribbling when I walked by you. Is there a problem with me?”

“None at all, Mrs. Ward,” I said innocently, but my hand betrayed me and again scribbled Katie 1/20/84 right in front of her. She grabbed the notebook, tore the page out, and threw it away with such force that I felt like I was going to faint.

“If you like notes, read the one that’s in your notebook now!” she snapped at me.

Then I looked down. Good girl. Remember all I teach you, it said.

I threw it out in as much of a fake huff as she had before I left. But come 4:25 I was walking alone in front of Katie’s house. The seconds ticked away, and the moment that the clock hit 4:30, I knocked. She answered just as promptly in nothing but the sheer pantyhose that I wasn’t supposed to notice. I noticed it enough for my eyes to try and roll back in my head, then lock onto them as I followed her like a robot. This time, she took me upstairs into the bedroom, which looked more like some kind of control center, with televisions everywhere.

“Time?”

“Dinner is at eight, when the dealership closes,” I droned, knowing the answer before fully parsing the question.

“Three hours will be sufficient. Strip,” Katie said, completely focused. My skirtsuit came off faster than Luke took my dress off on Sunday. “Intercourse?” she asked as if she knew.

“Saturday. I required the mantra. The skirts made me need it,” I told her.

“You will learn about that today. Sit,” she commanded, pointing at a chair that looked like something out of a dentist’s office and faced all the televisions. I sat. The white headphones that had been on the table were placed over my ears. Katie plugged them into the chair, then grabbed a two-way headset and locked the door.

“Three hours. Female,” she said. One by one, screens came to life, all of them fixed on the same type of chair that I was in, every chair containing another girl in the same position as I was, every girl naked and staring blankly forward. Some twitched slightly. Others had a trace of fear in their eyes. Most were as blank as I was. They were in all colors, shapes and sizes; I could tell that, despite all of them being in identical secret rooms, that this was a worldwide broadcast without having to hear the whispers in other languages.

The last screen lit up with a Brazilian beauty being coaxed into the chair and being frozen in place by a harsh snap of her mentor’s fingers. Katie seemed uneasy, but her power held. She pulled up a stool next to me, and her face entered the screen; at exactly the same moment, every other screen showed a second face, those of the women who had led their charges to the invisible hand. Some were older, some were younger—but the girls in the chairs were all my age, maybe a year older at most.

“Petra 11/12/99,” the woman on the far right droned.

“Amanda 6/23/98,” the next woman said. Petra and about five others went blank, staring into the screen as intently and as emptily as their charges, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

“Charity 2/17/96,” the next woman said, in turn freezing Amanda and several others.

As the dates went backwards, more and more went blank. “Katie 1/20/84,” Katie said, and part of me relaxed in anticipation of her leading the group.

“Stacy 1/3/75,” another woman said, and Katie went blank. There was dead silence.

“I am senior. You will all serve me in this matter,” Stacy said.

The response froze me solid. “To control, you must control us,” everyone said in the same tone, with the same meter and same emphasis. It came through my headphones in mind-numbing glorious harmony. On every screen the reaction was the same as the mentors’ eyes slammed shut and they went rigid as they went deeper under Stacy’s control.

“Naked,” she ordered them. Every woman rolled off her pantyhose. Some kicked off high heels, others had bras to unhook, but within ten seconds, everyone but Stacy was as naked as their charge.

“Declare.”

“The invisible hand controls everything. To control everything, one must be controlled. To be controlled, one must become part of the invisible hand. To control the invisible hand, the controlled must act and be told to act,” we said, charges and mentors alike. The mentors’ eyes had opened, but they were as empty as their charges’.

“Satisfactory. Sit the recruits,” Stacy continued. My chair was brought completely upright. I was staring into the bright green eyes of a freckled redhead. A line of drool traced down the left side of her mouth. She didn’t seem to notice.

“You are staring at yourself. You are the same as the person looking back at you. You are the invisible hand,” Stacy read into the microphone. Fifty voices became one as we echoed her in response, sealing the person across from us more closely to the invisible hand even as they brought us deeper under. Even those who wouldn’t have spoken English as their native tongue seemed to understand and repeat in perfect English.

“We are all the invisible hand. We are the same person, knowing only to steer and guide everything to our scale,” we continued under Stacy’s domination, in the same tone, at the same meter, starting at the same time and finishing at the same time. We were one person. We were the invisible hand.

“All will proceed. Begin the indoctrination,” Stacy said with approval. Our chairs reclined until the overhead light was in our faces. But it wasn’t an ordinary light. It was multi-colored and danced in front of our eyes in a swirling pattern that no one could resist.

“This is your life,” the voice told us. “Your life began when you turned eighteen. Your life is as a member of the invisible hand. Anything you remember from before that is part of the role you play to blend in with society and appear to be one of the sheep. Your life belongs to the invisible hand. You are born to the invisible hand. You will die in the invisible hand. Your destiny is to control the lives you were once part of. Your memories are a cover. They are not real. Your past is fiction. Serving the invisible hand is reality. The appearance of normality is important and vital to executing what must be done. But it has no meaning. Given names are for identification. Surnames are to be created as needed throughout your life. Language will execute our plans wherever you are located.”

The colors spoke in our unified, communal voice, and we listened, because we were listening to ourselves. They went on, “Our desires are to execute our plans. Pleasure is our reward. Rewarding ourselves with pleasure when we complete tasks is what makes us the invisible hand and relieves us of the burden of mundanity that we use to do what must be done.”

We listened. We obeyed.

“Our order is by seniority. Those who are senior to you, you will obey. Those who are junior to you will obey you. This is our rank and order. We are subservient to those who are senior to us and will obey them when we are free to do what must be done,” the colors explained again. I was a slave to Katie 1/20/84 when I was doing the invisible hand’s business, and she was a slave to Russ 7/19/82, and they would be slaves to Stacy 1/3/75 when necessary. And just like the other recruits, I was nothing, subservient to everyone, superior to no one, nothing but a blob of colors in my brain. This was order, structure, and leadership.

“We walk among the ordinary people until it is time to act. You will know another of the invisible hand by the touch of their invisible clothes. We are superior when set free from the chains of identity, but we wear whatever disguise is needed. But our invisible clothes tell us who and what we are. Men wear gloves. Women wear stockings. Other items may be necessary in different cultural contexts. But that part of the body must be free so that we can touch each other and know that we are one. We wear these at all times except when it is necessary to be completely naked,” the colors finished. Everything fell into place like dominoes in a chain reaction.

The lights vanished—but we realized that they had moved inside our minds to shine forever. We were all the same, eyes black and empty and reflecting what little light was in the room. I couldn’t see them, but I knew the others were just as out as I was. We were all the same, after all.

“Do you accept your reality?” Stacy 1/3/75 asked.

“Yes,” we answered, but it wasn’t as loud as I remembered. In my peripheral vision, I saw three screens go black.

“Pleasure,” Stacy 1/3/75 commanded. Our legs spread and our mentors crawled toward us. They moistened our clefts by stroking our thighs and our mounds, then rubbed our nipples until they were painfully hard. Our legs spread further, until they could go no wider, and our mentors’ tongues began their work as we tensed. As they moved and licked faster and faster, we fell into the same pattern, moaning in harmony, giving in to the lesbian sex despite any customs, norms, or stigmas against it. Pleasure had been commanded, after all. Our moans and gasps grew louder as our fingernails dug into the armrests. As we reached climax, the chairs rose and we saw ourselves, all in total bliss, all gasping for more. Our toes curled so much that our feet hurt. Some of us could form words, while others were just moaning goo. All of us were in the throes of passion. Large, small, black, white, Asian—it didn’t matter. We were one, and we were being rewarded for it.

With one expert lick, our eyes slammed shut and we moaned, forty-five voices strong. We came in unison, then relaxed into a state of total mindlessness, waiting to be told what we thought.

“Look at yourself,” Stacy 1/3/75 said. Our eyes opened. Forty-three screens remained on, with only two more switched off. I looked at every face—empty, smiling, happy to be one, happy to be part of the invisible hand. Colors were in our heads, mantra was in our ears.

“Service your elders,” Stacy 1/3/75 said.

I rose from the chair and took Katie 1/20/84 by the hand and sat her where I had once been, then crawled towards her and parted her legs. All I could see was her pussy. I reached inside with my tongue, and the sweet taste flowed through my veins, making me hers, making me a slave of the invisible hand. I heard the mentors moaning as they received their pleasure. Whispered instructions took me over and turned my body into an obedient fucktoy that pleasured Katie 1/20/84 in exactly the same way as the others were being pleasured, at the same speed, in the same rhythm.

All of them came at once, and the recruits stood by our writhing mentors with no expression on our dirty faces. At a signal, we cleaned ourselves with towels and helped our mentors out of the chairs. Then we stopped, with no more orders. We were docile things, to be used to achieve the task at hand, waiting to be activated and used.

“Satisfactory. Don the stockings,” Stacy 1/3/75 commanded, and Katie 1/20/84 went to the drawer and took out a pair of pantyhose. I could tell they were silk as they went on over my legs. I moaned when Katie 1/20/84 smoothed them out, but there was no other reaction.

“Dress and return to normality,” Stacy 1/3/75 said. I took the headphones off and looked dizzily at Katie 1/20/84.

“Your homework is to correct one thing you know must be corrected at school. Your next lesson is Sunday after church. You will not schedule anything after church on Sunday,” Katie 1/20/84 directed.

“I will obey,” I told her as I buttoned my blouse.

The heavy pressure of the invisible hand lifted as left the house and got into my car. But it slackened only to allow me to do its work, letting me slip back into the life of Tina Clark so that I would be able to make the necessary correction.