The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lost Opportunity

Disclaimer: Read no more if you are under 18, if reading this kind of material is illegal under your local laws, or if you are offended by graphic descriptions of sexual activity. This story is for fantasy only, and this story is not to be redistributed, archived, forwarded, redirected, or reposted without express written permission of the author. If you’re reading this anywhere other than mcstories.com, it’s been stolen.

Copyright © 2002-2004 by Le Duc de Kavaliere

Part One

The doorbell rang.

It was just past midnight. Wearing only a towel, I ran to answer the door. The vision standing on the threshold took my breath away.

Zelasha’s long red waves slid down to her waist, and her dark, hypnotic green eyes immediately locked onto mine and took control of my will. “Invite me in, my lover,” she murmured, using her low, seductive voice.

“P . . . please come in, Zelasha,” I whispered, utterly flabbergasted.

Zelasha glided in and shut the door behind her. She walked into the living room. I found myself walking backwards in front of her as she approached. I realized I could not look away from her eyes, those green, absorbing spheres that spiraled down into darkness.

She giggled. “Come to me, Nikolai, my lover,” she murmured, opening her arms.

We were immediately embracing, my bare arms going around her. Zelasha’s satiny red hair was smooth against my skin. I felt the cool crushed velvet of her black dress brush my chest.

Zelasha was still smirking as she began to kiss my chin. My head moved upwards, unresisting her pressure, and her arms clasped behind me. The feel of her cool, dry lips against my neck sent shivers down my spine, and the hairs all over my body stood on end. As her tiny fangs slid into my neck, I felt my knees giving way, and in a moment she was the only thing holding me up as she drank from me. Her arms were so strong, like steel wrapped in velvet.

BEEP BEEP BEEP yelled the alarm. Choking on a huge gasp, I woke up. Damn. I was still alive.

I ran to the bathroom to wash the nightmare from my eyes. If only dying were really that sweet, I thought.

My commute that morning was uneventful, until I arrived at the office and found a mob huddled around the doors, stomping and shouting. I caught sight of one of my colleagues sitting glumly on a bench nearby. In response to my worried look, he handed me his pink slip.

Oh, good grief. This was just what I needed. I plunged into the angry crowd and made my way to the poor paper pusher at the beginning of the line.

“No, no, there is nothing I can do, I’m a temp!” the poor fellow gasped to one of my angry ex coworkers. Catching sight of me, he held his clipboard up like a crucifix. “Name?” he asked me.

“Brannock. Nicholas.”

I was the only Brannock in the firm, so he located the envelope quickly and handed it to me. I had no desire to stay, so I cleared out of the mob, sighing as I opened the letter.

It was, of course, just a carbon copy of a generic form. I’d been laid off.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century,” I muttered to myself as I got back in the car. Just my luck for getting a job at a dot.com! The slip promised some severance, but not enough to pay even a month’s rent.

I drove straight home, and went straight to bed. Wanting more sleep, and having nothing to do, I decided to take a nap.

* * *

“Come here, my lover,” Zelasha was whispering in my ear. I twisted around and snuggled up to her, our hips sliding deliciously across each other. She smiled impishly as I started caressing her long, soft mane of gleaming red hair. She pressed her body against mine, and suddenly she flipped over, on top of me. She took my head in her hands and pinned me down with her gaze. She began to speak in a low, sexy, hypnotic tone. “You love looking at me, my lover. Thinking about me makes you want me.”

“I want you,” I heard myself agree.

“You think I have beautiful eyes. You love to look into my eyes, my lover. When I stare into your eyes, you just fall under my power, and you can’t look away. You’ve become totally lost in me. My magical eyes have enslaved you.”

“Enslaved me . . .” I repeated as her mesmerizing green eyes filled my vision. I was falling into them, deep into them, and somewhere I heard the phone ring . . .

My eyes popped open. Jolted out of sleep, I reached for the bedside table. Damn. Damn damn damn. Could I get back into that dream? Please, Lord?

“Hello?” I grunted into the receiver.

“Nick, it’s Gerald,” came the pleasant Canadian voice of one of my coworkers. Ex-coworkers, I reminded myself.

“What’s up?” I coughed.

“Would you like to get together for drinks tonight at Planet Hollywood? We’re celebrating our liberation from Gretchen.”

“Say, yes, that’s right!” I said. Gretchen had been hired as a supervisor last year and had given everyone in the department unending hell ever since. “That pleasant benefit of being unemployed didn’t occur to me this morning. Count me in.”

“It’ll be good to see you,” Gerald chuckled. “Drive safely.”

After hanging up, I wondered briefly why I was dreaming about Zelasha, and not Megan. Back in college, Zelasha was someone I’d talked to on the internet. Although we’d spoken on the phone, we’d never met in person. I’d lost touch with her when she dropped out of school to get married. What I wouldn’t give, I thought, to actually meet her. But I’d had the chance, and that chance would never come again.

That evening, the bar was unusually busy. Gerald hadn’t been kidding about a celebration, and by the crowd present I gathered that the entire floor had been let go. Gretchen was noticeably absent. Soon, the former dot.commers were drinking and laughing, blissfully pointing out that her absence from our lives was a blessing in disguise. Toasts were proclaimed. Some people — the more drunk ones in the gathering — even talked about forming our own company.

After a few hours, the party wore down and people started to filter out. Finally, my last ex-coworker left and I was one of a dozen people left in the establishment. Moving over to the bar, I ordered one last ale to wash down my remaining nachos.

“Nick? Nick Brannock?”

Turning, I had to blink several times before I could believe who had just sat down next to me. “Stewart? I thought you were at Cambridge! What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you!” Stew replied. I’d known Stewart in college, but hadn’t seen him since he went to England to get his doctorate six years ago. Since then, he’d neglected his thick black hair — it was falling down to his shoulders. He looked remotely like John Cusack. “What have you been up to?” he asked me.

“Lord, man, you don’t want to know,” I told him honestly. “The bad news used to be that I was stood up at the altar last month. Then today, I got laid off, so that’s the new bad news.”

Stewart looked thunderstruck. “Man! Hell, Nick, I’m sorry. Can I buy you a drink?”

I looked at him, then down at my glass, and sighed. “If I have another one, I won’t be able to drive home.”

“That’s okay, I’ll give you a lift.”

I smiled, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, you’re on.”

“Another ale? Thanks!” Stewart told the bartender. “Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding?” he asked, turning back to me.

“I couldn’t find you!” I said. “The last birthday card AND Christmas card I sent to your address in Cambridge came back.”

“Well, no wonder. I’ve been in L.A. for almost a year now.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.”

I gave him a withering look. “You don’t mean to say you actually found someone to fund your addle brained theories?”

Stewart smiled like someone who knows a secret and is very sure of himself. “Yeah,” he grinned. “Tell me about yourself first.”

“Like you know, I was working at a dot.com, but not as a programmer,” I said, answering the question on his face. “I did the recruiting. Don’t start. I know it’s weird that a psych major got a job as a recruiter. I started as a temp, and they hired me on full time.”

“And you got hit by the dot.com bust. I’m sorry,” Stewart said sympathetically. I started in on my new glass of ale. “What happened with your wedding?”

“Oh, Lord,” I groaned, propping my head on an elbow. “Everything went great at the rehearsal dinner. The day of the wedding, all the guests showed up — as did all of her bridesmaids. The only people absent were the bride, her sister, and her parents. So we waited; eventually I told everyone to go ahead and eat. Then we all went home.”

“Did you find out what happened?”

I nodded. “I tried all of her phone numbers for a week, until her ex-husband answered one.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” Stewart said again.

I took another swig. “Bygones. Megan wasn’t the one. So, tell me. Who the hell agreed to fund you?”

Stewart told me the name of some billionaire owner of a semiconductor firm. I’d heard of the company, but not the founder. “Because particles on a subatomic level ignore time, he hired me to develop a chip that can make calculations and return the answer a millisecond after the data was input. They’d make the calculation, then send the answer a few seconds into the past. That way, no matter how long or complex the operation, you have your answer practically instantly. They’d be the fastest computers ever.”

It made sense to me, and I said as much. “So what was the problem?”

“Well, we can send particles into the future with no problems,” Stewart told me. “The issue is sending particles to the past. It should be working, theoretically. But we can’t figure out where the electrons we sent into the past ended up.”

“How far into the past did you try?”

“On the chips, the maximum was eight seconds. When we couldn’t figure out what was going wrong, we tried with larger things. We sent guinea pigs, and eventually a cat and a dog.”

I choked on my ale. “Where did they go?”

Stewart took a swig. “No idea. When we started sending animals, we created a way to bring them back to the present — or to our present. We’d retrieve them in our present, not to the exact time we sent them, of course, as from our perspective that would still be in the recent past.”

“So did you get the guinea pigs back?”

“Yeah,” Stewart said. “The vet said they were fine, too. The problem was, the animals couldn’t tell us what had happened to them. We tried fastening a recording device onto the collars of the cat and the dog, but it had fallen off by the time we got them back.”

“So you need a human?”

“Yeah.” Stewart looked at me. “Theoretically, it’s safe, but no one in the company wants to try, and my boss won’t let me advertise for a human to go because he’s afraid of industrial espionage.” Stewart looked at me. “Hey, I don’t suppose . . .”

I shook my head. “Don’t bother asking. I volunteer.”