The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Niodin Chesterleigh-Barratt arrived at work dressed in sweatpants and a loose fitting top, under a disposable waterproof to keep the ever-present rain from soaking her to the skin. It didn’t work, the water had found some ingress between the layers of advanced polymer, and her top was already holding on to nearly a pound of water.

She didn’t care too much, though, as long as the customers who were already starting to file in through the door didn’t recognise her. She had enough trouble with people who were so mesmerised by her beauty that they didn’t notice the six muscle-bound hunks standing in the corners for the benefit of patrons who couldn’t understand “no touching”. She didn’t need them bothering her outside the club, when she was on her own.

She peeled off her sodden shirt and threw it on top of a battered old radiator in the corner. The metal jerked under the weight, and its brackets squealed as they threatened to leave the wall; the heater ringing like a bell, as it had every day for as long as anyone could remember. The owner couldn’t afford to extend the ever-immaculate decor as far back as the changing rooms—itself a pleasant euphemism, as the bar staff and performers had to share a single dingy room with one table, one counter top, and a bank of lockers to act as their changing room and break room. Under the counter were shrink-wrapped parcels of bottles, the room now doubling as storage.

Waterproof, sweater top, T-shirt, bra. She felt nothing about stripping off in front of Larry and Dirk, the bouncers who’d just arrived to protect her on the evening shift. They were stripping out of their street clothes too, and buttoning up each other’s uniform monkey suits. They’d seen her naked enough times before, without even the diaphanous blouse and skirts she was pulling on for her show. She’d fucked all the guards here a few times, it was amazing just how much energy the steroids gave them, even if the drugs did sometimes cause other problems.

Niodin had long ago discarded any pretense of modesty, or shame. She did what she did in order to survive, and with the body fate had chosen to give her, this job was perfect. Her parents hated it, of course, which made her even less willing to consider alternatives. She tossed her underwear into her locker, the combination stuck on 1-2-3-4 just like all the others, and left the damper items of clothing out on the radiator to dry. She was just about to get the hairdryer out, but then she heard the faint strains of Mister Captain, Sir drifting through from the bar. Her song, a cue she wouldn’t miss. So she strode out without announcement, and leapt from floor to table to stage. Her hair was still soaked, and droplets flew out over the crowd as she started to twirl, but none of the usual crowd of desperate, horny losers objected.

She loved this song,and could put her heart into every twist, salute, and bow. She found it amusing that the band were appearing on kids’ TV now, giving interviews about their shining jewel of modern pop. From the scripted catechisms they came out with, they probably thought it was just a silly jingle in honour of the superhero Captain Ultimatum. They weren’t smart enough to catch all the double entendres and Hope Air Force slang that—to anyone who actually bothered to listen to the lyrics—made it very clearly a junior officer’s offer to fellate ‘Mister Captain’ in the hope of a promotion. She finished the performance on her knees, saluting the audience in one direction while those to the other side got a perfect view of her bare ass wiggling in the air. From the cheers, a lot of people thought the wet hair suited her. Maybe that was something to try again.

Niodin sashayed back to the bar, this time taking only one leap to reach the floor level, and asked Henri for her usual tonic water. “You already got a private show,” he smiled as he handed the glass over, “Booth 7 was really impressed with your performance tonight.”

She smiled as she took the drink and headed over to the booth. The people who’d pay for a private show were often heavy tippers as well, and she had high hopes for tonight. She really hoped that tonight’s patrons would be generous to save her from a week of near starvation.

The booth was luxurious, the seats glossy leather and the floor and ceiling polished chrome. There were slit-like windows looking out into the main part of the club, allowing customers who were willing to pay for a little privacy to watch the show on stage without being seen themselves. There was even a motion-activated intercom built into the table’s mirrored surface, so they could just wave a hand over it and speak their drinks order to an invisible waitress. For those trusted by the management, they could even summon the girls they liked from the main floor show for a private dance.

When she saw her audience for today, Niodin’s heart sank. The booth was filled with young, attractive bodies clad in black leather and PVC. Rather than one rich guy, or a few inquisitive students, or a couple of stockbrokers enjoying someone’s stag party, every seat in the booth was taken. And out of 9 customers, there wasn’t a single Y chromosome to add variety.

“Hi, ladies,” Niodin smiled, “Did you ask for a dancer?” Her heart was racing already. She knew she wouldn’t get what she needed from this group. She’d told Henri and Francis before that she didn’t like performing for women, but she was starting to doubt that this particular group had even bothered to pay for the booth. Their leader, sitting as straight as a woman with an iron rod bolted to her spine, stared straight at her with the utter disdain of someone who was well used to getting exactly what she wanted in every circumstance. That one’s costume was PVC, erotic and enticing, but ornamented with so much lace and rich fur that you might not notice it didn’t actually reveal anything.

Her nails were elaborately painted, and grown to an inch long. Even from here, Niodin could smell the complex of pheromones painted onto those claws, and feel the tiny Atlantean crystals embedded in the design pulling at her mind. Those crystals were involved in the powers of nearly all superhumans, the papers had recently revealed, but she knew even before she recognised the pattern who she was looking at here.

Mistress Panther, the arch controller. She kept a harem of beautiful women around her at all times, and any man who came within her reach was bound to regret it. She’d been captured no less than five times by teams of anti-super militiamen, but somehow they had always managed to accidentally release her without neutralising the crystals. She had fine tuned the chemicals on her claws so that if she so much as scratched a normal human, they would never be able to disobey her. Some stories said she could even control what a victim would see and hear, changing their reality to suit her purposes. Niodin wasn’t usually given to fear, but this woman creeped her out. She turned away from the booth and caught man-mountain Phil’s eye, at his accustomed position just inside the door.

The bouncer strode quickly towards her, fists clenching already in the hope he’d be needed. But before he arrived, the closest of Mistress Panther’s sex slaves grabbed Niodin’s hand and pulled her back. She struggled, dislodging a glass from the table as she tried to pull away, but more than one woman was holding her arm now. She barely felt the stab of pain as those ornamented nails dug into the back of her hand. She needed to get away from here, and quickly. She breathed a sigh of relief as Phil got close enough to ask what was wrong.

“You guys can’t see the signs? No touching!”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Mistress purred, “Niodin here just knocked a glass over and cut her hand. Could you fetch her a first-aid kit please, I offered to help but I think this cut is too large for the band-aids in my purse.”

Niodin smirked, unable to believe that anyone would fall for such an obvious lie. “Yeah, didn’t see the glass,” she said, “Can you get the kit from the back room?”

“You want to come back and let Bart take a look at it?” the big man suggested.

“No, I’m fine,” Niodin knew that Mistress wouldn’t get away with such an obvious trick, but it seemed sensible to play along for now, “These ladies have asked for my company, just bring the first aid kit and I’m sure they’ll look after me just fine.”