The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

3 months later

“Thank ya fa cawlin’ MetroCorp. This is Mona Lisa speakin’. How can I direct ya cawl?”

Mona Lisa sat at the reception desk in front of the MetroCorp office space. She had a finger to her earpiece as she spoke the same refrain she had been speaking for months. Over and over again. She smiled. She occasionally giggled and flirted with the customers. But Mona Lisa was bored.

Her boredom showed on her face. And it showed in her appearance. Mona Lisa’s hair had been styled down to a long ponytail. She’d found the highlights were permanent—a product of the pendant—but could be dyed to the same brown as her hair. Her makeup was minimal. Her was right—nothing couldn’t be—but was fully buttoned, exposing not an inch of cleavage or midriff. Her slacks were made of polyester, not leather, and her shoes were tasteful flats.

Even if Brad had made her what she was, Mona Lisa couldn’t let him win. She couldn’t let him take her away from everything she’d worked for. So when she had woken up with Brad, she grabbed her phone and her clothes and left the apartment. She had no right to call Clark and ask him for help. But she couldn’t think of any other options. Clark almost didn’t help her. But enough pleading and promises had convinced Mona Lisa’s boy buddy to help her out of a jam. Within the hour he had picked her up and brought her back to her place. And then the two hatched a plan.

While Mona Lisa couldn’t face her superiors in her current state, Clark could. He wasn’t a perfect spokesman. But while Mona Lisa had partied he had kept working on the presentation. He knew most of it by heart. With a few notes from Mona Lisa, Clark managed to pleasantly surprise Mona Lisa’s bosses and very unpleasantly surprise Brad. The workplace bully had planned to come in unopposed, only to find himself upstaged by his victim. In the end it wasn’t Mona Lisa or Brad who would run the division. It was plain old Clark.

With his new power in the company, Brad soon found himself shown the door. HR wasn’t willing to overlook complaints by a division head. With testimony from Mona Lisa confirming Brad’s workplace bullying, Brad was soon pressured to quietly resign and take his business somewhere else. Mona Lisa took some satisfaction in being able to strike back at the man who changed her. But some part of her was still sad to see the handsome devil go. To know she’d never see those burly arms and that tight butt ever again.

Clark was able to save Mona Lisa from an outright firing. Her current job wasn’t something she was interested in doing, nor a position she could hold down. But Clark pulled strings and got her a job at the reception desk. She brewed coffee, took calls, wrote notes, and generally acted as the whole office’s secretary. Initially she had hoped that this would mean more time off to pursue her new hobbies. But her Picstagram violated company policy. Her attempts to hang out with Big B were always met with disapproval by her friend-turned boss. And eventually Mona Lisa had to let everything but her new name fall aside.

That wasn’t to say that Mona Lisa didn’t have any fun. She still had the fiery libido that the pendant had given her. And there would always be guys—and a girl or two—who were up for an office affair. But Mona Lisa snuck around knowing that if she ever got caught, she’d be out on her ass.

So Mona Lisa took phone calls. She made coffee. She filed paperwork. She flirted with delivery guys. She sometimes got lucky enough to get a quick lunch room lay. She tried every way she could to get Clark to realize that things wouldn’t ever go back to normal. And that even if they did, he’d never be the man for her. And when the work day was over, she’d go home. She’d eat crappy food. She’d watch reality TV. She’d go to bed. And she’d get ready for the next day.

Mona Lisa chatted with the customer for a bit before cutting the call. She sighed and leaned back. Another day. Another dollar. It was all she had to look forward to. But it was better than the alternative.

Even if it was fawkin’ bawring.