The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘Neighborhood Watch’

(mc, f/f, nc)

DISCLAIMER: This material is for adults only; it contains explicit sexual imagery and non-consensual relationships. If you are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age in your area, do NOT continue.

* * *

‘Neighborhood Watch’

Part Three

* * *

May came, and with it, Yvonne.

Monique had meant to introduce her to Moira as soon as possible, but the first day when she’d picked her up at LaGuardia Yvonne had seemed too tired. And the second day, Monique had just wanted to spend time with Yvonne, to find out how her last quarter had been and what she’d been doing since school let out, who she had been hanging out with and how her father was and just to bask in her being here with her.

And on Wednesday, she took Yvonne to see the Statue of Liberty and Wall Street, and on Thursday they went to the Met, and on Friday Monique went back to work because three days off was all that they gave her.

So it was Saturday before she remembered with a heavy touch of guilt that she hadn’t spoken to Moira in almost a week.

Moira wasn’t bothered. “Oh, no worries. I figured you’d want to spend some time with your daughter. You didn’t go to the Natural History Museum yet, did you? I was really hoping to go to that one with you two. I want to see what Yvonne thinks of the T-Rex.”

So they picked up Moira from her apartment—it always looked so clean, and so stylish, it made Monique very conscious of the bare places on her own walls and the stack of old newspapers next to the couch—and spent Saturday afternoon at the Natural History Museum.

The weather was so nice they opted to walk back rather than take a cab. Yvonne had warmed to Moira over the course of the afternoon—an afternoon with Moira’s bouncy personality would warm the surface of Pluto—and was taking the opportunity to grill her.

“So you’re from Illinois?”

“Yep. Carlinville.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s just another little city. A town, really.”

“Why’d you leave?”

Monique gave her daughter a quick aggravated look, but Yvonne wasn’t paying attention.

“College. Went to Northwestern, in Chicago.”

“Really? When did you graduate?”

“Ninety seven.”

“So you’re... twenty-nine?”

“Yvonne!”

“No, that’s okay. Twenty-eight, actually. How old are you?”

“Eighteen, of course. I just graduated.”

“I thought that you were going to graduate in June.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m already done with school.”

“So I hear. Going to Princeton in the fall?”

“Yeah,” Yvonne said. “I got fifteen ten on my SATs.”

“That’s great,” Moira replied. “What do you want to do after college?”

“I don’t know. Maybe become a journalist.”

“Well, you have time to decide.”

They crossed the street and were back on their block. The quickly dropping sun glittered off windows behind them, casting long rectangles of light onto the ground.

“So why are you in New York?”

“Yvonne, stop pestering Moira,” Monique said.

“It’s okay,” Moira said. “By the way, have you tried that pizza place there on the corner? They’re cheap and greasy, but remarkably tasty for all that.”

“That’s good to know,” Monique replied. “It’s funny, but I haven’t tried any of the places right around here.”

“I’ve tried them all,” Moira laughed, waving her card at the door reader. “And in answer to your question, Yvonne, I came here because my company transferred me.”

“When?”

“Last fall.” Moira looked at Monique. “Stairs or elevator?”

“Elevator,” Monique said. “I think we’ve walked enough for today.”

Moira hit the button. “So what was your favorite part of the museum?” she asked Yvonne.

“The hall of gems and minerals.” The door opened, and Yvonne swung inside, one hand on the frame. “I mean, the dinosaurs were cool, but I’d already seen them in Godzilla, you know? But some of those gemstones were simply awesome. Tout à fait génial.”

“Uh, right,” Moira replied as the elevator lurched upwards. They all watched the numbered circles light in turn. “What about the Petra exhibit?”

The door opened, and Yvonne bounced out into the hall. “Oh, that was cool too. Hey, mom, gimme the keys—I need to use the facilities.”

Monique fished her housekey out of her purse, and handed it over. Yvonne darted up the stairs to the front door.

“So,” Moira asked, “dinner?”

Monique pursed her lips. “I... not tonight, Moira. I think we’re going to eat in.”

“Okay, that’s cool. Cheap-n-greasy pizza it is.”

“Now don’t do that,” Monique said, stopping at her open front door. “You’ll make me feel badly.”

Moira laughed brightly. “A thousand apologies, dear lady,” she said, and kissed Monique on both cheeks. “I shall take my leave, and call you anon.” She put a foot on the stairs, made a small wave, and headed up.

Monique watched her ascend the stairs until she got to her own apartment. Then she turned around, closing the door, and was surprised to find Yvonne standing right there in the hall.

“So what’s going on, mom?” Yvonne asked.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Is Moira your girlfriend?”

Monique blinked. “My what?”

“Your girlfriend! I saw how she was looking at you. If she’s not your girlfriend, she wants to be.”

Monique knew she should say something, but suddenly she felt very weak, and leaned back against the door.

“Yvonne, that’s not... I don’t...”

“Oh!” Yvonne said, light dawning in her expression. “You didn’t... you didn’t know? Oh... I’m sorry, mom, I didn’t mean—”

“You... really think that...?” Monique asked. “Moira?”

“Oh, totally,” Yvonne said. “She totally wants you. Her eyes light up whenever she looks at you.”

“And you think that I...?”

Yvonne swallowed. “Well, I mean, I thought... well, you and dad are splitsville, and you haven’t been dating anyone... I mean, a guy, in a long time, and... well, you know. This is New York and all...”

Monique felt short of breath. “I... we... we’re not dating. She’s not my... girlfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Okay,” Yvonne said, backing up. “That’s cool. And, you know, if you were, uh, more than that, that would be cool too. I mean, so you know.”

Monique stared at her, then turned on a wan smile. “Well, we’re not,” she said. “I, um, I’m going to go start dinner.”

“Sure thing,” Yvonne said, and watched her mom walk past her.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, it became apparent to Thrall J that Monique was avoiding Moira.

It called her every few days, trying to make plans. But Monique was always busy. Worse, she was lying about being busy—the surveillance cameras that had been installed in the halls and in her apartment showed that she was often at home, doing nothing, when she had begged off doing something with Moira.

The thrall would propose dinner, and Monique would claim fatigue, or work she had to do. It would propose a weekend outing, and Monique would say that she was busy or in a meeting or ‘already spoken for’. It would propose a quick after dinner drink and Monique would say she needed to go to bed early.

The thrall was perplexed, and unhappy. How would it acquire her, if she was cutting it out of her life? How could it obey?

Its controller reassured it that it was obeying as it should, but it couldn’t help but feel almost heartsick. Monique didn’t want to see it, and it was failing in its task.

It didn’t know what to do.

Why was Monique shoving Moira away?

Monique’s stonewalling left Thrall J with little to do. It had been reassigned from its office work to the task of acquiring Monique, a task which had suddenly became much more difficult. The surveillance, which it spent all day monitoring, might eventually allow for a simple kidnapping; but the Owner frowned on such risky and unsubtle methods.

So Thrall J sat around the apartment, and watched Monique, and every now and then called her and was turned away.

It felt terrible.

It had been tasked to acquire Monique Vereaux, and it had been directed to do so quietly, and it would always obey. But if it was unable to do so by befriending her—as now appeared to be the case—it would have to use other methods.

On Wednesday, it summoned the technical thrall again.

It showed up in paint-spattered coveralls and white painter’s cap. The paint was not artful—when not assisting acquisitions, Thrall V helped to maintain the Community.

“Enter,” Thrall J instructed it, and it did so. The two of them went into the living room.

“The acquisition of Monique Vereaux is not proceeding according to plan,” it stated. “For unknown reasons, she has ceased to ‘hang out’ with this thrall. Other methods of persuasion are required.”

“This thrall shall perform as instructed.”

“The thrall is to enter the Vereaux apartment and install subliminal message transmitters in the television and computer monitor.”

“It understands. When may it obey?”

“Monique Vereaux is at work for most of the day, but her daughter remains at home. This thrall will find a time when she will be out, and notify the installation thrall.”

“It understands. It will require at least half an hour to install each device.”

“It understands. Has the thrall other tasks assigned to it today?”

“It is aware of none before its assigned return to its station at eight p.m.”

“Very good.”

* * *

Yvonne slipped out of the door, and turned and locked it. When she turned around, she saw Moira coming up the stairs towards her.

“Hey, Yvonne,” Moira called cheerfully. “Going out?”

“Oh, uh, hi, Moira. Yeah, I have a pottery class down at the Y.” Yvonne shrugged. “Mom felt that I needed to get out more.”

“Nifty!” Moira stopped on the landing. “Three to four?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cool! Have fun.” Moira smiled, and started back up the stairs again.

“Uh, Moira, wait...”

She paused mid-step, and turned. “Yeah?”

Yvonne licked her lips. She felt badly that her mom was avoiding Moira, but how could she tell Moira without, well, without telling her?

“Uh... nothing.”

Moira flashed a puzzled look, then smiled. She was so cheerful, all the time. “Well, okay. Bye Yvonne!”

“Yeah, bye.” Yvonne watched her climb the stairs, then shrugged and headed down to the front door.

* * *

Monique got home at seven thirty.

The damn Russians had finally decided that they wanted to have a say, despite the fact that they barely had a presence in the hemisphere, and of course the Americans had stiffened up and suddenly had to ‘get authorization’ to release the data—herd migration data!—and the whole project had ground to a halt in a flurry of memos.

To Hell with all other countries anyway.

And to Hell with that prick Christopher. They had the budget for more people, but he wanted to show the Home Office what he could do—which translated to mean how hard he could drive his people. Asshole.

Monique barely got to see her daughter at all during the week.

She pulled her keys from her purse, and fumbled them to the floor. The clatter of them as they hit the floor was almost enough to make her cry.

The door opened.

“Mom!” Yvonne stepped out for a hug. “You’re late.”

“Oh, cherie, such a day I’ve had...”

“I made dinner,” Yvonne said. “I’ll go heat it back up.”

Monique’s eyes did fill with water, then, but Yvonne had turned around and didn’t see, and by the time Monique had put down her valise and slipped out of her shoes, they were dry again.

Dinner was fettuccini with fresh vegetables. Although the pasta was a bit gummy from sitting around, to Monique it tasted fantastic. Yvonne told her about her pottery class, and the people she saw throwing paint on an old woman in a fur coat, and the homeless man whose sign requested spare change for beer.

Monique didn’t talk much about her day.

“It’s nice,” she finally said, trailing her fork on her empty plate, “that you are enjoying New York so much.”

“Are you kidding? This place is the best. I really like it here.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you. Only I have been so busy at work...”

Yvonne didn’t reply to that. She finished off the Beaujolais in her glass.

“Oh, uh, I also ran into Moira today,” she added as she put the glass down.

“You did?”

“Yeah. She’s, uh, she’d like to do something with us this weekend. We aren’t doing anything, are we?”

Monique sighed. “I don’t know. I may have to work, so it is hard to make plans...”

“Mom, why are you still avoiding her?”

“I’m not avoiding her. It’s just...”

“Just what? Don’t tell me that you are busy. Mom, she’s a neat person. And you liked having her as a friend. You don’t have to avoid her, just because...”

“That’s enough, Yvonne,” Monique snapped. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Yvonne set her lower lip petulantly. “Sure.”

“Look, go see if Gilmore Girls is on. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

“Sure.”

They rose from the table, Yvonne going into the living room and Monique into the kitchen. Monique sighed, turning on the water in the sink, and began rinsing off the plates.

Yvonne dropped into the couch, retrieved the remote from the coffee table, replaced it with her feet, and flipped the television on.

“Hey, mom?” she called.

“Yes?”

“Come here a sec, would’ja?”

Monique frowned wryly. That was exactly how Rick said it. ‘Come here a sec, would’ja’. Yvonne even gave it the same sort of Lower Ontario flavor. She put down the scrub brush.

“What is it?” she asked, walking up behind the sofa.

“Does the television seem flickery to you?”

* * *

Thrall V turned a knob on the black control box it held. Together, it and Thrall J watched the monitor.

* * *

“No, it seems fine,” Monique replied.

Yvonne shook her head. “Yeah, I guess it does. Must have just been warming up.”

“Perhaps. And take your feet off the table.”

Yvonne sighed dramatically, and pulled her feet back.

“Yvonne...”

“What?”

Monique ran a hand across her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry, Yvonne. I’m being... difficult. It’s just my work. Thank you for making dinner.”

Yvonne looked up at her. “It’s okay, mom. I just want you to be happy.”

“And I, you, cherie.”

“Can I put my feet on the table, then?”

“No.”

* * *

“The transmitters have been successfully installed,” the thrall stated, handing the black box to Thrall J. “Here is the control module. The thrall has received programming on its use?”

Thrall J considered the device in its hand, relaxing its mind, and images of its use floated up. “It has.”

“Does the acquisition thrall have further use for this thrall?”

“No.”

“Then this thrall shall return to the Community.”

It left the apartment without speaking further.

Thrall J watched on the monitor as Yvonne stared at the screen. Five minutes later, her mother joined her at the other end of the sofa. Yvonne pointed at the screen suddenly, and said something in French. The women giggled.

Thrall J looked at the control module, and began typing.

“I miss Moira.”

“I trust Moira.”

“I want to spend time with Moira.”

“I believe what Moira tells me.”

The thrall considered the messages.

Then it hit ‘Send’.

* * *

Nothing happened right away, but the thrall was prepared for that.

It felt slightly better, knowing that it was doing something, but it still hurt when it called Monique on Friday and was told that she was too busy to get together that weekend. It informed her that she was spending too much time at work, and not enough with her friends—Monique had sighed, and agreed, but still was unwilling to set up plans.

So the thrall waited.

Weekdays, when Monique was away at work—and despite what they said in the papers, bugging the United Nations would not have been an easy task—the thrall would review the surveillance videos, and go over Monique’s schedule. A kidnapping was still a possibility, although a remote one, and it had to remain abreast of Monique’s daily schedule.

Monday morning, it was sitting at the kitchen table with an open folder and a series of calendar pages, making notes, when the doorbell rang.

Surprised, it debated not answering, for it was supposed to be “at work”. But it had enough material present to be plausibly working at home, so it walked to the door and peered through the peephole.

It was Yvonne Vereaux.

The thrall stepped back from the door. What was she doing here?

It realized.

She watched the television, too. Much more than her mother did.

It flipped back the deadbolt and opened the door.

“Yvonne,” it said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi,” Yvonne said. She was in a t-shirt, Doc Martins, and a knee-length skirt; the t-shirt proclaimed her allegiance to Veruca Salt. “I didn’t know if you’d be home. Uh... are you busy?”

“No, not really,” the thrall replied. “Please, come on in.”

It stepped back as Yvonne walked into the apartment. She had never been here, and looked around, taking in the sleek Scandinavian furniture and the various objets d’art placed around the apartment.

Thrall J realized it had left Monique Vereaux’s schedule lying on the kitchen table. It walked past Yvonne, slid the papers into the folder, and snapped it closed.

“What’s that?” Yvonne asked, as it walked back to where she was standing.

“Work,” the thrall replied. “I get to work from home some days. You want a drink?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Okay. Well, let me go put this in my office; why don’t you have a seat out here?”

“You have an office?”

The thrall laughed. “Sure. My spare bedroom doesn’t have a daughter sleeping in it.”

“Oh, right.” Yvonne smiled at her; the smile seemed a little fragile. The thrall wondered what was going on. She seemed to be here with a purpose, rather than simply ‘missing Moira’ as she had been programmed to.

It strode back to the office, slid the folder into the filing cabinet, and closed and locked it. Looking down the hall, it saw that Yvonne had seated herself, and ducked its head back in.

It took a deep breath, held it in, and slowly let it back out. Then it put its smile back on.

* * *

“Okay,” Moira said brightly, walking back out into the living room, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Yvonne squished her lips together, and looked out the window. “Well,” she said, “I know that you and my mom haven’t... haven’t been spending a lot of time together recently. And, uh... that’s kind of my fault.”

Moira sat down in the black leather easy chair at the end of the sofa. “It is? How’s that?”

“Well...” Yvonne looked back at Moira and adopted a hangdog expression. “I kind of told her that you were a lesbian.”

Moira looked at her incredulously. “You did?”

“Well, it was pretty obvious, you know, the way you kept staring at her, and the look in your eyes, and no one kisses anyone on the cheeks in America...” Yvonne took a breath. “You, uh, you are a lesbian, right?”

Moira licked her lips, but said nothing.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I’m really sorry that I screwed things up for you, but she’s my mom, and she has the right to know, and I’m sorry but I thought she did know and that she and you were... you know.”

Moira just stared at her.

“Well? Say something,” Yvonne demanded.

“I... your mother and I were just friends. Are just friends. And it’s none of your business, but... yes, I am a lesbian.” Moira put a finger to her lips. “But why is she avoiding me?”

“Because she’s stupid,” Yvonne said. “And because she’s afraid of how she feels about you. Because my mom’s not a lesbian—I’m proof of that—and if she is attracted to you, and she is, that messes with her whole sense of who she is.” Yvonne rolled her eyes. “So she’s afraid of you.”

Leaning back in the chair, Moira sagged. “I didn’t... I didn’t know that I... scared her. I just want to be her friend. I just like... being with her.”

Yvonne nodded. “Well. I, um, I’ll talk to her. See if I can get her to believe that you’re not going to just jump on her and tear her clothes off. I miss hanging out with you,” she blurted.

Moira didn’t reply, just looked at the glass top coffee table. There was a vase on it, with yellow tulips.

The room was quiet for a moment.

“Um,” Yvonne said. “I have another question for you.”

“Yes?” Moira said pleasantly, but didn’t shift her gaze from the tulips.

“You’re a lesbian, right?”

“Yes.”

“When did you know?”

* * *

The thrall’s eyes rolled up to look at Yvonne, and it found herself being stared at intently. It let Yvonne’s eyes catch its gaze, hooked itself on them.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I... well, when did you know that you liked girls, instead of boys?”

“Pretty early,” it replied. “High school. Sophomore year. Why?”

“I...” Yvonne licked her lips. “I think I might be... be one too.”

“Oh.”

“But I don’t know. I mean, I think I am. But... I always thought that my feelings were just... you know, natural. Wanting to be friends. But now... I don’t know, I don’t just like boys, that way. And girls... how can I know?”

“Your feelings are natural, Yvonne, whatever they are.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

And then Thrall J had an idea.

“I’ll tell you what I can do,” it said. “I have a friend who’s a sex therapist. I’ll call her, have her come talk to you.”

“I don’t want my mom to know.”

“I’ll have her come here. During the day. You can come over and talk to her, and your mom won’t ever have to find out.”

Yvonne looked out the window.

“Don’t you trust me?” it prodded.

“I do trust you,” Yvonne breathed. She looked back at Moira.

“So should I call my friend?” it asked.

“That would be nice,” Yvonne said.

* * *

END ‘Neighborhood Watch’

Part Three