The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

PART 7

The clicking of her patent black heels along the sidewalk was a bit more frantic than it should have been, the pace a bit too hurried. Jennifer forced herself to stop midway between cab and office building, put her hand to the reassuring bulge in her jacket pocket, and breathed in.

It was a measure of her unease with both herself and her circumstances that she was carrying a weapon so early in the insertion. The dreams had rattled her, had rendered her once-assured sense of self shaky and insecure. And the gun, as primitive as it would sound if she mentioned it to her superiors, was the stitch that retained her integral sense of control. “And I must have control,” she thought to herself. “I must. Or I might as well just march into Ms. Taxton’s office and tell her why I’m there.”

There. That felt a bit better. A final sigh, and she measured the hundred or so steps to the HSA in more confident, long-legged strides.

Within the HSA, however, the gun was not a comforting thought.

Tristen was herself only half-dressed when the paper detailing this development was pushed across her nightstand by a bodyhose-clad serving girl. She snatched it angrily it first, resentful of having to divert her attention from the squirming brown body beneath her for even a moment. She held the notice as a debutante might, scanning it quickly, while idling a whippet-like riding crop through the air with her free hand.

With every twirl of the crop, the woman atop the room’s opulent centerpiece (a rose-colored featherbed, soft as silk between the enclosing boards’ rusty shackles) tensed her pretty ass in fear. Caroline had felt the implement along her thighs and rump for the better part of the hour, and though Tristen had ordered her into a pair of girlish white tights and Mary Janes before this “session”, they protected more against welts than hurt. Thirty minutes ago, she had cum at Tristen’s ministrations. That had made her mistress angry, and now Caroline welcomed the notice and any reprieve it carried.

And the reprieve was lasting a surprisingly long time. Caroline tried to see her new mistress from her position, but it was difficult, as visibility had certainly not been a goal of her bondage. She had been tied facedown, with just enough give in the chains around her ankles to draw and thrust her silken legs sexily as blows were delivered. She also had precious little maneuverability in her arms or naked torso, as the former were stringently cuffed and the latter uplifted on a mass of pillows. This last, she discovered early on, was to provide lift to her bottom, to simulate the posture of a petulant schoolgirl mounted across Father’s lap. Only her father had never touched her like that between spankings.

This said, Caroline could really follow Tristen’s movements only with her head, and that she dared move little. So when Tristen spat a string of shrill vulgarities (“The little bitch!! The whore, the uptight little skank!!...oh, her tight little chute will know pain...the slut will beg!!!") the bound and strapped woman could only guess at the meaning. Somehow, something had gone awry. And as she heard the stocking feet of her mistress shuffle rapidly away, Caroline wondered whether this would be better for her. Or worse.

“We will use this to our advantage,” Allison snapped. “Quickly! How much time?”

Tristen, still flushed from the dash there, was nearly the shade of her barely-applied costume. Lavender stockings adorned her legs, held fast during her run by a garter belt of rich purple. Her pussy was concealed, barely, by semi-sheer panties of the same hue. Above that, she was completely nude, and the combination of large pink breasts and athletic glow was distracting Ms. Taxton even during this moment of semi-crisis. But barely.

Calculations spun through her mind in the generic sort of way that they always did when a problem involved a tactical solution. She was brilliant when put under the spotlight; it had made her what she was today, and rendered nearly all business problems juvenile to her. All, save for those which involved a significant human element. Emotion, lust, psychoses, irrationality, control, submission: each of these was a wild card, capable of besting even her if circumstances turned sour. It was the rush of pursuing and risking these x-factors that had established this lifestyle so long ago. And she would cling to it voraciously.

She looked up sharply at her henchwoman, awaiting her reply. Two breaths too long, but Tristen answered wide-eyed: “Ten minutes.”

“First, you will need to dress. Then proceed to the second floor for an interception. This is what you will need to say...”

“Have I ever been what?” Jennifer was aghast.

“Drug tested. Really, Jen,” Tristen whispered, though the corridor was otherwise empty. “you’re acting as though you’ve never worked for a corporation.” She took her hand quickly. “I don’t know about your old job, but this happens here all the time. Got me twice last month.”

Jennifer narrowed her eyes...a coincidence, or...? Well, she had heard about corporate drug tests. Since the last Supreme Court case, companies had been doing them all the time. “But aren’t these supposed to be random?” she asked a bit shakily. “I’ve only been here a week!”

“Luck of the draw, dear,” Tristen smiled reassuringly. “Everybody’s gotta have an escort.” She released her hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Panic started to set in. Jennifer’s entire cover could be blown. Everything, because she felt insecure! Because of dreams!

And it was at the thought of those dreams, Jennifer suddenly felt a sensation in her groin. “Oh, God!” she thought, “God, not now.”

Tristen had turned to lead the way past the rows of cubicles to the elevator, but if she had not, she would have seen Jennifer, suddenly down on one blue stockinged knee, a hand on the wall to steady herself, and the other frantically covering her midsection. “Oh, God, please, God, no, why now? So humiliating...Please don’t turn around...please, please...” she thought, over and over. Beneath her navy suit, she felt sensations that she had experienced only two times before: such sexual excitement that it was as if she had three lovers tending her. Her nipples, behind the black silk of her camisole, pushed and rubbed and were rewarded with the silken back-and-forth rubbing of the lingerie. The undersides of her breasts felt so sensitive that the sway of her movement towards the floor would be swelling them with arousal. The arches of her feet, still in shoes and wrapped in nylon, felt as though they were being licked and kissed by a lover. Even her knees, both atop and behind, were suddenly rendered infinitely more sensitive to the soft, teasing texture of her dark blue pantyhose.

But none of that had driven her to the ground. Beneath her short, tapered skirt, and beneath the darker panty top of her hose, her womanhood throbbed and hummed as if she was being fucked by a stallion. She could almost feel kicks to her pleasure center, and she had never been so enslaved to the throes of her body. She bit her lip to contain moans that would alert the entire building. Tears filled her eyes as she kneeled, such was her desire for...anything...anything to make it...stop?

Tristen continued to walk, and in Jennifer’s mind, she knew it had been mere seconds as opposed to the hours her body suggested. Still the feelings dominated her, kept her from moving, from standing. She could feel herself losing to the mounting orgasm within, sensed that even as she knelt, there in the corridor, that her hose were growing stained with girl cum. The moan that was escaping her lips could not be held back; her jaw clenched and fought the signal of her body’s relish, lest Tristen, now just perhaps twelve feet away, would hear.

Then, as suddenly as it had arrived...it vanished.

It was just gone. Jennifer Grey was now just a woman, kneeling on an office floor, flushed and perspiring. For no apparent reason.

It was then, of course, that Tristen turned: “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” She rushed over, kneeling quickly to stroke Jennifer’s hair. “What happened?” and then, “Look, it’s not that big a deal!” Still stroking: “What, did you smoke pot or something?”

Jennifer knelt there a moment, uncomprehending, before dragging herself back. “What?”

“Look, we invest in pharmaceuticals. The HSA understands a mistake now and then. It won’t get you up the corporate ladder, but hey, just don’t make a habit out of it.” She smiled down at Jennifer, an encouraging smile.

“N-no. I...I just need to get my footing. Can you help me up?”

Tristen reached down to oblige, pulling the taller woman up, tottering on her high heels. As she stood, Jennifer could feel her legs shake, could feel her juices from where they’d slid down her thighs, wetting legs and nylons alike. She could also still feel the weapon, pocketed subtly in her jacket. “Look,” she addressed Tristen levelly, “I just need to use the restroom. Is there one nearby?”

“Two cubicles to your left, but...” she hesitated, looking Jennifer’s disheveled suit over once, “But I’m really not supposed to let you go off alone...”

No. This might be her last chance. “Please, I’m just a little shaken up. Please, Tristen. Just understand. I’ll be out in two seconds; you can time me.” She smiled weakly, to press the point.

Tristen pulled her stockinged foot in and out of her purple shoe nervously. Finally, “Well...okay. But you need to hurry. And I’ll be right outside the door.”

“Thanks,” Jennifer said earnestly, and rushed into the ladies room while Tristen took up a position outside. She was into a stall and preparing in two seconds flat. The gun was miniscule, as most of the Agency’s models were, and after dissecting both barrel and handle (in under thirty seconds) each component was dropped into the toilet for flushing. As the commode struggled with it’s unusual cargo, she attended to the mess in her pantyhose. She had never worn panties, always figuring that between cotton modesty panel and elastic form control, most hose made them redundant. “But maybe I should start,” she thought angrily. Quickly she wiped the remnants of her ordeal clean, not devoting the now-precious seconds to contemplating the source. She could think about that later. Lastly, she tended to her vagina, padding it dry, and stifling the small, cute noises that self-touching usually brought on.

A quick glance at her watch: 1 minute, 15 seconds. Not bad.

“See?” she started, swinging open the door, “I told—”

It was not Tristen awaiting her outside. “Ms. Grey? Ms. Grey, we’ll have to ask you to come with us.” Two women, both beautiful: one a tall blonde in a soft dark suit and black tights and loafers; long hair cascaded alongside her face, past a mouth that was grimly compressed. The other was an African-American, one of the first that Jennifer had seen here; her outfit left no doubt as to her duties: a white uniform with black buttons, complemented with white cotton tights and comfortable, black flats. But the white cap and red emblem on the nametag confirmed it. A nurse...and security?

She was a bit startled, but, “Yes...yes, of course. Lead the way.” They did, one before her and one after, all the way to the elevator.

The elevator ride had been a bit silent, a bit uncomfortable, but eventually they reached their destination.

The clinic was unoccupied -a surprising number of the HSA’s facilities were, but an equal number were overcrowded- and Jennifer supposed that the test was to be privately administered. It spanned at least a hundred square feet, and carried on its walls and shelves a number of medical instruments and charts. Like much of the HSA, it had a sterile, surgical feel, with most of its walls and floors made of aluminum, but here, at least, the feeling was not out of place.

For the first time in their encounter, the tall blonde in black spoke. “Ms. Grey, I am here as an additional witness to the procedure, to ensure that all goes as it should. You may look upon my presence here as a comfort if you like.”

Jennifer stepped into the room, smiling unsteadily. “Okay.”

She continued. “My name is Ms. Green. You are here for a medical test to ensure that you are up to the HSA’s code.” She pulled her hands behind her back and paced over to take a position in the corner. “I won’t lie to you. That performance with the bathroom bit looked a little suspicious.”

Jennifer shifted in her heels quietly, not knowing what to say.

The nurse moved over to her, her white tights rasping together between what must be muscular thighs (there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her!). “Don’t mind Ms. Green, honey. You just do as I ask and you’ll be back to the daily grind in no time.” She handed Jennifer a scrunchie. “Pull your hair back with this. It’s not quite the drug test you’re used to.” She patted the exam table a couple of times, and Jennifer hopped up, crossing her legs before binding her hair.

The nurse moved along behind her and began tugging on her jacket from the shoulders. “Let’s get this off of you first.”

Jennifer shrugged out of her jacket, suddenly very conscious of how wet the back of her soft, white blouse might be.

“Yes, honey, that’s the girl.” She harumphed loudly, then appeared to be waiting for something, but Jennifer didn’t know what. “Honey? You should know what’s next...”

“Oh! Oh, right, sorry. It’s been awhile since my last visit.” Jennifer moved her fingers hurriedly to the buttons of her blouse. This was always so awkward. She remembered her first physical with the Agency, and how embarrassed she had become, her straight out of college, when her physician was an older man. Soon she was down to her black camisole, skirt, hose, and shoes, the blouse and jacket having been retrieved by Ms. Green and hung over a chair.

Ms. Green, seemingly at greater ease now, sat at a chair, one shiny tighted leg crossed over another, and let her shoe dangle as she watched the procedure.

Cold metal suddenly moved to her left breast, as the nurse applied the stethoscope. “Breath for me now, honey. Deep breaths.”

Still gasping a little from the instrument, even through the camisole, Jennifer breathed in and out, slowly. “Again,” said the nurse, as she shuffled to the other side of her breast. “Again,” she repeated, as the stethoscope found its way just under her firmness, hardening her nipple with its frigid touch.

“Again, honey. I can’t get you all the way.” Jennifer yiped as the tool suddenly came up to her tit from below; the nurse had stuffed her hand beneath her camisole! “Oh, be calm, dear. I do this all the time.” She smile pleasantly. “Although it usually doesn’t get quite this reaction.” Jennifer looked to see that both of her nipples were budded, tips pressing awkwardly outward. She reddened. For some reason, this always happened to her. From her position in the chair, Ms. Green leaned forward a bit, watching intently. Her presence was anything but “a comfort”.

“Got it.” She withdrew the instrument, put it away, and opened a drawer. “Now, a little blood work. Don’t be scared, honey,” she laughed.

“I’m not scared,” Jennifer snapped. This was getting a little patronizing.

“Honey, I’m gonna give you this sticker right in the bottom, okay? It’s easier that way.”

“O-okay.” Jennifer slid off of the table.

“Over here, Sugar.” The nurse motioned to join her at the opposite end of the examining table. Then she put her hands on the table, miming a “bend over” position that would put her ass right in the face of Ms. Green!

“Can’t we do this over here? I mean, I don’t think Ms. Green wants to see that much of me.”

“Ms. Grey,” Ms. Green spoke warning, “You will do as you are instructed. We are all professionals here.”

No choice, then. She could balk some more, but to what end? More suspicion from Ms. Green? Slowly, almost shuffling her feet in those high, black heels, Jennifer joined the nurse at the tableside, placing her hands about a foot apart. She started to slip her shoes off, noting that the nurse’s height was nothing like hers, but she was stopped.

“Leave them on.”

“What?”

“I’m telling you, Ms. Grey, to do as you are instructed and to do nothing else until. Leave your high heels on.” The voice from behind her was stern, but it was also shaky, almost breathy. Jennifer acquiesced, also making no move to stop the nurse as her skirt’s zipper was lowered, and the garment slid quickly down her legs and to the floor.

“My, dear,” said the nurse, and suddenly Jennifer felt fingers on her stockinged thighs, high on them, nearly too high. “What have you been doing today? Boyfriend?” One finger traced a line upwards, leaving her flesh to goosebump beneath the hose.

Jennifer was about to turn around (“This is too far,” she thought) but before she could move, she felt a pair of hands at the waistband of her nylons, yanking them down to bind her thighs, and then, instantly thereafter, the sting of a needle in her butt.

The next couple of moments were nearly lost to her. She seemed to be becoming very warm, and little lights danced moth-like before her eyes. She could hear the nurse’s voice as though from behind a wall: “There, there, sweetie, there, there. It happens all the time, just a little bit faint.” No...something was wrong...Jennifer tossed her head a bit, tried to shake off...something...and nearly toppled over in the process, her balance upset by the skirt around her ankles.

“Oops! You almost fell, there pumpkin. Ms. Green, why don’t you come help me with her.” Each arm was clutched, and Jennifer seemed to be hovering towards the lights on the ceiling, all the white lights. Pretty, but they nearly made her ill.

Then, plop, onto solid ground again. “Just a few more tests, honey, then back to work with you.” The black woman moved in front of her, then around her, to the left and then circled to the right. Ms. Green was stable though, steady, bent to pull her skirt from where it was dangling off of an ankle. Her shoe nearly slipped too, but nope, saved by Ms. Green, slipped back onto her stocking foot. Didn’t want it to fall, long way down from the...

Table. She was on a different table, now. “Lie down, pretty. Lie down and relax. Just a few more tests.” The nurse’s hand between her breasts pushed her -not hard- and she settled down to the table. Yes, that felt better. Maybe if she...slept...no, not quite right for some reason. “Honey, you just lie back. Ms. Green and I are gonna do all the work from here on out.”

She felt hands at her ankles then, lifting them from the table. She tried to pull them away, but they would not move the way she wanted them to. “Lie still, bitch.” The rebuke was from Ms. Green, Ms. Green who had her ankles, silky smooth in blue stockings, lifting them. Something not right...

“Take off those ridiculous shoes, Green, or she won’t fit in the stirrups.” The nurse. Stirrups.

“Fine. But have you ever seen calves like these?” There was a sudden wetness along the back of her nyloned calf, a line being drawn? More tests? She smiled. Tickles. “See? Taste her. She enjoys it.”

There was a soft sound as she lost her shoes, and suddenly her feet weren’t held with fingers, but with...it was hard to say...something unyielding, around her ankles. Cold.

Her nylons were rolled down to her knees, then. There was someone screaming in the back of her head, but she couldn’t make out what was being said. More and more she was encircled: Nurse, Green, Nurse, Green, always measuring, touching, doctor stuff. Finally: “She’ll be coming out in about ten minutes. Do you think we have time?”

The nurse: “Yes.”

“Cuff her.”

Cuff? Wait...Jennifer...suddenly...understood...

“Danger.”

Danger, said the voice. You should not be here.

Jennifer Grey got very, very scared just then, just as the pair of handcuffs was slipped onto her wrists. With no thought, no coordination, she started trying to thrash about, make noises.

“She’s with us. Hurry.”

She was handled like a baby. She had no fine motor control. She was in very, very grave danger. She tried to speak, to demand her release, but her tongue would not move.

Her eyes worked the room. Same room. She was trapped though, straps around her stocking feet and cuffs around her hands. Where was her skirt?!?

“She’s panicking! Do something, Green. Blindfold her.”

It must have already been in the works, because in seconds, a strip of black descended across her eyes. Black. She shook her head, or tried, but it just slid lazily about, more under gravity’s control than her own.

She could still hear. From in front of her, and down:

“Look at her. Have you ever seen anything so sweet? She’s flowing like a fountain.”

And feel.

God, could she feel.

And as the bumpy wet tongue touched what she knew to be her protruding clitoris, she learned that she could also make sounds. Exactly the kind they wanted her to make.