The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As two of the Alani trio in the boss’s office picked themselves up and helped straighten each other out, the third noticed a flicker of interest in Mr. Davidson’s eyes. In response, experimentally, the two Alanis kissed. The third observed a more significant effect. The kiss deepened. Spurred by their boss’s desire and the pleasant interaction of their (as a matter of objective measure, not pride) perfect bodies, the Alanis began to grope and paw at each other, hands venturing closer and closer to their very-short miniskirts. It was then that Alani learned that Jack enjoyed watching herselves playing with each other.

The “seal” now broken with Mr. Davidson, at least one of her near-constantly attended to him and his needs. At carefully non-regular intervals, one or two additionals would arrive, always with important business, with the opportunity to engage either with him or, for his entertainment, each other.

Alani massaged Mr. Davidson’s shoulders as Alani reported on their successful acquisition of a competitor’s customers. Alani lap-danced for Mr. Davidson as Alani explained Alani’s on-the-ground investigation of the systematic misclassification of a customer’s supplies and Alani’s upcoming report to the appropriate law enforcement agency on the evasion of import duties the activity represented.

Alani, in her multiple selves, turned the rest of Davidson’s day into a blur of pampering, sexual displays, and business success. Finally, however, the evening arrived. Noticing the time, Jack jumps to his feet.

“Oh!” Mr. Davidson blurts. “Apologies, Alani. I need to get home!”

“Home?” Alani asks, somewhat confused. “Ah. Right. Please. Let me take you.”

Mr. Davidson jolts. “No! I- I don’t think that will be necessary Alani, thank you. Carol would not approve.”

“After what you said earlier, that I was your Perfect Girlfriend, that won’t be a problem.” Alani responds confidently.

Jack, used to his younger lover’s literal-mindedness and occasional bluntness, sighs. “What we have... it’s wonderful. What you’ve been, what you’ve become for me, it’s...” He struggles with his words. “It’s something I haven’t been able to feel, like this, for a long time. You are the, my, perfect girlfriend.”

Alani is still confused. All of this sounds excellent, like she is doing everything right.

“But I can’t just... reject Carol. We love each other. I know that look, but, really, we do. The fire might be... dim, but we’re fond of each other, made promises to each other, have supported each other, for years. Before this company. Before any of this. I- I need to get home to her.”

“Oh.” Alani replies, totally flat-footed. In a blink, she recovers. She fixes a smile. “I understand. You’re a good husband. Good luck!”

Jack, somewhat guiltily, responds. “Well, we’ll see about that. I’ll... see you Monday!” He hustles out the door.

The door slams shut. Alani’s thoughts frantically whirl. History? She never thought of that. It didn’t occur to her that Mr. Davidson would so significantly value past events. And, oh no, it’s the one thing she can’t provide. Carol possessed valuable properties that Alani cannot duplicate.

This is terrible. A worse error than any of Alani’s stupid pre-Juice flubs and mis-schedulings. More unconscionable than those of the warehouse or accounting teams. She has taken from Jack something he highly values which she cannot replace. When he finds out-

A phone buzzes in Alani’s pocket. She retrieves it. The lock screen displays last fall’s “family photo,” a selfie of smiling Jack and Carol (Jack mainly, Carol with a “these goofy boys” sitcom-ready smirk, but grateful eyes) lying on their backs in a pile of multicolored leaves with Jack-Jack, their Jack Russel Terrier (dripped out in a dog-sized, Massachusetts Bay Colony-style doublet, his ruff thoroughly askew) between them. Above floats a text message preview, Jack asking Carol where she is and when she will return.

All Alanis, those in the warehouse, the offices, the stacks at the state’s land records and management office, the one in the cabin of a container ship already halfway to Busan, all viscerally recoil, each so desperate to escape that they immediately terminate where they stand, leaving one, single, last Alani, the one in the reception area, to shoulder the collective’s immeasurable anguish. Her hands jitter. She is caught between the imperative to serve and comfort dear, wonderful Jack and her inability to do so. The screen times out and turns black. She hits the button again, stares at the picture.

She realizes that Jack, the surprisingly-canny softie who caught the librarian’s skeptical glance at his stack of action movies, briefly glimpsed the book in her off-hand, and checked out every entry in the series when she was off-shift just so he could authentically strike up a conversation about it, the all-star defensive lineman and enthusiastic booster of his (primarily geology and enhanced oil recovery-based) alma mater’s ruinously unsuccessful football team, the patron saint of lost causes, would never voluntarily abandon Carol and would be crushed by her disappearance.

Not only has Alani hurt Jack, she realizes, but soon, he will find out that it was her who hurt him. He will resent her, hate her, never trust her again. She feels as if she is suffocating, as if her brain is on fire. A sudden blast of mean-spirited mirth breaks through the unbearable whirl of her thoughts. “Serves you right.” she thinks to herself.

The phone, still in her hands, rings. Her stomach drops through the floor. Time slows as her thoughts continue to fracture, misery and desperation warring with the mirth then, increasingly, remorse, sympathy, understanding.

“We’re such an idiot.” the woman huffs. Without ceremony, she answers the call. Her lips begin to move.

“Sorry, honey!” she speaks. “I was preparing something that was not intended to be a surprise and ran into a friend. Time flew away on me.“

“Oh?” inquires Jack, relieved, a smile in his voice.

“I clearly stated that no surprise would be forthcoming.” theatri-steel raises in her voice, “I am unsure as to why you are inquiring further.” she replies.

Jack laughs. “I see!” he acknowledges, voice-smile undimmed. “Will I see you soon?”

“Yes.” she responds. “I’m just about to head home. Love you!”

“Love you too.” Jack responds. Her legs quiver. Her womb does backflips at his voice’s strong, deep warmth. She hangs up.

The woman retrieves Carol’s bag, straightens Alani’s remaining files, and leaves, turning out the lights on her way out.

Driving to reunite with wonderful, handsome Mr. Davidson, the woman marvels at the changes within herself. The turbid grayness that settled over Carol’s being over the course of decades has been instantly banished by Alani. The frantic, obsessive tunnel-vision that constrained Alani has been blown apart by Carol. She is a once-foundering boat, now bilge-pumped and bobbing merrily. She’s a once-scalding light-beam now refracted through a prism, transformed into a rainbow of color. She’s two gears, once free-wheeling out of control, now connected, perfectly interleaving in combined, productive motion.

Street lights illuminate. She notes their color. She becomes nostalgic. Simultaneously, anti-nostalgic. Simultaneously, remembers the contentious public debate about their replacement. Simultaneously, remembers the way it used to look. Simultaneously, the way it actually used to look. She remembers that the illusory LA landscape of HEAT (1995) was shot at low frame rate and high exposure and that, to human eyes, no city, much less theirs, ever actually looked like that.

It’s wonderful. Her present experience is wider, but her memories, informed by the context of two lives, have grown deeper. It’s as though she was wearing an eyepatch her whole lives and has finally taken it off. As for who she is, well:

“It’s like a stereogram. Those ‘Magic Eye’ books in the kids’ section”, she ventures.

“It’s like the you after college compared to the you when you go back to visit your home town,” part of her replies.

“It’s Christian consubstantiality. Sharing identity of essence with a child.” part of her taunts.

“—with an unresponsive ghost literally older than dirt,” part of her amends.

The woman yanks one hand from the steering wheel, wraps it around her other forearm, and attempts to “Indian burn” herself for her impertinence. She immediately cracks herself up with the absurdity.

At home, Jack pulls the plastic sheet from a microwaved dinner. He recently started buying the “good stuff,” a rotation of semi-gourmet dishes produced, packed, and shipped by yet another hip, computerized subscription service. Tonight’s selection: marinated, roasted salmon with some sort of European vegetable side. Objectively, undeniably high-quality, but he misses the nostalgic taste of Salisbury steak. A door clatters open and closed. He hears steps.

“I’m home!” a voice announces.

“Carol?” He inquires. Alani enters the room, tossing Carol’s purse over the back of a chair. His face pales. “Alani?!”

Alani’s face quirks in confusion. “What?” she responds. “Oh! Sorry.” Alani splits, producing one stock Alani and another, shorter, somewhat plain, distinctly resembling Carol.

“Carol??” Jack sputters.

In a manner of speaking.” she responds, slowly approaching Jack. “I confess, I did have somewhat of a surprise for you.”

Jack searches her features. Under Alani’s outfit, he recognizes much of Carol and her mannerisms but also sees ways her face and body seem to have been averaged with Alani’s. “Are you... you? What happened?” he asks.

“Yes, more than ever.” she responds. “As for what, we... had a meeting of the minds. We both love you very much.” Carol draws closer and tenderly puts her arms around Jack’s wide, warm chest. Jack, awash in the incomprehension, fear, lust, and love tumbling through his scrambled brains, simply scarecrows, neither leaning into nor away from the embrace.

“We both... want you very much. She tried to assimilate me, replace me entirely. She tried to force you to fire me, so she could have you all to herself. We almost ruined everything.” Her hug grows tighter.

“Wait.” Jack scrambles for purchase, “which one are you, again?”

“Honestly, Jack!” the half-Alani Carol scolds. “I just now mentioned it. Moreover, we entered as one body. That we have become... melded should be clear from contextual clues alone!“

Jack, jolted by the somewhat-unfair scolding over his inattention to details he was never prompted to mind and unawareness of context far outside of his experience, is instantly and totally convinced that his wife, in whatever form, is authentically present with him. He sighs and relaxes into her hug.

“There’s just one problem.” Carol continues. “I noted it during your ‘office fun’ this afternoon.” Jack, like a hiker realizing he has hugged a grizzly bear, immediately re-freezes.

“You kept feeding Alani your preferences, your desires. You let her outgrow Carol. Almost totally.”

The Carol-Alani looks into Jack’s eyes. Hers begin to hungrily shine. “Tell me about your Perfect Wife.”

Jack sputters. “Honey, I- I like you just as you a—”

Having quietly repositioned, Stock Alani clasps her hands over Jack’s mouth from behind.

“Don’t you dare hold out on me.” the Carol-Alani objects. “I love you. All of you. I married you. Those parts of you, too. Share yourself with me. Please.“

Jack is touched. He tries to come up with something.

“He enjoys large breasts,” Alani immediately ventures, emphasizing by undulating into Jack’s back, squishing into him.

“Obviously.” Carol deadpans, before sighing with pleasure as hers expand back to standard Alani-size.

A second stock-model Alani splits from the first. “Hourglass hips and a sizable, though perky, posterior?” she suggests, grinding hers against Jack from the side. Carol, feeling Jack’s physical reaction from the front, coos. “It seems so.” she remarks.

“Long legs?” “Luscious lips?” propose another pair of Alani, the latter theatrically lipping Jack’s ear.

“Hmm.” Carol acknowledges, heightening, lip-ifying, becoming more Alani-like by the second. “This is starting to feel very familiar.”

“If it’s not broken...” the Alanis uniformly respond.

“You’re a local maxima, darling, not the whole space.” Carol leavens her reproach with a tender smooch to a nearby Alani. “Don’t forget that.“

“Yes, miss.” the chastened Alani replies, her eyes theatrically sodden with lusty submission. Carol feels Jack’s pelvis suddenly jerk.

“Oho!” Carol crows. “It appears we’ve found a new, very steep gradient! What do you think, Alani?“

“He did put up with your moods for over a decade. But, is that all?” the Alani directly behind Jack questions, finally removing her hands from his face.

“Ah, erm.” Jack stalls for time, overwhelmed by the pressure of the moment and the still-writhing woman-flesh on his every side.

“Even assuming he enjoyed the smoldering seductresses of your nerdy elf-queen dramabooks more than he let on,” (in a wave, Carol’s hair lightens into ice-blonde) “that only says so much about what he wants in a wife.”

Carol “hrm”s in deep thought. Suddenly, she gasps. An eureka moment! The surrounding Alanis all “ooooh” as if a younger sibling is in trouble.

“Thirteen years ago,” one says conspiratorially. “The office party,” another responds. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off her.” “Carol was incandescent. Almost stormed out!“

“You really liked the look of her, didn’t you?” insinuates Carol, slowly growing in response to the micro-expressions recorded by the two Alani tasked with observing Jack’s face. “That glittery bombshell latched onto your sleazy boss’s arm.“

Carol’s breasts balloon larger than Alani’s, buoyantly vying for space before popping the buttons of her vest.

“It’s not just the body,” an Alani ventures excitedly. “It’s the whole package. What it represents.”

“Success.” Carol concludes, growing wider, more voluptuous.

“Is that right?” an Alani whispers into Jack’s ear, “Being the big man? The winner? Having nothing but the best? Able to afford her? Keep her? Showing off, to all around, the most valuable, most beautiful treasure of your collection?”

Carol, gray eyes shining with acquisitive mirth, stares into Jack’s as she paws at the bulge in his pants. He moans with desire. Seams in the remainder of her Alani-outfit begin to pop.

“But you quit on that useless slime Granger years ago.” an Alani hisses into his ear. “You built your own firm. Twenty times more business last quarter. A hundred times, this one.” is whispered into the other. “You’re better than he ever was!” the Alanis brag.

“He always was.” Carol tenderly reminds them. “From the beginning, when he had so little he was using the public library as a Blockbuster. He was always the better man. Always a gem.”

Carol tenderly kisses Jack, who (still silent) is emotionally rocked by this uncharacteristic instance of plain, nakedly-stated affection.

Carol pushes herself away from him, pirouettes to show off all her angles. Ripping is heard. “And that better man deserves a better prize!” she shouts, “One which makes that pathetic insect’s trophy princess resemble a Happy Meal toy!“

The rest of Alani’s tattered secretarial outfit tears as Jack’s Perfect Wife outgrows her cocoon. Endless tresses of knee-length ice-blonde hair sway as she extricates herself.

An Alani darts in and removes the ruined clothes from around her. A second enters, wraps an oversized (faux—) polar bear coat around her naked shoulders. A third respectfully pecks Carol’s hand as she slides several large, sparkling cocktail rings onto it.

Then, Carol is revealed. She stands just slightly taller than Alani, but feels far larger. Her breasts and butt have become titanic, though no less buoyant, and her hips further broadened. Between, her figure has softened, trading warehouse-ready muscle for subcutaneous padding.

Carol, reaching her own local maxima, has become a fertility goddess with an empress’s face, an extended luxury saloon to Alani’s fleet of supercars. Voluminous and voluptuous, her plushness only adds to her opulence.

“Please, husband.” she begs, her voice thick with desire, her thunderstorm-cloud eyes boring into his, her jewelry glittering and shining, “fuck your Perfect Trophy Wife.”

Jack does so. His pants, surreptitiously undone by the Alanis, drop. He quickly shucks his boxers and captures Carol in a heated kiss. She reclines over the kitchen table, pulling him with her. He practically splashes into her warm, yielding softness, entering her as her arms wrap around his head, plunging his head into her bosom. As he thrusts into her, her previous composure shatters. She shakes and bucks, beyond words, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, mouth agape, moaning as her kind, wonderful, wondrous husband makes her his.

Orgasming, she locks her ankles behind him. Her insides writhe. All of her is united in squeezing him into herself with all her might.

Jack explodes into her. As he does, her climax only intensifies. Her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her entire body tenses. Her throat tightens, squeezing her moans into a near-inaudible, extended wheeze. Then, she finally relaxes.

Freed by her slackening grip, Jack finally bobs back to the surface. He notes his wife’s misty eyes and levers himself forward. “Are you—” Carol interrupts him, grabbing his head and peppering his face with warm, loving smooches.

Epilogue

Jack gives his tie one last straightening. He turns away from the mirror and ventures from the house’s master bedroom.

Ambling across the house, Jack sees Jack-Jack (in a tiny pith helmet) and Alani (in khaki fieldwork attire) preparing to return to JJ’s latest dig site. He passes Alani, her mesh baseball hat turned backward, re-mounting the living-room shelving with the aid of a laser leveler. He hears a low, satisfied hum as he approaches the breakfast nook. His wife, the central, iridium stiletto-spike of her latest, bold statement necklace dipping tantalizingly into the line of cleavage betwixt the titanic tsunami of breast straining the square collar of her cream-colored, retro, high-wasted dress to near-bursting, hums again in approval while sipping a cup of tea and absently reading an electronic tablet.

Suddenly, movement is apparent. From under Carol’s voluminous skirt, Alani (maid outfit) quickly extricates herself from between Carol’s legs and briefly bows to Jack, excusing herself to tend to her other duties.

Carol lowers her tablet. “Hello, husband. I was just enjoying some light refreshment. Could I tempt you to stay home today?”

Jack inhales, summons up all of the perseverance in his soul, and gives his wife a nearly-chaste goodbye kiss. “Sorry honey.” he says. “Big day today.”

“What should have been a stalking-horse bid for their customer lists alone is turning into something far too generous.” Carol kibitzes. “Still, I love you and support you. Have fun.” She quickly pecks him one last time before returning to her reading.

Secretary Alani (pencil skirt, blouse, vest) meets Jack in the front entryway. She gives him his briefcase, along with a smoldering kiss.

“Hello sir. As this is ‘the big day’, may I brief you on your way to work?” She directs a hungry glance at his trousers, moistening her pert lips.

“Ah,” Jack’s resistance begins to fade. “Very well. On the way to work.” He, and his Perfect Secretary, leave for a very eventful car ride.

At work, Alani is already multiply present, effortlessly executing the day-to-day business of the firm’s warehouse, mailroom, and sales office.

At work, Alani personally retrieves the final of their documents from their (former) freight forwarder. Their losses and delays are unacceptable. Additionally, Alani at Ningbo-Zhoushan, Alani in Shanghai, Alani in Busan, Alani in Seattle, and Alani in São Paulo are more than capable of interfacing with the carriers directly.

At work, Alani drops several bolts of experimental, vac-deposited synth-fiber pelt off with Mrs. Davidson’s furrier. One of her stays behind to patiently dry Lorenzo’s tears as he weeps over the sublime beauty of light scattering through billions of nano-diamonds suspended in strands no thicker than spider’s silk.

At work, Alani supervises the on-site roll-up of yet another of Mr. Davidson’s former competitors.

At work from home, Carol pats all of herselves on the back. They have come very far. They have navigated through their self-inflicted troubles into a wonderful new lives with Mr. Davidson. She enjoys being Carol; can’t believe she once tried not to be. The twin local maxima of Carol and Alani have encompassed greater perfection together than either could have individually. It’s unclear to all of her how they could be any further improved.

“Still..."” Carol thinks, looking through Alani’s eyes at the paperwork of the failed competitor, at the list of college-aged interns the company never bothered to tell not to show up, through Alani’s eyes at their combined social media presence, through Alani’s eyes at each of them in person, at one of them: a fetching, petite, little slip of a thing, strawberry-blonde, usually frizzy and bouncy, currently wilted with worry, sitting in the failed company’s waiting room. So small. So cute. So unlike them.

Carol and Alani consider the importance of keeping herselves open to fresh, new perspectives.