The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Pleasure Island—Ch. 3

Denise had watched in horror as that woman had drunk in front of her. She should have knocked the cup out of the woman’s hands, but she had been afraid of getting the water on her.

Instead, she had just been frozen in shock, watching as the woman had first drunk, then stripped. Only then had she been able to act, but just barely. And what she had done hadn’t had any effect. The woman, slave, whatever, had just laughed at her. Acted like she owned the place, instead of the place owning her.

After that Denise had retreated to a far corner of the room. Her courage had run out on her.

The room itself was much quieter. When the video had ended there had been anger, with people arguing over the best way to get off the island. That woman had taken the force out of the arguments, and there was a new emotion dominating the room: fear.

A few other girls had walked up to the water coolers and drunk, quietly. No one had attempted to stop them, or to keep them from leaving afterward. Denise had watched them walk out, blank purposeful looks on their faces.

Never. Never her.

Others were drifting out of the room now, under various pretexts. It was clear that no one wanted to stay in that room, but few could find a reason to leave just yet.

Denise just left.

She had admired the hallway on the way in. Wood floors, plaster walls, it was basic. Yet the effect was an old, simple style, that still left plenty of room for comfort. Denise had wanted to inspect it closer on the way in, and had planned to do so on the way out.

Not now though. The simple, beautiful, watercolors didn’t interest her. Nor did the subtle differences in the colors of the halls, or the patterns of the hardwood floor.

She just walked, lost in thought, to the lobby. Her bag was in the center of the pile: it took her a moment to maneuver so she could get it.

Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she turned and noticed the girl standing behind the front desk. Cautiously Denise approached.

The girl made no move as Denise approached. She just stood there, like a switched off robot. Her breasts pushed at the near-gauze that made up her blouse. In the mirror-like polish of the wall behind Denise could see exactly how short the skirt was, and exactly where the garter belt attached to the stockings.

“How may I help you?” Denise jumped as the woman spoke. Now the woman had focused on her; there was a smile on that face that said anything Denise wanted she could provide.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Denise turned and walked away quickly.

Denise was sure of one thing: she did not want to end up like that. The girl at the desk would have that smile on her face no matter what she did, or was asked to do. That was obvious. Her mind had been wiped clean.

Denise would rather die.

That was the out. Denise knew it as soon as she thought it: there was no way she would live like that, but she didn’t have to live.

At that thought she stopped. It was easy to think, but could she carry it through?

Denise decided she would.

She was walking down the hallways, with the numbered doors to the rooms on either side of her. Needing a place to think, she tried a door.

Locked. They were all locked.

“Hotel doors are always locked,” Denise realized. They lock automatically. She would need a key to get in.

Normally you got a key when you checked in. Of course, Denise had never checked in...

The entryway wasn’t far yet. Denise spun and walked back.

Ten feet from the front desk she stopped again. That blank stare still unnerved her: it was all that she planned never to be. She approached cautiously; still uncertain on why she wanted a room.

Denise could almost see the girl notice her: one moment she was looking into space with that vacant smile, the next she was focused on Denise.

“Ma’am? Was there something I could do for you?” The voice was pure deference, wrapped in elegance.

Denise took a deep breath. “Yes. I would like a key to my room.”

“Certainly. All our rooms are free at the moment: do you have a preference?”

That set Denise back a moment. Anywhere in the building... Then she grinned: why settle for less than the best?

“The penthouse suite please.”

“Of course. We actually have two penthouse suites: one on the east wing and one on the west. Would you prefer to watch the sunrise or sunset?”

The symbolism was irresistible: “Sunset.”

“Yes Ma’am.” She turned and, bending exactly at the waist, opened a box on the back wall which was just below the level of the counter, and drew out a key on a small brass ring. “Here you are. The elevator is just down the hall to the right: you will need to use this key in the control panel to unlock the penthouse floor. If there is anything that anyone here can do to help you enjoy your stay just ask.” The smile managed an amazing few more watts.

Denise’s thank you was reflexive as she took the key, trying to keep herself from jerking it out of the other woman’s hand.

It was a short walk to the elevator. It was waiting on the ground floor, probably the first time that had ever happened to Denise.

Of course, they had never been used before.

It took her a few moments to find the keyhole, but she found it right above the top row of buttons. As soon as she turned the key she felt the floor rise as the elevator started moving.

The ride gave Denise time to inspect the elevator. It was paneled in a dark wood with a brass rail just at waist height. A reflexive touch told Denise the rail was heated, slightly.

An elevator designed for sex. Perverted.

The mirror-polished doors finally opened, revealing a small waiting area. Withdrawing her key, Denise picked up her bag, and stepped forward. The doors closed in a just barely audible slide behind her.

Here the simple elegance was gone, replaced by an expensive elegance: the floors were marble, the doorknobs gold-plated. Denise strode forward, suddenly eager to see what was behind those double doors.

It was actually slightly disappointing, until you realized that the fact that this was just one room. To the right was a dining area, table and chairs. To the left was a small kitchen. The center lead through to a sitting room, with balconies to both side of the building. A moment’s exploring led Denise to where the sitting room extended past a huge bathroom, then was separated from the bedroom.

Next to the light switch was a panel that took Denise a moment to figure out. Moving one of the switches turned the wall between the bathroom and bedroom transparent, leaving the shower and (one, the ‘normal’) tub easily visible. Others did the same for the rest of the walls in the bedroom.

Switching the walls solid again, Denise examined the wall. Transparent screens had started to come out recently, an offshoot of the old LCD screens, and this was obviously what she was looking at. But she had never seen one textured before, or so big...

Still, this was not what she was here for. Denise wanted to get it done quick: she felt herself already loosing her nerve.

First choice was the balconies. A quick jump would be enough. Dropping her bag, Denise went back to the ‘living room’ area.

It took her but a moment to realize the doors were locked, with no keyhole. Obviously there was some electronic system locking them: there may even be a release in the room, but Denise doubted it. The only reason to have the lock was to keep girls like her from jumping. It would not be unlocked until the owner came back.

Briefly she considered hanging herself. That wasn’t a sure thing however: if she didn’t die immediately she could be ‘rescued’. Then she wouldn’t get a second chance. The same applied to sleeping pills, even had she had any.

Drowning herself in the bathtub was obviously out.

The kitchen had knifes though.

Looking at the knife edge she went over in her head what she knew about veins she could cut. The wrists were the obvious choice. Vertical cuts: not across the wrist. (Where had she learned that?)

She would be found too quickly in the kitchen: she wanted the guests to feel safe before they found her. They needed a little time to settle in...

The ‘classic’ place to slit her wrists was the bathroom. That would work.

Denise walked over to the bathroom sink: white marble and gold fittings. It should show her blood beautifully. The first cut was her left wrist. The knife sunk in easily, the quick sharp pain and red swell calming the panic Denise had felt since the end of the video.

The right wrist was harder: the knife was slippery as her blood dripped down it, and her left hand felt clumsy and weak. Still Denise managed, though she reflected she should have cut her right wrist first. Then the weak cut would be with her good hand.

She watched, getting dizzy as the blood poured out her wrists. The stream started strong, pulsing with her heart. Soon though it slacked and slowed. She was staring at her arms for a moment before she had realized it actually had stopped. With her still alive and on her feet.

Denise’s right hand brushed the cut on her left wrist, and the blood started flowing again, momentarily. She needed a closer look.

Through a haze she turned on the water so she could wipe the blood away and she what was the problem. As the water hit her wrists it washed the beginning clots away and held the cuts open, restarting the flow.

Denise felt a tingle in her wrists as she watched the re-start af her plan. Her wrists had just clotted up: the water should hold them open long enough for the blood loss to be permanent.

Her satisfaction was rent asunder as the blood dried up a second time, and her wrists resealed themselves before her eyes. Rising them in unbelief she examined them and found not even a scar to indicate her recent cuts.

Quickly she grabbed the knife again, gripping it to recreate the cuts that had closed only a moment ago...

Denise found herself washing the blade instead. It needed the blood cleaned off it; she should never have let it get this dirty.

Come to think of it, the sink was dirty too. She should clean that as well.

As she washed the sink Denise realized what happened. She was caught: when she had washed her wrists the nanobots could enter via her bloodstream. They had repaired her, kept her alive. Now they controlled her.

The thought was analytical. She could summon no fear or anger at it, or herself for getting caught. It had happened. She was here. She would survive, and become part of the island. She had no choice.

Denise turned off the water, and walked unsteadily back to the kitchen. She was still weak from the loss of blood, but her mind insisted she needed to put away the knife before she did anything else.

The knife away, her hands took down a glass and filled it with water from the kitchen tap. Denise watched as she started the process of replacing the fluids she had lost. Her hands did all the work, without her even thinking about it.

“I should fight this. I should want to fight this.” The thoughts ran through her mind, impacting nothing.

After four glasses of water, she stopped drinking and her attention turned to the glass. She had used it: it was wet, dirty, and out of place.

Couldn’t have that.

Carefully Denise washed the glass, dried it, and put it back in the cupboard, dusting the rest of the glasses for good measure. Satisfied they were all clean and lined up in the cupboard, she shut the door and faced a new tug in her mind.

The tug led her to a hidden door in the entryway, and to a cement staircase. Her mind called it the ‘servant’s staircase’ and filled in that it was also designed as an emergency exit. The guests were never meant to see it.

Half a floor down she stopped. There, hanging in a metal closet, were spare uniforms. Denise opened the closet, an abstracted curiosity coming over her to see what was inside.

A full range of uniforms was available, but her hand went directly for one. Denise pulled it out and hung it on the front of the closet. As her hands undressed her, she stared at it.

Black, low cut bodice with a white lace frill. Short black skirt, with a lace edges and a white mini-apron on the front.

“I’m a maid.” The thought brought no reaction. Her hands were slipping the uniform on, the lace on the top just covering her areolae. Denise looked down at herself. “I’ll be cleaning the rooms.” The skirt was loose, and barely reached past her smooth pubic. “The guests will fuck me.”

The last thought finally brought a reaction. Her pussy moistened.

“I’ll like it when they do, won’t I?” The emotion behind the thought was unformed, but contained both excitement and fear. Her mind answered that she would.

She turned back to the stairs, oddly secure in the certainty of her fate. A guest had just checked out: Denise had a room to clean.