The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Day 12

Of course they hired her. When you looked as good as Rose and applied to work in the service industry, they always said “yes”.

A powerpunk young woman with the barista’s signature beanie hiding a decoratively unkempt and weedy garden of violet and lavender colored hair was teaching Rose the fine art of steaming milk, burr grinding the beans scooped from a wall of mason jars with labels like ‘Lake Tana Hard Bean Vienna Roast’, steeping the coffee grounds, pressing and cupping the brew, and blending and folding the frothy milk into the cup in artistic, wavy patterns. Rose was a surpassingly fast learner and was already cupping them herself.

“Wow, Rose. Damn girl. You’re a natural! Hey Jordan, look what Rose just made!”

She also took to embellishing the daily menu chalkboard with her own creations. Life is Art, and art is chalk drawn colorful animals and clothes and foods. Rose laughed when she was done. The day’s special blends, the fresh-baked pastries for sale, the border covered in vines and lovely female figures. Hand on hip, eyebrow raised. “What do you think, Gwen?” “Holy shit! You’re a real artist! That food looks delish Rose, I wanna grab that croissant right off the chalkboard! Come back here, I want to show you how the espresso machine works.”

The first few days had been hectic but invigorating. She got along swimmingly with the mostly female staff, and the coffee shop during the morning rush was a well oiled machine. They stuck her right in front of every customer because how could they not? and the men and sometimes the women smiled just a bit more than usual, asked how the weather was doing a bit more often, and left a lot more tip in the tip jar when Rose was the one doing the talking and filling their orders. She was always cheerful and as sunny to hear as to see. They all split the jar at the end of the day but they agreed Rose should also get whatever leavings didn’t divide out.

At night she touched up her résumé, sent a few more emails, looked longingly at a few more prospects. There was one company she especially liked the look of. She had a good feeling about that one, it felt right. She didn’t go into graphic design to make a living sketching sidewalk art of éclairs and alluring Lady Godiva-esque women for the neighborhood coffee dive, but for now she enjoyed the camaraderie of the girls, their hardworking dropout lifestyles, their petits dramas of who broke up with who and who’s sleeping with who and omg can you believe what I just heard. She curled into bed, watching the lights of the city beyond her windows sparkle and move in endless movement and energy, and slowly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Catherine awoke from a nightmare, sweating, her heart pounding out of her chest. If only her sleeps could be dreamless.

In her dream, Catherine had awoken in her bed to a pitch black, starless night, so dark, black paint looked to glow. It wasn’t just the absence of light, it was actively taking light making her home darker, sucking the light out of it. She turned the bedside lamp on and the room was barely illuminated, only a shade less dim, reddish not yellow, and growing dimmer by the second, like the flame from a fading candle. She got up in her nightclothes to look out the french doors of her bedroom at this looming darkness from the view overlooking her garden. Nothing was visible beyond the faintest outline of her shrubs and flowers, only the faintest edge in the distance of her garage’s roof framing an utterly black sky beyond which lay impenetrable darkness… and then she saw… It. A shape. Human, animal? Large.. thing. A large… something. Black, clothed in black, made of blackness… An outline of blackness deeper than the blackness behind it. Looking right at her. Sitting on the roof of the garage, looking. With unblinking shining yellow eyes that cut through the emptiness like a knife, that focused like lasers through the gloom. Owl’s eyes, animal eyes, predator’s eyes. Right. At. Her.

“Nooo!”

Catherine ran. “Emily run!” she screamed. She ran out of her bedroom. She could here It crashing through the french doors. “NOO!” Running out the front door, out into the depths. She couldn’t see where she was going. She couldn’t see the houses or cars, it was like being blind, she could barely make out her feet. She was on grass; she was in trees; she was in a forest; she dare not turn around, never turn around DON’T turn around, oh god! She ran across water, she was up to her hips in vines and brambles. And then she tripped, she’s fallen, the night is everywhere, the darkness is everywhere… and then It is here. Above her. It stops and glares. Glares with lidless, unblinking yellow eyes that never dim. “No!!” She raises her hands to stop it. It leans forward... it it…

“Aaahhh…. whew.” “Jesus.”

Day 13

After last night’s nightmare she’d barely drifted in and out of sleep, She showered and 5am and was dressed by 6. Sitting in the kitchen, idly waiting for the light of morning to rescue her from the darkness of evening. At 6:30am she left a note for Emily and went to work.

Rose awoke feeling good. Feeling really good. She stretched languidly in bed, feeling the smooth, body-warmed sheets against her smooth, warm body and skin, gave a hum of approval and smiled, head back and eyes softly closed, unhurriedly letting the morning light find a way to creep through her lidded eyes and finish awaking her. She always seemed to forget her dreams.

“You’re such a little B!” Rose laughed. “How you could do that to him??” Jordan wrinkled her nose. “Well, he shouldn’t have blown me off to go party!”. “But that was his car!” “Don’t mess with Jordy she’s pure evil” Gwen helpfully interjected. “And Sam knew what he was getting when they started dating! No mercy!” They all laughed together as they wiped the brewing area clean in the lull between the end of the morning push and the slow trickle of students and younger people that started to build in mid-afternoon looking for some caffeine with their sugar.

Jordan walked off to the back, and Gwen walked over to where Rose was facing the wall, sorting and cleaning the coffee-containing mason jars. “So, mystery woman, you’ve never really talked about yourself that much? Do you have a special someone?”

Rose smiled and gave her a hip bump, looked at her and shrugged. Gwen noted how Rose always seemed so physical. Rose wasn’t wearing a beanie—she didn’t like wearing hats, for some reason—but a denim jacket with a print summer dress with leather-brown flats. Her thick hair rolled in wavy curls to her shoulders. “Not much to tell! Got a degree in graphic design, fell in love, moved halfway round the world, dumped a cheater, moved back here, applying to work in the fashion industry.” “Huh. You’re already so fashionable I’m surprised they’re not applying to work for you!” she laughed. “I’m sure you’ll make it. But you don’t seem like you’re from around here anymore; maybe you’re half foreign now!”. Rose laughed. “Probably! I don’t seem weird to you, do I though?” “Well…” and Gwen leaned conspiratorially in “… I did low-key stalk you on social media the other night. You don’t exist at all! No Instagram, no Twitter, no Pinterest, not even a Facebook account for grandma photos. You go dark after dumping your ex?” Rose laughed, with a tiny bit of discomfort in her voice. Something Gwen had never heard. “Oh I just don’t like…um… social media… stuff.” Gwen felt the atmosphere and immediately changed direction. “No, hey, it’s cool. The man knows everything about us anyway.” Rose rolled her eyes. Gwen let her off. “Haha, joke! You do you, Rose. Alright, I’m going back with Jordan to help get the evening setup ready before I leave. Tell Abigail to actually do work when she arrives—if she arrives.” Gwen walked away. Rose was a few years older than most of the girls here. A stray thought passed Gwen… Rose seems so perfect, yet even she has a past. When Gwen had gone, Rose stopped working, looked down at the counter, rubbed her head for a bit, lingering for a long moment. Let out a big exhale, looked around sheepishly, and went back to work.

Eventually Abigail did arrive late with a hundred excuses because of incredibly important events that just had to happen before work but if anyone could be blamed for anything which is ridiculous because no one would have not come in late just like she did it was entirely everyone else’s fault including yours! because she told everyone she had so many things to do and no one takes her seriously and… “Abigail!” Rose laughed, and also gave Abigail a big hug. “I’m not your manager! Just… run the cash register while I finish cleaning this up back here.” As Rose worked facing the back wall, the front door bell jingled open and a customer walked in. The mid-afternoon crowd was thin, the cafe mostly empty.

“Goood afternoon, ma’am, what would like today!” said Abigail chirpily.

“Fine, thanks, how are you? Double espresso with cream, and a shot of syrup, please.” said a woman’s voice, slightly accented, an octave lower than the girlish tweets of her cashier.

“Not a problem, it will be just a couple minutes!”. The woman paid, walked to a far corner table, facing away from the bar, and looking out the windows. The door bell rang again, and the first teenagers of the afternoon began to arrive. “Rose, can you get this out?” “Sure Abigail, I can make that.” Rose cupped the espresso, steamed the cream, stirred the syrup and blended them together, making a leaf-shaped pattern in the frothy ripples. Grabbed a saucer, and walked from behind the counter onto the cafe floor. Rose looked at her as she approached. Rose was suddenly struck with a sense of déjà vu. The woman’s dark brown hair was pulled back tight into a business bun, outlining her fine profile, her light untanned skin and naturally flush cheeks, with the few feathery hairs at the base of her neck escaping the bun the only untamed bits of her attire. Wide legged grey pants and a low cut black blouse, effortlessly stylish and sophisticated, thin gold pendant earrings accented with red stones, adorned a woman dressed for success. She sat up straight, was looking out the window at distant horizons, far past the buildings before her eyes. Her body language betrayed her composure though, and she reached up and rubbed the corners of her eyes with one hand. Rose walked around to her side to deliver her order.

“Here’s your double espresso…oh!” and Rose froze, her mouth hung open, and dropped the cup. Her eyes got big and she gasped.

A few lifetimes later, the cup hit the floor.

“Oh, no!” the woman exclaimed, she lifted her feet and shifted away from the splashing coffee and shattering ceramic, as cup met floor. The woman looked up at the barista who suddenly gave the very genuine impression of a having a moment. Rose was transfixed, she wouldn’t look away. She was looking right at her, right into her eyes. Her mouth couldn’t or wouldn’t close. Her cheeks seemed even redder now. She was breathing heavily, a look of total astonishment across her face. “Um.. miss?” Abigail looked up toward the noise.

Rose’s heart and head were shattering, as Rose met woman. Rose had never seen anyone as beautiful. As attractive, as desirable, as amazing, as irresistible. She looked through the veil and seen her goddess, her muse, her meaning, her destiny. She saw her life flash before her eyes and this women, this incredible woman was at the end of it, laughing and waiting, waiting for her, waiting for her with her eyes smiling and her arms open, gathering in her with endless kisses and caresses, with love on the mountaintops and stars on her body and her hair as the wind and her breasts like snow and her thighs like the clouds and they’re flying and driving and swimming and falling and their together in tall grass in the warm sun and warmer bodies that never pulled back never just together tangled, knotted, melted warming and warming and burning and…

“You’re… so… beautiful…” Rose said, in the most blushingly earnest voice the woman had ever heard. Completely without effect, without deceit, without self-consciousness. Rose was blushing ear to ear, breathing hard, blinking like in the sun, unable even to close her mouth. It was the most spontaneously vulnerable, genuine thing the woman had ever heard a man or woman say to her in her life. She stared, transfixed. The woman’s mouth opened a bit, but had nothing to say. She stared at the gorgeous, fashionable barista staring back astonished at her. The woman felt her own cheeks start to blush. The woman’s face was a roiling mix of confusion, disbelief, and wonder. She looked up and boldly met the barista’s wide open eyes. Her lovely blue eyes…

“ROSE!” Abigail rushed up to defuse the situation. “Rose!” Abigail looked quickly at Rose standing there completely paralyzed, at the broken cup on the floor, at the astonished woman staring right back. “Oh my gosh we are so sorry, did any get on you, are you ok? Let me make you another cup real quick. Rose! C’mon!” and she put her arm around Rose’s waist and led her back behind the counter, with Rose turning and keeping her face facing the woman as long as she could.

“Rose!” Abigail pulled Rose into the back area. “Wake up girl!” Rose was staring in the direction of the woman, now hidden behind a wall, looking blank and astonished. Abigail waved her hand in front of Rose’s face. “Abigail, what’s up?” asked Gwen as she came from the back. “I have no idea, Rose delivered an order on the floor, dropped the cup at the customer’s feet, and now is… this way?!” Gwen also waved her hand in front of Rose’s face. “Rose, can you hear me, girl? Earth to Rose!” But she remained as she was. “Abigail, get her a cup to-go, I’ll deal with Rose.” Abigail quickly rushed out to remake the customer’s order.

Gwen poked and spoke to Rose with no visible effect. Rose wasn’t fainting, wasn’t collapsing, but maybe she was having a stroke anyway? She looked into her eyes, at her pupils. She got out her phone to dial the paramedics. Suddenly Rose took a huge body shaking breath and collapsed against Gwen. “Easy, girl! Careful Rose, here, sit here.” And she guided Rose’s body to a chair. “Rose, you feel ok? Talk to me Rose.” Rose grabbed her head, closed her eyes, breathed in and out. “I… um…” “Take your time Rose.” Rose breathed in and out for a few more moments. “I just… forgot what I was doing.” she said with her eyes closed, rubbing her head and temple. “I can’t remember um… where am I?” “I think you blanked out there for a second.” “Where is… where is…” “Where is what Rose?” “Where is … she?” “The customer?” Rose looked up vaguely in the direction of the cafe. “She… she was… I… need… she…” Gwen rubbed Rose’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it Rose, Abigail is taking care of it. Just relax back here, we’ve got it, don’t worry.” Gwen got up to help out front. As she walked away Rose suddenly piped up, deeply worried. “GWEN! wait!” Gwen stopped. “What’s… her name?” Gwen blinked. “I’ll… I’ll ask, Rose. Ok? Just sit here for a bit.”

Abigail was cleaning up the mess while the new espresso brewed. When she saw Gwen she snuck over by her side and leaned into her ear. “Oh. My. God.” “What?” “Rose proposed to this woman.” “Wait… what, what?” When the coffee was finished, Gwen delivered it herself to the woman in a take-out paper cup. “On behalf of the whole staff I apologize for any… anything we… need to apologize for. Here’s a gift card, on the house.” “Oh… that’s… fine, thank you.” The woman took the cup. “Did my staff say anything offensive to you, ma’am?” “No, it’s… alright. How is… she doing?” She was looking in the direction of where Rose had been taken. Gwen noticed. “She’ll be fine, I am so sorry, once again.” The woman got up to leave. As she walked out with her to-go cup Gwen shadowed her and opened the door for her. The bell jingled. “What…” and the woman stopped, looked down, thought a moment. “…what was her name, by the way?” Gwen blinked. “Rose.” “That’s… a lovely name.” Gwen processed that comment faster than her heart beat. “She asked me to ask for your name. Would you like me to tell her?” The woman stopped, looked back at Gwen. She smiled. “Tell her my name is Catherine.”

Katerin Bolloré had been born in a small village outside of Douarnenez in Brittany, France less than 40 years ago. Her life there consisted of the typical pastoral pastiches of long walks with her spaniel through barley and hay fields, muddy slow creeks, chasing swans if she could find them, clammy winters and cool summers. Her mother was English and her father Breton and she spoke English, French and Breton natively. All she hoped growing up was go to Rennes, to university. And at least until she became a teenager that was true; but afterwords troubles unending, culminating in her pregnancy when she let herself be led behind a hay bale during an especially drunken soirée by the local football star.

And that changed everything. Her father’s hyper Catholic and traditional family disowned her; her mother and her mother’s English side helped her move to London. Her daughter was born overseas. She vowed never to go back. And she hasn’t. She changed her name from Katerin to Catherine. She never had to change her daughter’s.

Catherine sat back down at her drafting table on the 3rd floor of the reclaimed industrial warehouse that was modernized and converted into chic modern office spaces, some of which spaces ehe company that she had recently created now occupied. The drafting table was covered in selections of fabrics, sketches, catalogs and photos, charcoal pencils and acres of color swatches. Pieces of fabric were clipped to sketches and photos, each tagged and labeled with codes and letters meaningless to outsiders. A-123. H-345. She took the first sip of her coffee with more energy than she’d had all day. “Madeleine, I think I caused a woman to faint today!” She was most definitely no longer tired, and without a gram of caffeine.

Rose arrived home late. Gwen and Abigail had kept her out, prying her alcohol and questions and bribing her with food. They weren’t even upset at all, glad to see Rose act flawed and human like they themselves always did. Rose smiled and sipped the drinks and nibbled the food and didn’t think too hard about her answers as she didn’t have many to give. She had just… never met anyone like that woman before. She didn’t know why she blanked out for a minute. Yes… she was really, really attracted to her, but no she didn’t propose Abigail, just… told her how… beautiful… she was. How beautiful Catherine was. Catherine… The woman was like from her deepest dreams, like she had met her in a previous life, like she knew her from the day she was born. How crazy she felt this way over a woman! She never would have guessed.

Suddenly a ringing sound started coming from her purse, a strange ringing sound, like something from a phone. But very strange, very quiet, almost inaudible. You’d not be able to hear it if you weren’t listening for it. And Rose was listening for it, she was always listening for it. She stopped, sat down, looked at the purse. Listened to the ringing sound. She became dizzy all of a sudden. Breathing in and out. Watching the purse. Something she had forgotten. Ringing. An overwhelming urge filled her mind. Without thinking she slowly reached into her purse. In a pocket on the inside that she had forgotten about, she found what was ringing. It was her second phone, of course. It was ringing. Over and over. Ringing. Never stopping. Waiting for her to answer. It was like an old flip phone, but much, much larger. Like no phone she’d ever seen. She held the phone and stared at it a long time. She never remembered this phone; she never forgot about it. Listening to it ring. Of course, it was her second phone.

Without thinking she opened it. She noticed there was an earpiece instead of a speaker. Of course there was. Button, but no screen. A couple of small LEDs, blinking. She extended the earpiece, stopped, and looked at the phone again, listening to it ring, over and over, breathing in and out. Finally without thinking she raised the phone to her head and pushed the earpiece in. Deep into her left ear. An enormous sense of relief passed into her even as she became even more dizzy.

The ringing stopped and sounds started coming out of the earpiece. Out and into her. There was a voice. Asking questions covered in sounds and music, telling her things coated in sounds and music and waves and surging back and forth… her mind was rolling. Her eyes glazed over, listening. The sounds, the voice, the feelings. Back and forth. Without thinking, her mouth began to respond.

“yess.” she responded. Moments passed, listening.

“yess.” dizzy, back and forth, listening without thinking.

“yess.”

“yess.”

“yess.”

She closed the phone and placed it back into her purse. A sense of relief at doing this passed into her. She sighed and forgot about her second phone, forgot what it had told her, forgot about the pocket in her purse where it lay. Rose walked into her bed room, closed her blinds, shed her clothes, and plopped onto her bed. She felt dizzy, tired… confused. She wasn’t thinking straight. She didn’t want to think about anything. An overwhelming urge to just not think suddenly filled her. Like the urge to scratch an itch, to take a hit from a cigarette, a deep, irresistible urge that would just feel so good to go along with no matter what it was. She rolled her head back and forth on the pillow, stretched her arms over her head. Her head rocking back and forth, dizzily. Dizzy. Back and forth. Just not thinking. Feeling. Back and forth. Feeling. Feeling a surge as her sleepy pupils suddenly pulsed in and out, sending a wave through her whole body, pulling her in. She let out a deep, body soothing sigh. Back and forth. Another deep pulse in her eyes. Back and forth. She wasn’t thinking at all.

She remembered something she had forgotten, that she couldn’t ever remember and had forgotten but now suddenly remembered. She reached under her bed, into a white plastic box she kept covered and never could remember and always forgot, and took out what was in it. It was a strange helmet and a cord running down to a triangular thing, and a cord running past that under the bed. She felt so dizzy and sleepy. Her eyes surged and pulsed and a wave rushed from the front to the back of her mind. She didn’t remember this at all. Back and forth, a deep pulse. Another deep sigh.

She pulled her legs apart and up, opening her naked body on her bed. She placed the triangular thing with both hands and held it firmly against her sex. It seemed to grab her and not let go, push itself into her. She was so dizzy, her head was rocking, her eyes were pulsing. Everything was becoming so quiet. There. Then she felt it, send a pulse directly into her. Into her sex. She sank deeper, moaning. “Oohh”. It felt so good, she was being pulled irresistibly in now. No question or resistance at all, just movement, just dizziness, just being pulled in.

She fell back onto her pillows, rocking her head, pulling her legs up and open more, giving herself to it, giving in completely. Before she sank into sleep, she looked over at the helmet. It belonged on her too. She gathered what little strength her sleepy, dizzy mind could spare and picked it up, leaned her head forward and put it on. The act of putting it on spent the last of her fading will, and she sank back into the pillows again, glad to be able to finally let go, finally surrender, letting all the feelings overwhelm her, pull her all the way down.

The lights in the helmet began to dance and pulse. Her already pulsing eyes yearned to feel the lights guide them. Sounds and musics, deep and rhythmic and subconscious, began to play, impossible to follow, impossible not to hear, sinking deep into her. “Oohh” she sighed, being pulled along completely now. Her head fell to one side, her thighs fell open, her arms lay passive on either side of her body, palms turned up. Her whole body relaxed and opened, became aroused and receptive and still. Feeling it caress her sex. Feeling it caress her mind.

At the center of her mind something still awoke. The quiet center of her mind was awake now, it was always still and it usually slept but now it was wide awake. It felt the hypnosis, opened itself to it, accepted it, let it penetrate it, let it control it. Blossomed open like a flower for it. The center of her mind fluttered to life so richly, sending waves of feeling across her entire receptive body. It only moved when told, it only responded, it never acted, it never wanted, it never understood, it just lay still and waiting, waiting to obey, and now it was awake, and now it would obey. So many thoughts and feelings it kept hidden from her but now they bloomed to fill her, surrounded her and complete her.

A small light on the outside of the helmet blinked. It was connected to a network. They were in her mind now, looking carefully at mind, at the programming she needed to receive. The light blinked more rapidly, and new programming started downloading, programming that belonged in her, belonged in the core of her mind.

Rose felt herself sink down into the deepest, darkest, quietest depths where she would be claimed and taken in every possible way, and let out a sigh of leashed acceptance.

“oohh”

No matter how sleepy she felt, Rose wasn’t going to be allowed to reach sleep tonight. She had so many important things she must remember and forget.

Behind a computer monitor, a woman with too-red lipstick over thin lips watched the screen in front of her. Watched the readings from Rose’s mind. With the tip of her index finger she reached to the monitor and gently rubbed screen which showed the part of Rose’s mind that was obediently accepting her programming, pulsing rhythmically and under complete control. Rose’s controller took a pull from a cigarette, the tip glowing as red as her lips. A stream of inky smoke fell upwards from her thin lips as she slowly exhaled, her mouth twisting into a wicked smile. “Good girl.”