The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Magda leaned over Giovanni’s shoulder. “Is it done yet?”

Giovanni made an exasperated sound, and pushed her back. “It will be done, when it’s ready to be done. Right now, it’s still ‘doing’. Do you have any idea about how much compute time this is burning up?”

“You’ve got thousands of computers in your data centers,” Magda objected. “Millions, even!”

“Yes, but—and this is important—other people use them, too!” Giovanni sat back and rubbed his eyes. “You’re lucky I have the access that I do, to be able to put this many machines on a search.”

‘Luck’ had nothing to do with it. Magda had very carefully researched the different engineering roles in Meta, and what they had access to, before approaching Giovanni “randomly” at a film club meeting in Torino.

Magda patted his shoulder, apparently contrite. “I’m sorry, cara, this is important to me, but I know you’re doing everything you can. I am grateful, you know? Very grateful.” She let a seductive note crawl in to her voice—not too obvious, but she knew Giovanni would pick up on it.

“It’s likely to be a while still,” said Giovanni, apparently mollified. “Do you want a coffee, Magda?” He made as if to get up from his office chair.

“I’ll get them,” she soothed, stroking his shoulder. “I brought some biscotti from Angelo’s as well.” She walked back into the kitchen and started to prepare the espresso machine.

“Cappuccino, cara?” she called out, once the fresh grind had been loaded and the machine was starting to drip dark espresso into the cup.

“Thank you, amore.” Giovanni made stretching noises. “You know you’ve found the love of your life when she’ll make you cappuccino after 9am.“

Magda laughed, knowing how much Giovanni loved that sound from her. “You could just date a French or—Mother help us—English girl who doesn’t know any better.” She gave the milk jug a judicious blast of steam.

“I’ll get fired if they figure out what I’m doing, you know?” Giovanni called out.

“Ah, but who will know?” Magda darted back into the office room and planted a kiss on the top of Giovanni’s head, silently thankful that he was conscientious about his personal hygiene. She knew that this was far from universally true about his colleagues—even the girls.

“Well, it’s disguised as an audit process, and no-one wants to fuck with Internal Audit,” Giovanni smirked.

Magda finished her prep, and brought in a lightly steaming, frothily foamy cappuccino, accompanied by two biscotti.

“Perfect—like you!” Giovanni reached up for a kiss, which Magda allowed on her cheek.

“How are we doing?” She stared at the steadily scrolling text in the console window that Giovanni had super sized and placed in the center of his main monitor. Unlike Hollywood movies, there was no central “34% complete” counter with pretty graphics, but Giovanni seemed to be able to infer progress nevertheless.

“It’s going more quickly than I thought,” he admitted. “We were lucky—that geographic boundary you gave me didn’t have that many photos in it, proportionately, and a lot of those didn’t have faces—probably food, or landscapes. Those tags are precomputed, so we could ignore a lot of photos right off the bat without any expensive comparison.”

He turned to look at his co-conspirator. “Just be aware—if anyone took a photo in that area but without location enabled, we’re not going to find it.”

“That’s okay,” Magda reassured him, patting his arm. “Even if she’s in a photo like that, without knowing where approximately she is, it’s no use to me.”

“Fair point,” Giovanni admitted. He peered at the console. “We’ve compared against... just over 13 million photos, and 89 million faces so far. Nothing better than a 30% match. Your girl is keeping herself off the grid rather well.” He did some math in his head. “And her face must be quite distinctive.”

Magda nodded non-committally.

“Oh—here we go. First hit, 60%.” He opened another console and typed a long command. A third window popped open, displaying what looked like a wedding party in traditional Spanish dress. A red box framed a middle aged woman who appeared to be the mother of the bride.

“Not she,” Magda said ruefully. “Never married, almost certain she never had a kid.”

“Sorry.” Giovanni hit a key and the window disappeared. “It’ll pop up any other hits automatically. Probably good that we picked 60%—we’re not getting a high rate of false positives.”

The pair sipped their drinks, Giovanni mostly engrossed in his monitors while Magda reflected on her gamble. What if it didn’t come off? Could she do something similar again? Were the Apple engineers going to be as amenable as Giovanni had been?

“Woah! Stop your grinnin’ and drop your linen,” Giovanni drawled, in a terrible attempt at an American accent.

“What?” Magda spoke fairly good English, but the words might as well have been Greek to her.

“An American film, I’m sorry,” he grinned, switching back to Italian. A new photo popped up on the screen. “82%. What do you think?” He hit a key combination, and the photo doubled in size.

Magda leaned forward. The photo had been taken in a pharmacy of some kind, and the signage appeared to be in Spanish. The central person was an attractive girl in her twenties, holding up what appeared to be a pregnancy test box, and giving a dimpled smile. However, over her left shoulder...

Magda pulled out her phone, and opened up a much-scrutinized photos folder. Her eyes flickered between Giovanni’s screen and her device.

“That’s it. That’s her.” She showed Giovanni her own photo.

He nodded. “Hard to argue. We’re lucky the angle and lighting was almost an exact match.” He pointed to the toque which framed the woman’s face. “I bet that’s what’s reducing the hit probability. I’d have to say, this is your woman—or her sister.” He frowned. “But I thought you said she’s a doctor, not a nun?”

“Believe me,” Magda said, grimly, “she’s no nun. Where’s that location?”

Torino Airport was in its traditional state of semi-chaos, but Magda had finally managed to check her bag, with some optimism about seeing it again, and now stood at the edge of the security line.

“Be safe, amore.” Giovanni hugged and kissed her. “I know you’re a hard-charging reporter, but watch yourself, you hear?“

“You’re so sweet, Giovanni.” Magda returned the hug with interest. “I’ll be fine. Thank you so much, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Giovanni coughed, and looked nervous. “Actually, let’s say that you did, and I had nothing to do with it whatsoever...“

“Bene, bene...” A final kiss. “I’ll send you a copy of the article!” She walked down the business class security channel, and out of his life.

The two hour flight to Seville was boring, but bearable. Magda successfully retrieved her luggage, picked up her pre-booked rental car while deftly avoiding the upsells that the charming but inept clerk tried on, and headed out to the mountains.

The contrast between the Torino and Andalusian traffic was stark, and for the first fifteen minutes Magda simmered like a pressure cooker as she was stuck behind a series of vehicles barely touching the speed limit. Eventually, she reminded herself that the pace of life was simply slower here, and that her doctor had recommended just such an environment for her well-being, and the frantic tapping of her foot on the accelerator started to slow. As she headed into the mountains, she even took time to look around and appreciate the landscape. At one particularly beautiful bridge across a small canyon, she pulled over and spent a while watching the autumn-infused river burble across the rocks below.

She pulled into her destination in the late afternoon. The town was barely deserving of the term; it had only a small central square, and few other shops in the alleyways branching off it. Magda had booked what seemed to be the least dubious hotel in the center; there was a cheap hostel down the road, but it looked to be cheap for a very good reason. Her own establishment was in desperate need of a paint job outside, and the wooden stairs up to the third floor creaked quite alarmingly, but at least her room was clean, if Spartan, and possessed its own tiny bathroom and shower. The view out of its small window was limited, but there was a nice perspective on a nearby mountain if you got the right angle.

Suddenly exhausted, she showered in the lukewarm water, ate a pita that she had bought from a nearby hole in the wall establishment, and crashed onto the narrow and somewhat lumpy bed. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

Magda’s Spanish was barely workable, which started to present problems the next day. Her first stop was the town pharmacy, where she was able to confirm that it matched the photo that Giovanni had located; that, at least, reassured her that this wasn’t going to be a wild goose chase. However, she struggled to communicate with the pharmacy assistant; she wasn’t sure whether the girl simply hadn’t met the nun in the picture, or just didn’t understand what Magda was asking.

She took a slow walk around the town square; it was market day, and the local farms were selling their remaining produce as the cool autumn closed off fruiting season. Magda had deliberately dressed down from her normal fashion-conscious suits in order to blend in, and didn’t think she stood out notably from the locals—at least until she opened her mouth to speak.

After an hour of failing to spot anyone in a nun’s habit, she retired to a corner cafe and sat with a coffee in her hand, looking out at the square while she doodled on her small note pad. She deliberately kept many of her notes on paper, a lesson learned from less cautious colleagues who frequently had their electronic devices hacked or accidentally wiped.

The waitress stopped by her table. “Another coffee, señora?”

“Thank you, yes.” Magda pushed her cup over. “That will be good.”

The waitress cocked her head. ”Italiano?”

“Si.” Magda brightened up. “Lei parla Italiano?”

“I do.” The girl’s Italian was accented, but perfectly serviceable. “I studied Renaissance literature in Milano for a year. That was a good time.”

“A beautiful city,” Magda agreed. She shifted gears. “I wonder, do you know, is there a convent nearby?”

“You mean, where nuns work?” Magda nodded. “Yes, it’s maybe four miles up along that road.” The girl pointed at the end of the square, in the direction of the mountain. “They come to town to buy and sell things. My mother bought a beautiful hand-sewed table cloth from them earlier this year.”

“You don’t happen to know any of them?” Magda said, hopefully. The girl shook her head.

“They are polite, but keep to themselves. They talk very little when in town. I don’t know what order they belong to.” She wrinkled her brow. “But, excuse me for saying, you don’t look like someone planning to become a nun.”

Magda laughed. “Quite right. I don’t think I’d do well as a nun—my friends tell me that I couldn’t shut up if my life depended on it. No, I’m... doing some research about remote religious communities for a magazine article.” It had the benefit of being somewhat true.

“Miss, a glass of sangria, please?” called another patron from across the cafe.

“I’m sorry, I have to serve the customers. It was nice to talk to you.” The girl walked away.

Magda scribbled several notes, and tucked her note book away in her jacket. Now, she had a target.

It was late evening when Magda, carrying a small backpack, peered out from the trees at the imposing stone wall around the compound.

She had left her car a mile or so back, tucked into a turn-out by the side of the dusty road. The last four hundred yards, she had ducked into the trees and made her cautious way through the bushes, doing her best to avoid being clawed by thorns. The autumn leaves on the forest floor were thankfully still moist, so at least every step was not making a “swish” sound, and she could approach the compound almost silently.

She squatted on a fallen tree trunk, pulled out a pair of binoculars from her pack, and slowly scrutinized the building. The shadows of early evening made it challenging to see some aspects, but eventually she satisfied herself that there were no security cameras outside. The birds were still chirping in the trees, but no discernable sound came from beyond the thick walls.

She busied herself assembling some more equipment from her pack, then took a drink of water and a chocolate bar and thoughtfully chewed it as she watched the sun go down behind the mountain. She was measuring the angle of shadow carefully, and once satisfied, carefully trod to the edge of the woods and placed the small drone on the road. She retreated back into cover, opened her controller, and ran through start-up tests before powering on the device, and carefully flying it up to the height of the tree canopy, about twenty feet above the height of the wall.

Giovanni had been very helpful in assisting her with disabling the drone’s navigation lights, and she was confident that it would not be visible to anyone in the compound, even if they happened to look in its direction. The hum of its rotors would be lost in the noise of the evening wind in the trees. She let it hover for a while as she scrutinized the low-light camera feed. So far, it looked like a mostly agricultural interior, with some hens in a long enclosure against one wall, and a few buildings scattered around the perimeter.

One moving figure was visible, crossing the center of the garden while carrying a basket of some kind—was that laundry? The figure was dressed in a traditional nun’s cloak , toque and veil, but too far to see a face.

Magda continued to scan the compound for a likely landing site. There! A tree shaded the sloped roof of a building, and would provide a dappled shadow during most of the day. Magda waited until the lonely figure had crossed the compound and moved out of sight, then carefully flew the drone over the roof, watching its distance from the tree branches.

She edged it lower and lower, then spun it around, and dropped the last couple of feet before marking the location, and releasing its payload. Hitting “RETURN”, she watched the feed as the drone retraced its path back to the road.

Powering off the device, she carried it back to the trees and disassembled it back into the pack. Now the sun had all but vanished, the forest was getting dark, and she pulled out a small red hooded flashlight to navigate her way back to her vehicle.

She left the car lights off for the first mile, out of an abundance of caution, but drove into town as if nothing had happened. Glancing at her wrist watch, there was plenty of time still before dinner. Time to change into her evening dress, and find somewhere to eat.

Next evening’s trip was similar, except that this time she had much less to carry. Her phone was a perfectly good receiver for the the wireless motion-triggered camera that her drone had left on the roof, and she successfully connected to its hidden Wi-Fi network point with no difficulties. Then, it was a matter of waiting half an hour as the day’s video was slowly downloaded into her device.

Back in her hotel room, a bottle of beer and ham roll mostly neglected on her desk, she copied the data across to her laptop, and started to play back the footage. She silently congratulated herself on the fortunate positioning—the camera had ended up pointing at a heavily-walked junction in the compound pathway.

Quickly, she determined several categories of people. The ones who were actively working in the gardens wore smocks and traditional headscarves, generally carrying tools. Then, there were what looked like regular nuns, in the same outfit that her quarry had been wearing in the pharmacy. Finally, more submissive-looking nuns, wearing veils that hid all but their eyes, and usually accompanied by a “regular” nun.

She carefully scrolled through the numerous videos, stopping at each newly visible face, and carefully examining it. The video timestamp started around 7am and slowly advanced through the morning as the the sun rose and the pictures became sharper.

There! Just after 12:30pm... A figure in different clothing, no veil. Loose pants, and a smock-like top. It looked more green than gray. But it was the figure’s height and bearing that distinguished her. Rather than scurrying along, head down, submissively, this woman carried herself with confidence and pride.

Magda scrubbed back the video and replayed it, once, twice, and on the third time paused it as the woman was about to exit the frame. She sat back and took a long celebratory swig of her now warm and flat beer.

“Gotcha! I’ve got you, Dr Accardi.”

She pulled out her map. A trip to Seville was now on her schedule for tomorrow.

Madre drummed her fingers on the old wooden desk that took up much of her cramped office. “The same phone, both days, Sor Perceptiva?’“

“Without question, Madre.” The nun scrolled through the timestamped logs browser window on the battered Chromebook that she had placed on Madre’s desk. “Approximately the same time—around dusk—and in both cases for a little less than an hour. The phone did not try to send data through our dummy station on either occasion, it just established its presence and pinged regularly.“

Madre looked thoughtful. “Do we know where?“

Perceptiva shrugged. “The signal strength was constant apart from arrival and departure. I don’t believe they moved around very much. It’s hard to be sure, but I would estimate that it was comfortably outside our walls.”

Madre leaned forward, staring at the scratched plastic screen as if it could be willed to give up more secrets. She was silent for a while, and Perceptiva shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

Eventually, she sat back. “Please check the logs every late evening, and first thing in the morning, Sor Perceptiva. You are diligent, and have made me pleased.” Perceptiva blushed. “Come and tell me if this phone returns, as soon as you can.“

“Whatever you desire, Madre.” Perceptiva bowed, and Madre magnanimously placed a kiss on her forehead, feeling the Sister tremble at the touch of her lips.

Magda checked and rechecked the contents of her backpack. It was past ten pm now, following a long day driving to, around, and back from Seville, but she was far too wired with anticipation to feel tired.

She rechecked the recorded drone footage from two days ago. It had accidentally, but fortuitously, captured what appeared to be a perfect access point for her—assuming that her lock-picking skills were still sufficient. She had surreptitiously practiced on her own hotel room door lock, thanking her stars that the hotel hadn’t upgraded to electronic key cards yet, and confirmed that her newly-purchased tools worked acceptably, but it remained to be seen what kind of lock she’d have to deal with at the compound.

She parked in the usual place, but this time she broke left into the forest before she reached the compound. Not daring to use a flashlight, she slowly pushed her way through bushes with leather-gloved hands, until the extra darkness of the compound wall appeared in front of her.

Someone did a good job of keeping a ten yard border between the compound wall and the nearest trees, so Magda held her breath and tiptoed across the clearing until she was within the moon-shadow of the walls. Now more confident, she walked slowly and deliberately, with her right hand trailing along the wall’s rough stone.

Eventually, she reached the compound corner—a moon-lit slice of forest floor warning her—and paused, listening. The night time forest sounds squawked, growled, and rustled, but nothing out of the ordinary was apparent.

She risked a slow peep around the corner. Here, the forest floor sloped downwards to the left—perhaps, why the compound limit was here—and ahead of her was a pattern of dark shapes and flat, moon-lit surfaces—the solar panel array, taking its night time rest.

A few more steps, and she was mostly obscured by the panels; two rows on the ground were supplanted by a row mounted up on the compound wall. She moved slowly, wary of cables and framing lying on the ground, or hanging low from the elevated panels above her. The periodic quiet “tick” of low level electrical activity tugged at her nerves, but she pressed on.

Finally! A gap in the panels signified a door in the wall. Unlike the imposing front gate, this appeared to be a regular-sized door, added as an apparent maintenance afterthought to the compound. She inspected the handle, and was relieved to discover a regular Yale lock mounted in the center.

She wriggled out of her backpack and started to remove items. First came a neatly wrapped gray cloak, white toque, and gray veil. She set those aside. Next, a fabric sleeve that unrolled to reveal her new lock picking tools—airline security tended to be suspicious if they found those in one’s luggage—and a small bottle of lubricant. She pulled off her sweater, stuffed it in the pack, then carefully tucked the pack well under a panel in the front row, three along from the door. Without someone actively searching for it, it would be nearly impossible to find.

She approached the door, and squirted some oil into the lock before inserting the first of her tools. For the next ten minutes, all that the forest heard was her breathing, and occasionally very muffled cursing.

Eventually there was a ‘click!’ and she felt a miniscule movement of the door. She tentatively moved the lock, feeling the increasing range of motion, and indulged with a small smile of satisfaction.

Once the door was open the barest crack, Magda applied a wedge, and quickly donned her newly-acquired nun’s clothing. She slipped through the gap in the door, and surveyed the newly-revealed courtyard; nothing moved. The compound appeared to be at perfect peace.

Mouse-quiet, she made her way towards a building in the corner of two walls. This was the trickiest part of the plan—she had no guarantee of finding somewhere to conceal herself. She was optimistic, since circumstances had generally worked out for her during her investigative career to date, but there was always the possibility of an anal-retentive security policy, even in an apparently peaceful convent, keeping all doors locked.

To her surprise, placed between the building and the wall and previously concealed in shadow, a narrow staircase led downwards. She slowly picked her way down the stone steps, eyes straining to make out anything in the gloom.

Down below, the long corridors that stretched along the lines of the wall had just enough low-level lighting that she could make out a door near the base of the stairs marked ”Almacenamiento” which she recognized as “Storage”. She tried the handle, and it opened with little effort.

Once inside, with the door closed, she risked a use of her small flashlight. True to its label, the room was packed with shelves upon which all manner of packages, tins, bottles and jars were arranged—apparently, by someone with a much stronger sense of order than her own. After flicking closed the door’s lock, she delicately made her way around the shelving to the far corner, well out of sight of anyone coming through the door.

There was a stack of collapsed and neatly-folded cardboard boxes next to the corner which she had picked out as her hiding place. She put several of them on the stone floor as an improvised mattress, removed her nun’s clothing, and took a long swig from her Camelbak water pouch before curling up in the cardboard.

Patience was the name of the game, and if she was to blend successfully into the daily operations of the convent, she’d have to do it when the compound was busy. She pulled the coarse cloak over herself, curled up, and focused on slow breathing to lower herself into sleep...

Madre steepled her fingers, regarding the Chromebook screen with an apparently impassive face.

“It seems clear that we now have an intruder,” Sor Perceptiva said with satisfaction. “They were moving around for a while last night, getting closer and closer, then after a pause must have come within the compound and very close to the transmitter. The signal weakened shortly after, but is still pinging at a fixed strength. They are almost certainly concealed somewhere within the compound.” She paused. “But what could they want?“

Madre smiled, but humor was absent from her expression. “I wouldn’t concern yourself with that, Sor Perceptiva. Just let me know when they start moving again.“

“Of course, Madre.” Perceptiva bowed, and made her way out to go feed the hens.

Magda woke with a start when she heard distant voices. It took a moment before she remembered where she was—the convent compound, likely within a hundred yards of the infamous Dr Accardi. And, right now, in hiding. She lay still, listening intently.

Footsteps slapped on the concrete floor, coming nearer and nearer. The voices had stopped. She checked her position—if someone came through the door, they would be unlikely to spot her unless they turned on the light, and even then, she might get away with it.

She shrugged. It was a convent. What were they going to do, even if they caught her? Spank her?

To her relief, the footsteps passed outside the door without stopping. Magda checked her phone for the time, having left her wristwatch back at the hotel deliberately. It was just past 8am, so not surprising that there was movement in the compound, but she had decided to wait until later when things were likely busier and it would be easier to merge anonymously into the crowd.

While waiting, she chewed a cereal bar, and took another swig of water. She would likely have to find a bathroom soon after leaving the room, but right now she could hold it in.

She re-checked her digital camera—she hadn’t yet figured out how she might arrange to take a full-face picture of Dr Accardi, but trusted in her ability to improvise. With that, and a location, her mostly-written exclusive story on the good Doctor and her extremely unorthodox medical history would be a shoo-in for a national journalism award. The one aspect she had not been able to understand, however, was why she had in particular decided to hide herself away at a convent. Magda had followed the Doctor’s financial trail to Seville a couple of years ago, but then she had vanished like morning mist.

All right—it was nearly 9:30am. She slipped on the cloak, tugged the toque into place, and adjusted the veil until only her eyes were visible. She held up her phone in selfie mode to check her appearance; satisfied, the phone disappeared under her robes. She tucked her provisions under the cardboard, and made her way to the door.

All was quiet outside. She listened for a minute, then softly turned the handle and slipped outside. Closing the door behind her, she bowed her head and slowly walked down the corridor.

Perceptiva knocked on Madre’s door, breathing heavily from her run up the stairs.

“¡Entra!”

She came into the room, and bowed. “They’re on the move. Still within the compound.”

“Excellent.” Madre gave a shark-like smile. “Please inform the Sisters.“

Magda had walked nearly all of the underground corridors, as far as she could see. She passed several women dressed exactly like herself, face veiled and head down, and one or two Sisters with their faces presented but who paid her no attention.

She had noted in passing a green door marked ”Médica” which seemed promising, but without a good reason to enter she would have to bide her time. Instead, she climbed up the stairs into the main courtyard, and slowly walked around the gardens.

The women hoeing the soil and pruning the trees mostly ignored her; one or two gave small smiles as she passed them. Magda tried to keep as wide a field of view as possible, despite her subservient posture, in case she ran into her quarry.

“Novicia!” A commanding voice came from directly behind her.

She stopped and turned, slowly. A tall Sister stood there, a small scar leading from the corner of one eye. She appeared to be checking Magda’s hands.

“Assist me in transporting supplies.” Magda managed to understand the brusque Castillian direction, and obediently trotted after the Sister, acquiesing to the demand since that would be the most likely action of a novice.

They went back down the staircase to the underground corridor, the Sister striding ahead and her sandals making sharp “clack! clack!” noises on the concrete. Magda silently cursed her own short legs as she scurried to keep up.

The Sister turned down a short side corridor right next to the Medical room. She pulled some keys from her pocket, selected one edged in green, and opened one of the sturdy doors down there. First, she reached in and pulled out a battered trolley which she positioned just beside the door.

“Four containers of lejía—there.” Magda obediently went to the shelf indicated, and pulled down two large white plastic bottles helpfully marked “LEJÍA” and bearing some chemical warning symbols. They were quite heavy, and she had to adjust her grip before bringing them to the trolley.

She bent down, carefully placed the bottles on the trolley, and stood back up. As she did so, a strong hand came up from her side, slid underneath her veil, and pressed a pad of material to her face.

“What...?” The material was soaked in something pungent, and her first breath of it started her head spinning. She tried to pull the hand away, but her arms weren’t responding to commands. She felt herself pulled tightly against someone, their firm breasts pushing either side of her neck, and their chin resting on her head. The warmth was reassuring, friendly, relaxing; all she had to do was let go...

As the chloroform fumes suppressed her last sliver of awareness, she was struck by the apparently random recollection that the Doctor was quite tall.