The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mistress Jenna Beds In

Two fit for their age old ladies with big tits and asses were looking out a window from a corridor in Center Building. Looking out away from the target area.

“This is amazing,” said Vicky.

The seedy industrial district before them looked, at first glance, to be the same as before, but there were differences now for those with eyes to see.

It was night time and the street lighting in Soth Street was poor, but not zero. Watch the ground around any lit area for a short while and a woman would slowly walk through it. She would show too much flesh for the cold without any sign of discomfort.

Vicky noted this happened around every lit area. And even in the extensive dark areas there were a number of pinpricks of light which sometimes glowed brighter for a few seconds before dimming again.

She wondered how many there were outside the lit areas. All these little pools of street lighting suddenly became occupied whenever a car appeared, even if the original occupier was now occupied elsewhere.

It was a skill, Vicky suddenly realised. She had no experience of large scale prostitution and was fascinated. She wondered at the mind set of the whores. Okay, these ones were controlled, but others weren’t and they still went and did it.

Vicky had no problems with sex, but she didn’t consider this to be sex. Yes, the men got their rocks off everywhere and here the women also got orgasms, but for different stimuli. The men were normal. Rub their cocks any which way and you’d have to be careful because they would spurt any which way and Mistress Jenna’s bitches could rub men’s cocks any which way they chose. But those girls only orgasmed when they got paid and then performed the deed. The actual deed on its own was nothing to them. They got themselves off when their john got the service he paid for after they got paid. It was both together that got them off and boy did they get off.

Vicky totally understood why they did it when she saw that. In the end she decided it ‘wasn’t very romantic’. And Vicky loved romantic. She read a lot of romance novels when she was waiting. She waited for events a lot during her life. It was boring. The novels helped. Her phone was full of them.

“It’s what can happen when a large group of people work as one instead of moving around chaotically. Things do get done that way but that’s despite the people trying to be ‘helpful’. It’s much more efficient to have one controller and a lot of drones.”

“Hive mentality?” asked Vicky off the top of her head.

“Maybe, but not always.”

Sonia had her Franchise hat on right now.

“Hive is good, but it doesn’t do innovation well. Only as well as the controller. If we can have a hive for routine stuff like them moving here, setting up and installing the cameras, for instance, that’s good. But a hive reacting to an attack, or even just some sudden innocuous change, can be problematic.

“There you need additional input, brainstorming, a number of people working on the problem. And not necessarily working together. As long as they’re invested in the outcome, that’ll be far better than a hive.

“That’s how The Franchise operates and it worked. It works, I mean. They’ll survive Betsy’s decimation in China and carry on. It’ll be the making of some of the managers and the ending of some others. Just like normality, really.”

Vicky was silent during this little speech because Sonia wasn’t prone to reminisce like this. It sounded as if she was nostalgic for her old job.

“Having second thoughts?”

“Yes. But it’s only that. I’m not going back. I can’t. It doesn’t mean I’m not right though.”

They returned to their apartment in West Building and made a drink. They were in West Building because Mistress Jenna wanted the whores to have access to all the rooms in Center Building.

“How did it feel to be the only ones there that weren’t whores?” asked Sonia.

“Fine. I just wish we didn’t have to disguise ourselves as oldies with big tits.”

“It’s safer this way. You know that.”

Sonia wasn’t very sympathetic but she was rediscovering empathy and changed the subject.

“Do you know how Soth Street got its name?”

“No. Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter but it’s ironic. I discovered it when I researched this place.”

“Ironic?”

“It’s an acronym coined a couple of hundred years ago when River City was just a little outpost. It stands for Street of the Harlots.”

Vicky laughed. “Oh that’s so precious.”

“There’s more. This area was supposed to be the haunt of vampires back then as well.”

Vicky laughed louder.

“Vampires? Here? Two hundred years ago? You’re joking?”

“No. The tales were written down. They also say there’s at least one still in River City somewhere. A female.”

“Of course it’s a female. This is River City. I bet it has big boobs as well as a massive arse.” Vicky thought for a while before continuing, “I suppose it’s a ‘she’. Do vampires have sex? I’ve seen films with both males and female vampires, but do they just drink blood? And use their bodies only as lures?”

It was over an hour later when Vicky said, “You know what, Sonia, lets get that vampire data back to Paris. See what they make of it.”

“Are you sure? It’s just a legend.”

“Of course I’m not sure, but I don’t want us to fail because we’ve been careless.”

Sonia looked at Vicky until Vicky told her the truth.

“Okay. I’ve got a feeling. That’s all.”

That was better.

“I’ll do it now then.”

Vicky was still thinking of it when she fell asleep that night.

Viking

Violet woke the next morning feeling strangely awake and energised. It wasn’t normal for her, but that didn’t stop her morning routine.

“Hi Vi,’ was the unwelcome greeting at work, as usual. As usual Violet smiled and nodded and made the coffee.

“Did you see him? You live there, don’t you?” Jane, her desk neighbour asked.

“What?”

“You don’t know?” Jane reached over to her bag, retrieved her paper, opened it and passed it over. Violet saw the story. There was a new super in town and he was seen in her own neighbourhood? Violet read the story while Jane looked on with amusement.

“You didn’t know?”

Violet shook her head while reading. Apparently this hero had stopped the mugging of an old lady and then went on to a bar in a disreputable area. The old lady had disappeared. No doubt she had gotten herself away as soon as she could. Reporters wanted to talk to her to get her take on things, but she was surprisingly difficult to find. Possibly because the descriptions they had gleamed from witnesses varied from being about forty years old to really old and from fat to excessively fat. The various descriptions of her clothes were so far apart from each other they weren’t worth mentioning.

But the reporters had better luck interviewing the survivors from that bar and had pieced together the story. He had gone in and demanded ale in a foreign accent. The barman took one look and immediately got him his drink. But he didn’t have any money, so the unfortunate Carl had called security, which consisted of a couple of bouncers who didn’t last long. He had settled down among the wreckage and the barmaid had served him drinks the rest of the night, stepping over the unfortunate Carl to do so. The other customers had also settled down when they saw he wasn’t going to attack them and especially when they realised the barmaid served them for free as well.

Eventually, someone became brave enough, or foolish enough as the drinks were free, to ask him questions. Specifically his name. He thought for a while before answering, “Viking.”

The name suited him. It suited his height, well over six feet, as well as the clothes he was wearing which didn’t hide his muscles and his smell was, well, distinctive was one word they used. It was obvious really, once they regained their wits enough to see the obvious.

Violet was amazed she knew absolutely nothing about this. After all, Viking had saved that old woman within sight of her own window, but she had heard nothing at all. Not even when the ambulance and the cop cars arrived, sirens blaring. ‘I must have fallen asleep,’ she told herself. ‘It’s not as if I do anything to keep me awake,’ she thought in a rare moment of self reflection.

DAY 8

Shield Maiden at the Bank

On the corner was a bank. It was a small bank that catered for the locals mostly, but, despite that, it did have cash inside. Not a lot, to be sure, but enough for this gang to want it. So, when Violet was ensconced at work one day, they went and tried to take enough of the cash to help them in their need.

Everyone was scared shitless, lying down facing the floor with their hands over their heads, as was the proper procedure, when the leader, the one screaming out his orders to the civilians and to his own little group, pitched forward and fell face down onto the wooden floor. There was a knife sticking out of his back. The other robbers started to look round but were too late.

With a cry straight out of the wastelands of Scandinavia, she was upon them slicing with her sword. It all happened so fast none of them could give an accurate account of what happened afterwards. None of those that lived that is. Sword and shield against guns should be a foregone conclusion, but not with this woman around. She was far too fast for them. The one shot at her just slammed into her shield and did no damage. He didn’t get the chance for another shot ever again.

Afterwards the police tried to build up a coherent picture of the, presumed, super hero who had saved them all. The problem was she had just left as soon as the danger was over, leaving the traumatised staff to pull themselves together and sort it all out. All the police could put together was she was tall, over six feet, blonde and hot with big tits. She was dressed in a leather jerkin of sorts and some sort of worn and patched pants that looked old. Oh yes, she smelled a bit. All these observations were gleaned from the male witnesses.

The female witnesses all stated the smell was disgusting and pervasive. They smelt her before they dared to open their eyes and that smell hit them right in their guts. When they did peek, they didn’t see much. Long natural looking blonde hair that was in urgent need of washing and combing straggled past her shoulders and was held back from her eyes by some sort of cloth or leather helmet thing. She had striking blue eyes. She was tall, over six feet and wore flats that didn’t help her legs at all, which were far too muscular. Also, her outfit was retro, very retro, in fact, far too retro. Leather and wool mostly and very dirty looking. Yes this sort of look was fashionable, but there was such a thing as going too far, wasn’t there? And she went far too far. And she smelled. She smelled bad.

The one robber left to be interrogated described some sort of blondeness with blue eyes rushing at him just before he woke up in hospital.