The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Unfaithful

By Captain Eazy

2. Brand’s Induction

The gorgeous Marie opened a door and said, “Right in here, Mr. Paulson.”

He entered a room not much bigger than a broom closet. Marie swiveled a leather chair around and said, “Please remove your jacket and unbutton your shirt. Sit in the chair. I’ll also need you to roll up your left sleeve.”

He handed her the jacket, which she placed on a hanger, hooking it onto a garment holder on the back of the door. Still feeling the low smolder of resentment that had begun when Sandra had made her hateful confession, he undid his shirt buttons and rolled his sleeve up past his elbow before seating himself. Sandra had opened a cabinet set flush with the left wall and was taking things from it. The overhead light gleamed on her platinum hair, trimmed so it framed her face in twin downswept wings. Brand looked around. In front of the leather chair was a computer terminal, the wide plasma screen currently cycling through blooms of pastel colors, forming, fading, and reforming like raindrops on the surface of a pond. On a shelf to his right lay a set of headphones. He felt something wrap tightly around his arm and he looked back. Marie was tying a rubber tube around his biceps. “What’s that for?”

“I have to take a little blood and give you an injection to relax you,” she said with a quick smile. The room was so small that he could feel the warmth of her, cool though she looked in her white uniform, and he could smell her, too, a rosy scent with an undertone of womanly musk. It smelled weirdly clean, the aroma of a woman who had just stepped naked from a hot shower. She dimpled at his faint scowl. “Don’t worry, this is standard. And I am a nurse practitioner.”

“I’m not worried.” Just fucking angry. At Sandra the Whore.

She prodded a fingertip at his vein and then dabbed his arm with a sweet-scented alcohol swab. He felt the cold spot as the liquid evaporated. “Little pinch now,” she said, but he hardly felt the needle slipping in, so deft was her touch.

“You’re good at that,” he said. Brand had never been particilarly squeamish, and he looked down with absent interest as she half-filled a syringe with dark-red venous blood.

She glanced up, her blue eyes merry. “Thank you.” The dimples again.

She transferred the few cc’s of blood to a rubber-capped tube, labeled it, and then took from the supply cabinet a small syringe and loaded it with a clear, colorless liquid from a medicine bottle. “Now this will relax you a little bit. It’s not strong, just something that will make you receptive to the program,” she said. She winked. “Patients also tell me it makes them feel wonderful. Another little pinch.”

Marie injected him near the same spot where she had drawn blood, then quickly put a small bandage in place. “Press this with your finger for a minute. Thank you.” She untied the rubber tubing. “All right. You’re going to feel warm and cozy very soon and maybe a little sleepy. Just go with it. Enjoy the ride, don’t fight it. Recline the chair to whatever angle makes you most comfortable and simply watch the screen and listen to the headphones. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense at first. The key is to relax. Now I’m going to put four electrodes in place to monitor how well you’re responding. The program will sense your tensions and alertness and will adjust the presentation accordingly.” She ripped a translucent protective covering from a round sensor pad connected to a thin wire and said, “Turn your head toward me.” He felt her paste the pad in place on his right temple, her breasts hovering temptingly above his face, so full, so inviting beneath their sheath of white nylon. “Good, now turn away.” Now just a view of the shelves, not nearly as stimulating. Another pad on his left temple.

“Very good,” she said. “Beginning to feel drowsy?”

“A little,” he confessed, though it wasn’t quite drowsiness he felt, not yet. He felt floaty, as if he had just enjoyed some primo weed. Loose. Like having a hit of nitrous oxide at the dentist’s, he thought.

“Two more little pads,” she said. Her voice dropped to a confiding murmur: “Most patients enjoy it when I apply these.”

To Brand’s surprise, Marie opened his unbuttoned shirt, baring his chest. “Do you lift weights?” “Um, no. I jog, that’s all.” “You’ve got a nice chest, Brand.” She reached inside his open shirt and around him in a half embrace to apply a third sensor pad to the side of his chest, a few inches past his right nipple. Then he felt her flatten her palm on his chest. Teasingly, she slipped it sideways, warmly touching the nipple. Brand inhaled sharply, feeling his penis begin to throb with an incipient erection. She delicately pinched his small nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Hard! You enjoy it too,” she said with a wicked grin. “Just one more and then I will stop bothering you.”

His left nipple got the same treatment from her hands. His dick was twitching like crazy now. She put the headphones over his ears, pausing just long enough to say, “I see you’re already into it. Good boy.” She roguishly reached down and patted his cock through his trousers as though it were a small, appealing, importunate puppy. “Mmm, I think you’re going to do well. Relax now. If you have any discomfort or if something just doesn’t feel right, yell out. I’ll be monitoring from just next door and I’ll come back in when the process is over.”

Brand grunted. He heard her close the door behind him, and the light in the cubicle dimmed until there was only the glow from the screen. He experimented with the chair, tilting it back, then up a bit, until he felt comfortable. Damn foolishness, but after all. He’d married the bitch. He’d even thought they had a good relation up until this past month. Fucking another man! How would she like it if he fucked Marie. Then told her about it. Like she wasn’t enough for him! Make her feel like shit. Marie would be a good fuck. Don’t even tell Sandra about it. Something better. Fuck Marie . . . right there in front . . . of . . . Sandra.

Why did I think that?

Soft music began to play on the headphones. The screen before him changed: the colors, instead of pulsing in and out in soft, blurring blossoms, began to move, arranging themselves into gently rolling waves like a multi-hued ocean. Damn Sandra anyway.

But. . . where was the anger? Brand reached for it and could not find it. Oh, he had a dull sort of resentment—it wasn’t right, she’d treated him like crap, they’d never been into anything really kinky, who did she think she was—but the sharp anger had ebbed away. And he did feel warm and comfortable, despite the bulge in his crotch. He took a deep breath. The tempo of the music he heard—hardly music, really, just soft, easy chords, blending into each other—subtly changed. Under the musical tones he could barely hear, at the very edge of consciousness, a kind of whispering, though he couldn’t quite make out any words. He wondered if the program was one of those subliminal things. He didn’t believe in that shit. Quackery. Lose weight while you sleep, stop smoking, blah blah blah. Not scientifically supported.

Try to arrange the colors into a circle.

What? Had that been an actual voice? But he hadn’t heard it exactly. Sensed it. Maybe there was something to this subliminal stuff. Or maybe that one whispered suggestion had been just loud enough for him to pick up on it. When he thought about it, he noticed the colors changing the tempo of their rolling dance. Huh. As he stared, the movement changed again. He chuckled, for no good reason—he felt as if he were beginning a really good drunk—and the waves danced to his laughter.

Bio—what was it? Biofeedback. He’d heard of it. You sort of gave the computer data, and the computer reacted to it. Reflected your mood, your feelings. Maybe your thoughts? How did you make the damn colors go into a circle? It didn’t make sense. On the screen purples, pinks, and greens washed left, then right, blurring into each other, mingling. Surface of an alien sea. Wrinkled with criss-crossing waves. Surging and falling, but not a circle.

Okay, a circle. Make a circle. How? Think a circle, maybe.

Nothing happened. Except Brand began to feel almost as if he were spinning, not in vertigo, not in a dizzy-making whirl, not even Blindman’s Bluff, let alone Tilt-a-Whirl vomit-provoking abandon, but gently, as though he were sitting in a swivel chair and idly making himself go round, like a bored kid of ten. Probably the drug. Good shit.

As soon as the chuckle began, it died in his throat, choked off by a flash of blunt resentment. Sandra and three men, damn her. Not just one! Damn her, three men! Tramp. Sort of sexy to think about, though. She was a babe. No wonder I’m jealous, guy like me, not exactly a jock or a rock star, beautiful girl like her. Hell, first time I saw her I got a hard-on for her. Like that Marie, what tits. But she had no right, no right to do it and then tell me about it, no right. That’s just bitchy, just . . . evil. I can imagine her. See her pumping another man’s cock, the way she used to pump mine. Hell, maybe I haven’t been loving her up enough. Work too hard, too tired when I get home. Man’s got to make a living. Tough times, tough titty. Marie’s tits. She pinched my nipple and I damn near came in my shorts. Creamed my jeans we used to say. Serve Sandra right I bent that girl Marie over and gave it to her from behind, bet she’d be tight. What an ass on her, round, enticing even in the damn nurse’s outfit. Peel her out of that. Spank that ass, make it pink and glowing. Feel her hot slit, thrust into it.

The tones had grown louder, the colors brighter.

See a circle.

No circle to be seen. Just that damn wash of different colors, back and forth, make me seasick if I watch it long enough. Better if it was round. Wait a minute. I think. . . .

He didn’t know how he was doing it, or even if he was doing it, but on the screen the warmer colors, the yellows, oranges, and pinks, had gradually collected toward the center, the cooler ones, blues and purples, had edged away, so now there was a kind of wishy-washy wobbling blob in the middle of the screen. Not a circle, but an unstable slowly rotating splotch.

Make it round.

Round. Three guys around Sandra. Cocks in her cunt, her ass, her mouth. She gobbling and writhing, shiny with sweat. Slippery, squirming, clenching, heart pounding. He loved to shower with her, his hands gliding over her soap-slick, seal-shiny skin. She writhing, soaping his cock. God, they used to be good in bed together. She’d do anything, try anything. Maybe it had all dulled a little over nearly five years of marriage. Anything would after five years. How could fucking become routine? But maybe it had, five minutes of foreplay, five minutes of routine thrusting, a spurt, then sleep. She used to love to come, screaming, flailing, clenching him tight tight tight against her thrashing body, scratching, clawing the blood from his back more than once. She hadn’t had an orgasm like that in. . . a long time. Months. Years. Could it be years? Maybe it was sort of his fault. But she could have told him. He would have given her what she needed. He didn’t cheat on her. Never once cheated. He could have if he wanted to. Opportunities. That girl in Personnel had come onto him at the Christmas party. She’d be easy enough. Or Marie. Bet that little nurse would . . . be nice to . . .

Hey. Hey. Look at that.

On the screen the blob had begun to rotate faster, smoothing as it did, until now it spun serenely like a planet in space, a gas giant like Jupiter, all warm hues against a dark cool background. The patches of pinks and yellows and oranges had become streaks. He felt an absurd little pulsation of happiness. He had done that. He had made a wibbly-wobbly circle. Just like the voice had asked.

Make it blue and purple.

Blue and purple. Reverse the colors. Send the warm to the edges, the cool to the center. How the hell do you expect me to do that?

Breathe deeply. Relax. Relax. The more relaxed you are, the cooler the colors of the circle become.

Breathe deeply. Okay. Can do that. Here’s one deep, deep breath. In, hold it, then out. Again. Again. Sandra used to gasp in a deep breath when I first plunged my cock into her hot welcoming wet pussy god so tight like a greased hand clenching my rod. Deep breathing! She panted like a bitch when I pounded into her from behind my cock pistoning in and out, my thighs slapping her beautiful round ass, smack! Smack! Her beautiful hanging breasts jiggling, her head thrown back, her breath coming hard and fast. I’m hard. I’ve got a hard-on from remembering. Maybe there’s something between us still. Forgive? Can’t forget. Forgive? Forego? Round and round. Colors move. See them flow.

On the screen, the edges of the circle blurred. The blues, ranging from sky-color to a gorgeous deep violet, bled into the yellows. The purples, from lavender to almost black, streamed in, squiggly lines invading the planetary surface like rivers being born on its surface. Damn, I’m doing it. Blues and purples in the middle. Yellows and reds and oranges to the edges. Damn.

He could identify no certain point at which the central circle became distinctly blue and purple, but somehow it happened. Now the hot colors were drifting, soft foggy-edged clouds, interstellar gaseous nebulae, against which spun the cool-colored circle. The blue, violet, lavender, and purple lines were spiraling, like water draining, faster and faster. Fascinating. Brand had the feeling of being drawn in. It was soothing. The music he heard had become a perfect accompaniment to the visuals, a swirling rhythm that swept him in, opened his mind, welcomed him. He no longer thought about the pace of his breathing. The music controlled it, controlled his pulse.

Deeper and deeper. You feel safe. You feel good.

Yeah. Yeah, I actually do. Sort of . . . pleasantly numb. Sort of accepting. And I still have a hard-on.

Relax, relax. You don’t want to do anything. You don’t want to think about anything. Relax.

The spiral was lazy now, and he felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, falling slower than gravity’s pull, floating, floating. Warm, as if in the warm embrace of the Caribbean. Indolent. Lazy. . . .

Sleep. Keep your eyes open, but slip into sleep.

. . . sleepy . . .

Think of sex. Think of having sex.

Funny. The spiral began to pulse, like his twitching cock! So funny. His cock slipping into Sandra’s Marie’s. . . into her mouth. Hot tongue. Pliant lips following the contours and ridges. Hot mouth, hot. Wet. Mischievous eyes looking up at him, enjoying his building arousal. She gained pleasure from pleasing him. So good, so good.

Think of Sandra having sex. See her. Enjoy her. You will not feel resentment or anger. It will arouse you. See her. Imagine Sandra having good sex, the best sex.

Sandra on her knees, eagerly sucking a disembodied cock. Not so bad. Kind of sexy, kind of arousing. Pulling it down as she lay back, ass off the floor, weight on shoulders and feet, outspread knees bent. Caressing the floating cock. Fitting it into her snatch. Where’s the guy, who’s the guy? No body visible, just that stiff, rigid rod. What does it matter? Look at her, arching her back, taking it full depth, glorying in it. What a babe. Those tits! How round, how firm yet soft they were! Those suckable, fuckable tits! He had sprayed her face with hot cum more than once, she laughing in elfin glee, licking greedily, after he had tit-fucked her, she had said I came, baby, I came, just from that, ooh, I’m so wet, I’m so hot, get hard again, get hard, I need you in my pussy. . . .

No shame. Nothing wrong. No guilt. No blame.

She was enjoying herself so much. . . . you could always tell when she was going to come. Her areolas would suddenly puff and turn a deep coral color, and her nipples would swell and if you licked them, sucked them, bit them, she screamed with insane pleasure. Right over the edge. She’d do anything after she came once, wanting more. Anything. Any position.

No inhibitions. . . .

Spiraling. Going down. Going down on Sandra, her luscious slit both salty and clean-tasting, her swollen pink pearl of a clit begging for attention. Tongue-fucking her. She clutching his hair, wrapping her legs around his head, squealing, urging his mouth tight, tight, tight against her open wet pulsating pussy, he sucking, pulling the frilly pink labia between his lips, nibbling them, tongue-flicking them, making her crazy. The old sixty-nine, he so focused on giving her pleasure that he lasted a long time, even with her sucking him just the way he liked, not deep-throating him, because that gave him no friction on the sensitive portions of his cock, but taking the head of his dick into her hot wet slippery mouth, swirling her tongue around the glans, making it into a probe to explore the slit, sucking, demanding his cum. He lapping her cunt eagerly, clit clean down to asshole, she loving it, loving it, mouth-fucking him until he spurted his load and she quivered and they came together and he lapped her delicious flowing juices and she swallowed his hot cum, touching his asshole with a teasing finger, he moaning and she purring in pleasure.

Listen carefully. Understand. You are in deep trance. From now on, follow these orders. You always will go into this trance state when you hear the words “Jack kite loosely,” in that order. Those three words said together will put you into this state. “Jack kite loosely.” Only in that order. You will be just as relaxed and receptive as you are now. You will surrender your will. You will. . . .”