The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The fifth time he saw her, was at a bar on Hollywood Boulevard. It happened the day immediately after her strange attempt at seduction. While he tried his best not to think about her ass or any of the other things she said, she was right about the power of curiosity. When people don’t have any curiosity about themselves, that is always a bad sign. When they don’t have any curiosity about others, it’s even worse for it means replacing the possibility of meaningful interchanges with self-imposed barriers. Often guilty of the latter, Julian was trying to go beyond them. Answering her call the moment he stepped out of the office to grab a bite was a good first step in that direction.

“Good afternoon.” She said. “Tell me you missed me more since the last time we were together.”

“Hello again. And why would I do that, Gretchen?” He stopped by the elevator, cell glued to his ear. People rushed him by, but he paid no attention to them.

“Because hearing it would make me smile, something I’m sure you would enjoy imagining right now before you get to see the real deal.”

“So now you want to control my imagination, too?”

“Would that really be such an unpleasant thing?” She chirped. “For instance, if I were to tell you what I’m wearing right now... what would happen?”

“If I were still in my twenties, I would be all over the moon at the prospect, but I’m not, so...” He sighed.

“Someone’s a little grumpy, today. Is everything okay, Julian?”

A trick question, one he always tried to evade. No, everything was not okay and it hadn’t been so since the last time he remembered despite all attempts to externally project otherwise. He was expected to be strong and resolute in every waking moment, immune to the pressures of a busy lifestyle and all the falsehood required to keep it going. On brief occasions, the veneer cracked, and patience ran thin. He could feel both sensations bubbling under his skin and he hated them both. His usual response was a dismissive ‘yes’ before moving on to another subject, yet there was nothing ordinary about the way her voice made him shiver. Before realizing what he was doing, he blurted:

“No. I’m not having a good day, Gretchen. Forgive me but my mood is all over the place so unless this conversation is going somewhere, can we please cut it short?”

“We can, but not for long. I think we should meet. Tonight. I know a place you’re bound to love.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s precisely because you think so that you will take up on my offer.”

“We’re doing reverse psychology now?” He let out another tired exhale.

“I would never do something as trivial as that. This is an invitation to another reality you wish to know. A change of scenery for a change of mind. Come and I’ll answer every question you’ve been dying to ask since the first time you laid eyes on me.”

“Every single one? Interesting...”

“Within reason, of course. Some mysteries are fun, Julian. I don’t want to deprive you of them, any more than you do. How soon can you meet me? 10 pm? Or do you wish to grab dinner first? That works for me, too.”

“That almost sounds like an invitation, Gretchen.”

“It can be, if you’re buying.”

“Huh? Usually the person doing the invite handles the check.”

“True, but the one more curious submits to the whims of the woman for it’s the right thing to do.”

Tempting, but work spoke louder and he still had the rest of the day ahead of him. “Apologies, but I’m going to have to take a rain check on the dinner.”

“Too bad. Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“A little nightcap, then. Let’s get to know each other some more and don’t forget to practice those questions beforehand.”

“Do I really need to?”

“No, but think of it as an assurance just in case you... forget...” Her voice trickled melodiously down the line, honey dewdrops slowly finding its way to unsuspecting ears. It was the last thing she said before the connection went dead.

A minute later, he received a text with the location of where they were supposed to meet. The Serendipity was quite the recent acquisition of Los Angeles’ nightlife, half vintage sober, half neon paradise, for “proper chance happened somewhere in-between”. Although familiar with their ads, catchy pop jingles that invited everyone for an impromptu dance, Julian had never set foot in the place, and wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Coming from the most mysterious woman he had ever encountered though, the bag of surprises was sure to run deep. He thought about it over a good Moussaka and two glasses of Agiorgitiko and, just like before, the wait to be with her once more proved far less amenable than he was used to.

When the sun finally descended over the workday and the turmoils of a business-driven brain, Julian did something he had long forgotten to do and rode a bike across town. The black Harley Davidson Road Glide was one of four in his private collection that rarely got any use. Born of an impulsive purchase, a mid-life crisis or the all too familiar combination of both, he loved the stylish retro frame and the illusion of freedom that came with it, but preferred to blend in with the crowd as much as possible, hence the reason why the Metro remained his perfect means of transportation. Surrounded by normal people, all trying to make a living for themselves, he too could pretend to be one, and lose himself in the road of no expectations.

Gretchen was outside the bar, waiting for him. While he had hoped to see another PVC treat, this time she had chosen an emerald green criss cross back frill hem bodycon dress and matching sandals. It screamed casual, but the price tag on both items was anything but.

“Beautiful ride you have there” She said as he looked around for a place to park. “And quite big, too. You’re not compensating for something, are you?”

“I’m not sure starting this evening with a dick joke is the best way to make me feel more at ease, Gretchen.” He replied, visibly flustered.

“And if I choose pussies?”

“Choose whatever you want after helping me find a spot, please.”

She flipped a green coin at him with the bar’s logo—a stylized black four-leaf clover and two striking feminine eyes in the center—etched in it. The irises were of distinct colors.

“Private lot underground. Plenty of spots left.” She winked.

“Don’t tell me this place is yours...” He muttered.

“It’s not, yet it is. Meet me inside when you’re done and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Julian nodded and the flashy motorcycle rode away from the crowd gathering outside the bar, screeching rubber contrasting with his dumbfounded silence. After finding the perfect resting place, he followed a trail of Celtic arrows drawn on the pavement to a corridor with two garish-looking elevators and a flight of service stairs. Tired of cramped spaces, he chose the latter, exercising his calves as he tried to do the same with his mind.

Speculations ran rampant. If Gretchen indeed owned the place, it was likely she wasn’t into him for the money. Nonetheless, that didn’t account for her secrecy and vague insinuations. Why had she chosen him to begin with? That was one question he was determined on getting an answer to, unless he...

... forgot.

Julian blinked halfway up the stairs, tension exhaling from his muted breath. She had said something about it, didn’t she? Then again, she said lots of things all the time, most of which made absolutely no sense at all. When others tried to run him in circles with incomplete propositions and half-baked suggestions, he was always ready to shoot them down, make their pedestal tumble and crumble. So what was so special about her? Why was she the only pearl in a sea of dead oysters? And why did he care so much about it? Fuck, wouldn’t it be better if he just put it all behind, turned around and...

... forgot?

Better? Unlikely. Easier? Without a doubt. Retreating takes less effort than moving forward because it’s familiar ground, the trodden path that always ends in safety. She was the opposite of all that, the embodiment of an uncertainty too appealing to be ignored. Her sensual smile was on his mind, her sultry voice on his hands and feet. It was as if she had attached invisible puppet strings to them to make him march to the beat. It was weird, intense, bewildering

He liked it.

Resuming his ascent, he found that the staircase gave way to a circular door similar to those seen in fantasy movies from the early 2000s. Just like the bouncer stationed outside, wearing a green and black shirt and short combo, it appeared like an elaborate facade bathed in a favorable light than something real. The steroid-pumped man let out an incomprehensible grunt and let him in.

Everything inside The Serendipity reminded him of a busy patchwork. The hard wood floor of the division he came into stopped a few feet ahead before transforming into a grid of rainbow lamps even old night clubs had strayed away from. Beyond that, a collection of black-and-white tiles played with one another until they reached a spiraling ramp that descended into a gaming room. He saw red felt tables, and old arcade machines entangled in a symphony of lost quarters right next to a state-of-the-art VR station. The walls all around were covered in peculiar paintings whose haphazard strokes defied both direction and gravity. Looking at them was like looking into a deliquescent abyss hanging from another abyss that stretched into infinity.

“What is this place?” He mumbled, eyes moving back and forth between each uncanny presence and the people happily dwelling in the spaces between them. Young, old, barely legal, or closer to the casket than a trip back home... everyone was there, dancing and singing, verdant glasses in hand or simply juggling a half-open bottle. An electronic sax set the tempo, but the melody itself was as improvised as everything else.

Gretchen navigated the happy guests to meet him once more, a single interrogation on her dark-red lips.

“What do you think?”

“This is the most disconcerting place I’ve ever been to.” Julian confessed.

“That’s good for that was his intention.”

“His? Who are we talking about?”

Gretchen placed a hand around his torso and spun him to face a mid-twenties black man with purple and red strands of hair exploding from the center of an otherwise clean shaven scalp. He was the one playing the sax, soaking the rhythm and making it his own.

“That’s Malcolm, the owner of The Serendipity. He created this place to be an all-inclusive environment, a fusion of genres. The extravagant decor you’re seeing? All his, the ripe fruit of a seed that was withering away in his head.”

“Wait, so you’re not the owner? What about this?” He twirled the parking lot token in his fingers.

“A gift. A reminder. Before Malcolm and I met, he though he was unremarkable, incapable of any interesting ideas. He dreamed a lot, but that was it. Not any more.”

“Unremarkable, huh?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“That’s what I thought about you when I first saw you at the Metro station.”

“Really?” She hugged his right ass cheek. “Do you still think the same way?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

“It would have been impossible to do so considering I’m one of a kind.”

“So it seems... Can we get back to Malcolm?”

“If it’s what you’re set on asking me about... shoot!”

“What exactly is your relationship with him? Did you finance him or something?”

Gretchen leaned towards him to whisper: “No, I just gave him the tools to make him stop thinking he’s unremarkable. He did the rest.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Why not, dear Julian? Because it’s not what you were hoping to hear? If you wanted a unique response, perhaps you should have chosen another question.”

“Like what?”

“You’re the one with queries, not up to me to know what it is you want although I suspect this is not what crossed your mind when you thought about what you would ask. It’s okay, though. I find it amusing when people ask me the things I want them to ask even without understanding why, and it’s even more entertaining when they agree to what I say simply because I say it, don’t you think?”

“I think I need a drink.”

“It’s a splendid thing we’re in a bar then.”

Gretchen led him by the hand toward one of two counters. They were both in opposite corners of the main floor and couldn’t be any more different. One was a wavy, irregular surface as psychedelic as the rest, the other a boring intersection of rectangular lines you could find anywhere else. The latter welcomed them with deafening silence.

“You should feel comfy, here.” She remarked, taking a seat. Her lovely legs taunted his senses, promising something he did not think he deserved.

“Do you?”

“I feel comfortable in my skin wherever I am, which is more than I can say of you.”

“I guess we’ve moved past reverse psychology into shock therapy then...”

“I wouldn’t really know. Navigating labels is your expertize, not mine.”

“What do you do then? Make them?”

Gretchen motioned the bartender and ordered a Death in the Afternoon. “I shatter them at every chance I get. The one thing expectations are truly good for is to create a drive for people to move, not the movement itself. The same with questions and answers. They don’t really mean that much as long as you’re willing to put yourself out there, which you’re clearly not.”

“I am here, aren’t I?” He mimicked her request. Absinthe and champagne made for a risky but surprisingly delicious combination, as Ernest Hemingway knew.

“Not really. I mean, physically, yes. Mentally, you seem elsewhere. Your mood hasn’t cleared up yet?”

“Not really.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I’d rather talk some more about what you do.”

“I do what needs to be done, Julian.” Gretchen opened her legs ever so slightly, enough to see she had ‘forgotten’ to wear panties. The trimmed delta exuded a dangerous allure. “Hard to put it in words you can easily fit inside your worldview, but I have a predilection for making unpleasant things and ideas... disappear.”

“And pleasant ones too, I hope.” He blurted as he visualized his hardening cock sailing into uncharted waters.

“You’re thinking too small. That won’t do.”

“Do for what?”

“The demonstration you were about to ask me. I get it. People like you always need some sort of proof before letting go of them all. You will have it, but not today.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I just said so, and I give my gifts when and how I choose. Malcolm never questioned that. Be like him for me.”

“How will I know?”

“That’s easy. Unlike everything else in this world, I’m the one thing no one is ever truly able to... forget. Sweet dreams.”

Julian blinked and she was gone, an emerald impression of pure delight with mismatched eyes and inviting pussy. Even the architectural oddities of the bar were easier to understand than her plays with words. Frustrated and yet completely aroused, he finished his drink and rode back home, unsure of what was to happen next.

The sixth time he saw her, he...

The sixth time he saw her, he...

... he didn’t know for sure what happened (or when!), a hazy mist clouding his sense of self and everything else beyond it, but surely it was something good, just like everything she did. Gretchen was so beautiful and so... charming. Yes, charming! Easy to talk to, easier to listen, completely irresistible once the ideas she so expertly wove into lulling sentences made their way past resistance and unfounded grievances. How could he have ever doubted her grandeur, the mark of a Goddess too good to walk the same earth as him? It was folly, insanity, a betrayal of the heart that would never spin again unless she willed it. She...

Julian was in his bedroom, completely naked, facing the farthest wall as if it were a rippling gateway to another dimension. The digital clock on the mahogany night stand was frozen at the impossible hour of 6:66 am, but to consider that such an angel of light was actually the Devil transmogrified to lead him into damning temptation was a thousand times more terrifying than the fact his memories had somehow been wiped clean.

He didn’t remember parking the motorcycle outside his apartment. He didn’t remember opening the front door. He didn’t remember going to the bedroom. He didn’t remember falling asleep and waking up again.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A desert of sensations, realizations, and aspirations. Pure blankness, unadulterated void. No gaps to fill, for no gaps existed. It was either the perfect dream or the most elaborate of nightmares.

“Labels again? Why can’t things be the way they are with you?” Gretchen’s voice admonished him. Glancing to his right, he saw her standing at the bedroom door’s threshold, all clothes gone as well, oily breasts glistening, delicious cunt open wide.

“Oh, wow!” He crossed his legs over the fluffy duvet.

“Is this what you wanted to see?”

“You look amazing.”

“Didn’t I look amazing before? Or is your scale of ‘amazingness’ indirectly proportional to the amount of clothes I’m wearing?”

“I didn’t say that. You look amazing all the time.”

“Because I am, right?” She sauntered to him and sat on his lap, immediately impaling his cock between her wet thighs.

“Yes. What have I done to deserve this?”

“You said you wanted a demonstration of what I do, dear. Consider this one it.”

“When did I say that?” He scratched the back of his neck.

“When I told you to do it. You excel at that, Julian. Following instructions—especially when they come from me—is what you do best.”

“You got that wrong. I lead, don’t follow.”

“So you still think you’re in charge?” She smirked as she pushed him back against the mattress. “How can you think that if I’m on top?”

“I’m not a motorcycle for you to ride...”

Gretchen pinned his arms to the bed and ground her pelvis against his marble shaft. He should have been able to overpower her but the petite lady hadn’t received the memo. “You seem perfectly rideable to me. You all are when your voice comes from below.”

“Who’s ‘we’, Gretchen?”

“All men, of course. Women are a lot more sophisticated, not so easy to manipulate. I can handle any of you in any way I choose, provided I find the right angle to work with. I’ve been looking for it since our first conversation and it seems all I had to do was wait for you to fall asleep.”

Julian tried to escape her grasp, but he was easily crucified again, legs spread apart by her own, the living Bermuda triangle that made everything disappear brushing the tip of his leaking phallus.

“Just an erotic dream? How disappointing!” He puffed. “I thought we were finally going somewhere with this.”

“We are. At least, I know I am. You need only feel upset if you believe you’re going to wake up. It will be better for you if you only believe what I want you to.”

“Is that you told Malcolm?” He sniggered, her natural perfume enveloping his nostrils in a cloud of shameless euphoria. “Did you fuck him until he embraced his innermost desires?”

“It’s what I tell everyone before I take over but, if you really must know, I never fucked him at all. My game and my rules change to fit the player, Mr. Angelopoulos. I like this new format we’re going with.”

“Please don’t call me that.” He rolled his eyes.

“Not American enough for you?”

“As much as I love my heritage, it’s what I used to be, not anymore.”

“Running away from your name is a strange way to show you love your heritage. If that’s how you profess your love of everything, no wonder you feel so lost.” Gretchen laid down to kiss his rugged chest.

“What do you really want from me?”

“I could ask you the same thing. You came into my life for a reason that you’ve yet to recognize. I’m hoping this is it.”

“If this is only a dream, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Would you know it if you were awake, or more aware of your surroundings? What if I suddenly snap my fingers and tell you ‘you are mine and must confide in me all that you are?’ Is that enough to make you cry the truth?”

“Sorry, but I don’t believe in hypnosis either.”

“You don’t have to, as long as it works. Your subconscious knows this. That is why you welcomed me here.”

Julian pushed himself against her breasts trying to find leverage to turn the tables but she remained firm, uncontrollable, a Queen conquering her knight. “I welcomed you? You said I wasn’t in charge. Isn’t that a contradiction?”

“No, it’s not. You’re not in charge. I just say the words you wish to hear so you don’t pay attention to the ones you’re always meant to remember, especially when you’re not focused on them. This altered state of consciousness will fade soon, and you will forget everything but a simple thing. The sixth time you saw me, you couldn’t wait to see me again. I called you first. Now it’s your turn. And this time, dinner is not off the table.”

“Where?”

“Up to you. You have my attention. I have your mind. Let’s meet somewhere where both can shine. Just remember to... forget. You’re good at it. You will always be good for me.”

The sixth time he saw her, he...

The sixth time he saw her, he...

The sixth time he saw her, he yearned for yet another descent into blissful confusion. Dinner at eight.

The seventh time he saw her was precisely then, but things didn’t feel right. Le Petit Greek, about 2 miles from Hollywood’s Walk of Fame, had always been a favorite because of its cozy atmosphere that made people relax and eat until there was nothing left to. However, just like the day/week/month? before—he didn’t know!—he found this familiar ground awash in an otherworldly glow the moment Gretchen walked in.

She looked ravishing in a two piece dark blue leather set and vertiginous heels that would make any person into trampling drool. Not that he had ever thought about it before, but that was the thing with her. Even the most outlandish of suggestions almost made perfect sense, and if he tried to say anything to the contrary, she would subtly remind him of how she wanted things to go.

For this particular occasion, he had tried to look more casual, replacing the same boring business suits for a pair of denim jeans and a khaki polo and, hopefully, she would enjoy the change.

“Looking good...” She immediately remarked when he stood up and offered to adjust her seat.

“I could say the same, but that would be the understatement of the year.”

“Have I blown up your scale yet?” She offered him a sensual wink.

“What makes you think I have one?”

“I’ve seen how that brain of yours works... the only thing I don’t know is if goes up to ten, twenty, or something else, but I bet you’re going to satisfy my curiosity.”

He pushed the chair forward until it was perfectly aligned with the square table and returned to his seat, a bemused smile on his lips.

“You win that bet.”

“Of course, I do. So...?”

“Ten. And you used to be a five to me.”

Gretchen tapped her long nails on the crystal glass next to her. “Used to? Good. I would hate to be average when I can be more than extraordinary. Am I a ten to you now or more?”

“To be honest, I have a really hard time with numbers when it comes to you.”

“As you should. Thank you so much for the dinner invitation. I really wasn’t expecting it.” She winked again. “I wonder what made you change your mind.”

Julian casually glanced at the menu even though he already knew what he was going to eat and said: “I wonder the same because I don’t even remember inviting you.”

“Oh, really?” She feigned surprise. “What else don’t you remember for me?”

“If I knew that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, my dear.”

“Unless that’s what I wanted.” She stopped tapping the glass and touched his trembling right hand instead. “I told you before I like doing things my way and you would be no exception, didn’t I?”

“You say a lot of things. Which ones are true?”

“All the ones you want.”

“Am I allowed another question today, Gretchen? An important one.”

“Sure, but stick to one so you don’t get overwhelmed. That’s my job.”

“Did you... did you hypnotize me recently?”

“And if I did?” Her index finger slid across his palm, causing a ripple of pleasure to build up. His manhood felt it too, a perfectly conditioned response to her anomalous charms.

“I don’t understand why you would do such a thing.”

“It’s not something that’s meant to be understood, but lived. Down in your core. Did you bring the subject up because you’re eager to go down again, or is it up to me to determine when that will happen? Do you choose to choose for yourself or do you choose to let me choose for you so you don’t have to choose again?”

“I don’t know what to choose.”

“Then don’t. I’m happy to take care of that as much as you’re happy to let me do it. That is why you need not remember anything, not even the word ‘hypnosis’. No more labels, Julian, just you and I in the ride of your wildest dreams. My rules, my pleasure above yours. Have you decided what you’re going to eat yet?”

“Absolutely. I’ll have a...”

“Kotopoulo Souvlaki, just like me? A promising start…” Gretchen chirped and ordered for the both of them.

Silently, he bowed to her. A simple gesture that made all the difference. He could get used to having her in charge all the time, and her awe-inspiring smile told him he would.