The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There was a bar nearby, and Mister Talv thought it would be a perfect place to test the meme’s abilities. For a start, it was always full of young women. For another thing, it was loud, raucously so, and there was always a party going on. It wasn’t to Mister Talv’s personal taste, but that wasn’t the point here.

The door swung open to a blast of Russian trance, and Mister Talv winced.

What the hell is that noise? said the meme, in his head, similarly unimpressed.

Suuori, of course, would have fitted right in, when she was the innocent flower child Helve. Not so much now, he thought.

Mister Talv approached the bar, space magically appearing before him, the young people scattering left and right like antelope before a hunting lion. He signalled to the bartender, and very shortly he was settled, a Manhattan in hand. He eyed the laughing, dancing crowds.

“Time to show me what you can do, meme.”

Do you have anybody specific in mind?

Mister Talv indicated a particularly drunk-looking group of twenty-something women. Their multiple piercings spoke of a particular tribe.

“Party time, over there.”

Yes, I see. Let me out, then.

Casually, Mister Talv’s hand brushed the arm of a young man next to him. He apologised, smiling; it was nothing, said the young man. He watched as the young man hugged a friend in greeting, who in turn kissed a girl on the cheek, who turned back to her friends in the group, affectionately squeezing another’s arm; smiling, laughing, and then they all embraced, a carefree reunion of friends.

If he’d followed the traffic right, the meme would be there by now.

Suddenly the entire group of women fell silent, and as one they all turned to look at one of their number, a pretty girl with dark hair. Mister Talv edged closer, the better to see what was going on. He could see the girl was breathing heavily, swaying, her pupils clearly dilated even at this distance. Her face was flushed. One of her friends laid a solicitous hand on the woman’s arm, and Mister Talv heard the words ‘Tanya, are you all right…?’ and then the woman’s voice trailed off as something else, some other new volition, took over. The second woman stepped back, and he could see she was becoming aroused too, and she didn’t know why. Lust and confusion mingled in her pretty face. It was an alluring combination, and one Mister Talv had seen many times in his own work.

The first woman—Tanya—had closed her eyes and was starting to unbutton her blouse, giving in to something. She was attracting the attention of some of the young men in the bar now. All but one of the group—five women now—were clearly getting whipped up into some sort of state, and it looked as if they could barely control themselves.

Tanya was the first to break. She ripped open her blouse and went straight for the nearest man; down on her knees, right there in public, and she was fumbling at his belt in a frenzy of lust. Some of the young men began to whoop and clap, urging the girls on.

As Mister Talv watched, fascinated, an orgy was taking shape right under his eyes. Half the girls were practically naked already; one was making the running with impressive zeal, her legs wrapped round an unspecified man, up against the wall, urging him on faster. He guessed she’d never met him before this evening. Right in front of him, two of the half-naked women started kissing, and fondling each other, looking up at him coyly, invitingly. One of them reached out her hand and touched his face. Her face was sheened with sweat, her nostrils flared; if he had wanted her there and then, he knew he could have taken her.

A little dose of Helena. Spontaneity unchained. The universe of one; surprisingly universal in its appeal, said the meme, the icy voice back in his head again via whatever circuitous route of fleshly contact.

Mister Talv was impressed, and he told the meme as much.

“And what happens to them now?” he asked, indicating at the scene of depravity unfolding in front of him.

One of the girls was crawling now—literally crawling on her hand and knees, her bare ass up in the air—towards him. She looked up at him, at Mister Talv, with an expression of unfocussed lust in her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Don’t you want to—“ she began, but she was immediately distracted by the firm hand of a young man on her bottom, and just like Helena, her eyes closed and she began to writhe and push against the hand, humming with joy.

A door has been opened, said the voice. A key fits in a lock. And once opened, it can never be closed again. Just like Helena. The compulsions I’ve given them will never go away; they may learn self-control though, after this evening. They will need to. But The Void will still be there, in their dreams.

Some of the other women in the bar—seemingly unaffected by the meme’s passage through their group—were trying to restrain the women, trying to talk some sense into them. The naked women struggled and wriggled, eyes wide, desperately seeking their male targets.

“Not everybody, then.”

No, not everybody. You can never make anybody do what they don’t want to do. Only those where the idea fits an existing desire. A hand, filling a glove.

Mister Talv considered Helena. “You know the stories about the Succubi, meme?”

Enlighten me.

“Medieval legend; the fear of female sexuality and its power. The Succubi were supposedly female demons or supernatural entities, taking the form of a woman in order to seduce men. Sexually insatiable, irresistibly attractive; driven; possessed.”

He thought the meme actually snickered at that. Yes. I know all about that, Karsten Talv.

“And is it all about sex with you, meme?”

Not at all. That’s just for fun. Any idea will do. An orange, for example.

Mister Talv sipped his Manhattan, a one-man oasis of calm in the maelstrom. If what the meme said was true, and he thought it was, then a whole new ball game beckoned.

The Latvian bouncers were stepping into the fray, now, and Mister Talv saw one of the young men go down under the sweaty black-clad weight of ex-military muscle. Mister Talv’s talents were diverse, but fighting wasn’t one of them. He made his excuses and left, drifting unnoticed through the crowd to the exit.

Later, back at the apartment, he emailed Takeshi.

Mister Talv had managed to persuade the meme to go for a wander, here in Tallinn, and entertain itself—herself—for a while. He had things to do, and he didn’t want anyone looking over his shoulder while he worked.

WINTER: The meme creature has arrived.

TAKESHI: The message worked, then, replied Takeshi. #memecatcher.

WINTER: Yes. Thank you. Now I have another favour to ask.

TAKESHI: Ask, then.

WINTER: I need to know everything there is to know about _________.

TAKESHI: I assume you mean _________, who has recently been stirring up a political hornets’ nest in _________ and an attendant worldwide twitterstorm? #nationalismgonemad.

WINTER: Correct, that is the exact Mr _________ I am talking about.

TAKESHI: Easy enough to find, surely, given his recent meteoric ascent to notoriety? Just #google him.

For all her capabilities and experiences, Mister Talv thought Takeshi irritatingly jeujeune sometimes. Not really a woman of the world at all. What he wanted to know was unlikely to show up on Wikipedia, or anywhere else he could easily get to for that matter.

WINTER: Don’t be naïve, Takeshi.

TAKESHI: Explain, then.

WINTER: I want to know how to get to him.

TAKESHI: Physically? Fine. I’ll send a GPS link.

Mister Talv resisted the temptation to start shouting at the screen. He took a deep breath, and channelled his deep reserves of patience.

WINTER: How to get to him MENTALLY, Takeshi. I want to know what makes the elusive Mr _________ tick. What drives him, beneath the veneer of authority. His desires. His fears. His dreams. His—issues—for want of a better word.

TAKESHI: I see. Very well. It may take a while. #laterz

He clicked out his email account and closed the laptop. ‘Laterz’, indeed. It was interesting, thought Mister Talv, how Takeshi very rarely, if ever, asked him why he would like her to do something. Some residual conditioning from her time here in Tallinn, perhaps?

Of course Suuori never asked why either, now.

The actions of _________, and the resultant well-documented difficulties in the border country of ________, offended Mister Talv deeply. He didn’t really care about the details—the specific battles, losses of lives, ridiculous factional infighting and general bickering about secession and whatnot—because such details may look different in every case, but on closer inspection were fundamentally always the same. He didn’t really care who was supposedly ‘winning’ or ‘losing’, because these terms never turned out to mean quite what people thought they meant.

He had a few assets in _________, of course, but they were of minor interest only.

No, what offended Mister Talv was the simple sense of chaos unfolding; the unacceptable randomness; the sheer unpredictability of it all; the intolerable notion of the world, and therefore him—Karsten Talv—being at the mercy of forces beyond his control.

It simply wouldn’t do.