The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

30 year old Anju O’Grady cursed under her breath as she parked her DHS car into a too small space down one of the side streets off Steinway Street.

“So much for discretion,” she said dryly, bemused by the fact that her vehicle practically screamed “government employee.”

Things were not really working out career wise for her.

She had served in Army Intelligence in Afghanistan, but had been transferred when she brought sexual harassment charges against her superior officer.

Both beautiful and intelligent, and with a strong desire to serve her country, she had not expected to have been made to feel unsafe not just around fellow soldiers, but with the chain of command and the institutionalized system that seemed to turn a blind eye to that sort of behavior.

Things were not going well since having returned State side either.

After having been re-assigned to the Department of Homeland Security, Anju made waves right away when she refused to follow the protocol of certain assignments, work to her that operated more out of entrapment than out of any genuine evidence of terrorist activity.

When she told her Supervisor that she was not going to play what she called “Fishing for Muslims,” she was put in charge of the Cold Case files.

It was more of a punishment than anything else, a way for her to be kept out of the way, only it meant a lot of meaningless work; investigating past cases of suspected criminal activity that were mostly prank calls, or false alarms, and the like.

The case she was currently investigating was one of the more bizarre ones.

If the file was to be believed, at one time there had been a small nightclub owned and operated by a mysterious Arabic couple.

The husband was supposed to have driven a cab, picking up attractive women, somehow drugging them, and bringing them to the club, where the women were brainwashed into being belly dancers, escorts, even sex slaves.

Most of the evidence was hearsay, or rumors.

Anju took notice that two female police officers who had been involved in the case had indeed quit the Force and went to work at the club, but they had sworn that they had never been coerced in any way.

Anju had also noticed what absolute knockouts the two officers had been, and wondered if they were not happier where ever they were now, for they had both disappeared shortly after turning in their shields.

The club had suddenly closed years earlier, and had been vacant since then.

She did not know what she expected to find here, but visiting the club gave her an excuse to get out of the office for the rest of the day.

Anju fiddled with the key in the rusty lock for a few moments before it yielded, and she opened the door, stepping inside the tiny club.

The sun shot lines of light threw the spaces between the boards that had been nailed over the windows.

Anju walked around silently, her footsteps the only noise, her hands occasionally touching the wall or an old chair, her mind going back to the security camera video that had been included in the case folder.

The video was another reason the case had achieved some notoriety in her office, having been viewed many times by several of the male employees, usually in a more festive, party like atmosphere.

It was a shot of the stage as seen from the front of the club.

The stage was covered in a fog of pink incense that was almost ankle deep at some points.

The dancers were all beautiful, and at one point the two ex-cops were seen dancing both together and separately.

Anju glanced towards the stage at the back of the club, the place where the incredibly beautiful women had slowly and sensually moved their bodies.

Having watched the video before leaving her office, Anju had to admit that the women really could dance, having such amazing muscle control and poise.

She found herself walking towards the stage, imagining herself as a customer, wondering how they reacted to the performances.

“I have not been on a stage since 8th grade,” she said aloud, thinking it might be a bit of a kick to be on one.

Anju walked up the three small side steps to the stage, smiling as she wondered how the men in her office would react had it been herself in the video.

She was beautiful in an exotic way, the only daughter of an Irish father and Cherokee/Arab mother.

Her complexion was like a dark honey, and her eyes dark and bright, her hair long, black, and shiny.

She credited her father for her figure; 34D-24-34, her bosom full and inviting, while she had her mother’s looks.

As she walked across the empty stage, she began to slowly move her body, picturing herself as an erotic belly dancer.

She slowly swayed as her mind recalled the music from the video, seeing herself as a sexy belly dancer, moving her body in such an erotic manner.

A small movement under her foot caught her attention.

There it was, caught between two of the floorboards.

Anju bent down and picked it up, dusting off the small, thick stick, then curiously held it up to her nose, her eyes widening in surprise at the sensual exotic smell.

It was a piece of an old incense stick, only the stick was as thick as her pinky finger.

Wedged between the floorboards, it had been unnoticed until now.

She put it in her pocket, moving to explore the back of the stage.

There was a dressing room, and a few side rooms.

Anju peered into the darkness of one of the rooms. Was this where they brought male customers, to be drugged, seduced, and fleeced of their savings?

Had the owners really had sexy dance music with subliminal messages into the dressing room, keeping the women in a flirtatious, obedient manner?

As a feminist, she found it offensive, but it was also kind of a hot idea as well.

She sighed, shrugged, and made her way to the exit.

A few hours later, Anju was sitting on her couch in her pajamas, idly channel surfing while laying siege to a jar of her favorite ice cream.

“Another swinging Friday night,” she said aloud to no one.

She did not like being single, but she was not happy with the guys she was meeting, and she had already done the lesbian thing, and, while she did enjoy girls now and again, the girls could be just as jealous and possessive as the guys.

“Perhaps a dog?” she asked to the empty living room.

Shrugging, she packed away the ice cream, deciding instead to get a buzz with some organic wine.

As she poured herself a large goblet, she decided to watch the video, knowing that she could get paid for it under the grounds of working from home.

Then she remembered the incense.

Curious as to how it smelled when it was lit, she went to her work desk, retrieving it from the file where she had put it after returning home.

She placed a wastebasket under it to catch the falling ashes, and held it in place on her coffee table with a book.

Anju sighed contentedly, turning on the video.

She sipped slowly at her wine, noticing how much better and clearer the audio was on her home entertainment system than it sounded on the players at work.

She watched with keen interest as a sexy blonde with an aerobics instructor body began to shimmy and sway.

“Perhaps some of these women had been brainwashed,” she thought, wondering indeed if some of the women she was watching were some of the women who had been supposedly kidnapped and turned into brainwashed, belly dancing sex slaves.

Anju bit her bottom lip, squirming a little on the couch.

She was at home now, and did not have to hide the fact that she was getting turned on watching these women.

As she continued to stare, her mouth hanging open slightly, she dimly noticed that the smell from the incense was getting stronger.

Heavier.

Beginning to tease her nose and mind.

A burst of applause from the audience snapped her out of her dazed state, and for a wild moment Anju thought the crowd had been applauding for her.

She turned towards the incense.

It did not burn as incense usually did. The smoke seemed to curl down in a thick, passionate plume, falling to and then moving across the floor, almost as though it were somewhat alive.

As the cloud of sexy smoke began to grow heavier and thicker, Anju’s dazed gaze was once again drawn to the screen, where one of the ex-cops had taken stage.

This time it was the Brazilian woman, Nydia Velasquez, who was shaking and swaying and moving her beautiful body across the stage, her huge breasts barely restrained by the thin, gauzy material of her outfit.

Anju’s eyes widened a little. She was finding it hard to look away from the screen now.

It was as though everything around her was becoming foggy and blurry, except for the screen, which was in sharp focus.

The beautiful dancer began to move in time to the crowd, who were shouting, almost barking “Ah ah ah!”

As Nydia began to move her arms like two sensual snakes, erotically pulling the crowd towards her, Anju felt herself slowly rising to her feet as the woman on screen pulled her hands and arms into her body.

Rising to her feet.

Against her will.

The incense was rising heavier now, burning slowly, thickly, insistently, moving up and almost clinging to her body.

As Anju found her body moving to the music; or, being moved by the music, her hands moving towards her bosom, unbuttoning her pajama top.

Her eyes began to blink as the erotic incense found its way inevitably into her mind, befuddling her senses, her bra now joining her pajama top on the floor, unseen by the heavy incense.

Her leaden hands managed to pull down her pajama bottoms, and her panties, which were soaked to the waistline.

Anju’s body swayed in time to the music, erotically, unconsciously imitating the movements of the woman on screen.

She did not know when her left hand found its way to her clit, but she came with a shout when it did, unintentionally inhaling a lungful of the sexy, intoxicating incense.

Her head swirled as she fell back onto the couch.

The incense was all over her now, and even in her dazed, dreamy, trance like state, Anju noticed that the incense seemed to settle over her as well, covering her nude, sweaty body with a very fine delightful dust, which she was now inhaling over and over again, the fog settling on her skin and pussy.

Her heavy hands fumbled for the remote, vainly attempting to turn off the TV, but she only succeeded in hitting the “Repeat” button before the remote fell to the floor, lost in the heavy hypnotic haze.

She was masturbating now, deep in trance, not sure what was happening, or how to stop it, unable to stop it, unable to resist.

As her beautiful body shook with the force of her carnal climax, her orgasmic utterances echoing in the eroticized room, she wondered if she was discovering the sexy secret of the Sublime Cab Company.

It was the incense.

Hypnotizing her.

Controlling her.

As her body shook with another orgasm, and another, and another, she also ravishingly realized that it was changing her.

She was lost in the incense now, her eyes heavy, her face flushed, the sexy smoke all around her, in her, seeping into her soaking snatch.

The music was the last thing she heard before she drifted off into darkness….

It went on all night.

Over and over, the hypnotic video played, the incense lingering for hours, burning so slowly, so foggily, the helpless beautiful Anju being conditioned as she slept.

Her dreams were detailed, delightful, and decadent.

She was onstage now, lost in trance, lost in dance.

She was in a back room, staring at a spinning spiral while breathing in the incense of obedience.

She was cumming constantly.

Anju murmured as her eyes slowly fluttered open, the mesmerizing music in her ears.

The incense had since dissipated, but the essence of it was still heavy around her, on her, in her, as she dumbly found the remote and turned off the TV.

Her head was foggy. She felt as though she had been drugged.

She was also covered in cuntscent, and blushed deeply when she realized that her jill hand was still inside herself.

She did not know how long she sat there, sprawled on the couch, trying to process her new thoughts.

For a brief moment, she thought of writing a new report, but it seemed such a difficult concept to grasp.

The truth was, she was not happy at her job.

She wanted to be a belly dancer.

“ I want to be a belly dancer,” she said aloud.

It was all so clear to her now.

She knew what she had to do.

ATTTN PERSONNEL DEPARTMENT:

I, Agent Anju O’Grady, do hereby resign from the Department of Homeland Security.

Anju smiled as she walked towards the dance studio for her next class.

Her instructor said she was a natural.

She was also excited by the prospect of the studio’s recital, which was rapidly approaching.

Her instructor had even had a few friends with deep pockets donate to help renovate a new performance space for all of the other belly dancing students, a space that Anju had recommended.

A small club on Steinway Street.