The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Osaka, January 2009

The air was crisp, and Lori Greene could smell breakfast dumplings frying in the tiny Ramen houses that lined the narrow Fukushima-ku street. The sun was bright overhead, and the sky was clear blue. It was a sparkling morning.

Humming to herself, the young American student shifted her shopping bags as she dug through her purse for her apartment keys. Fuck! She’d forgotten them before going out again?

As chance would have it, Mr. Hamamoto, her building’s super and landlord, was lugging trash bags out his front door. Lori and her three other college roommates lived directly over the plump little man’s basement apartment.

“Oh, Hamamoto-san!” Lori sang out, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Thank goodness I bumped into you!”

“Eh?” Mr. Hamamoto grunted, slinging the trash into the wastebin by the curb.

“Could I just borrow my spare apartment key, just for a teensy minute?” Lori wheedled. She bent one leg and used her best smile.

The super sighed, knowing it was useless to resist the wiles of his American tenant. Lori was tall, curvy, full of sunny energy. Her natural beauty was accentuated with a tumbling cascade of thick, blonde curls, which captured the golden sunlight. Her hazel eyes, big and shining, enhanced her gorgeous face more than any other Western woman Hamamoto had ever seen.

“One moment,” the overweight man mumbled, then pulled out his master key ring.

Five minutes later, Lori was in her tiny tatami mat bedroom, inspecting her latest purchases with a critical eye. The pink silk blouse with the cherry blossom print was a smart catch, to be sure. The young woman loved how it shimmered in the natural light; perfect for a lunch date. (And only seven thousand yen! That was about seventy US dollars.) The gray slacks, however, were looking less and less like a good find. Lori didn’t like how the seams ran down the insides of the legs. Oh well.

Down the hallway, the front door opened. Lori tossed her newest treasures into the laundry hamper, then moved quickly to the apartment’s foyer. There, two of her roommates, Nanami and Hiyori, were slipping off their outdoor shoes. Ayaka, the final roommate, was still sleeping in.

“Morning, ladies,” Lori said brightly. “Anyone up for Chinese dim sum for breakfast?”

Nanami smiled politely. “Oh, I can’t,” she begged off. “I need to carve a little pocket.”

Lori cocked her head to one side. Carve a little pocket? Had she misheard some strange vocabulary word? Or was this some bizarre Japanese slang she didn’t know? The American blonde had spoken Japanese for over a decade, and yet there were still plenty of times when she missed something in translation.

No matter. “C’mon, Hiyori,” grinned Lori. “You know you want—“

In her jean’s back pocket, Lori’s cellphone vibed. “One sec, girls,” she said, snapping up the little device.

The screen display said: “MOM”. Lori frowned. It must have been almost midnight back in Manhattan. Why would Mom be calling so late?

The American student quickly retreated to her room, pulling the screen door shut. “Hey, Mom!” she said cheerfully. “Long time, no talk to!”

Lori’s mom didn’t respond right away. “Hello dear,” she said. Her voice was heavy.

“You okay, Mom?” Lori asked, propping the phone between her ear and shoulder. She began to rearranged her overstuffed closet. “Don’t tell me your latest boyfriend turned out to be another freak. What’s his name...?”

“I... I have some bad news,” Mom said, sniffing. She’d been crying.

Lori paused. “Okay...?”

“So, I don’t know if you’ve been following the news back in the USA, dear,” Mom began. “Have you heard about this... whole... Bernie Madoff affair?”

Lori frowned. “Not really. He’s a politician, or something?”

“He is—was—an investment advisor. But he was arrested because... because he was running an investment Ponzi scheme.” Her voice twisted. “His clients lost everything.”

There was an agonizing pause.

“Its all gone, sweetheart,” Mom said, sounding wretched. “All of it.”

Lori felt a chill strike her. “WHAT’S gone, Mom?” she asked, unexpectedly worried.

Her mother began to cry. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” the older woman sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry...!”

Despite a relentless churning in her stomach, Lori forced herself to go to classes that day. As her professors droned on, she sat, fidgeting and stressing. Would Mom really be so stupid as to sink the Greene family’s entire fortune into some crackpot investment scheme?

Lori knew: she would. Ever since Dad had been killed by the drunk driver, Mom had careened from one bad decision from another. The flighty woman couldn’t be trusted with anything. Lori cursed herself for being a world away, and unable to keep an eye on things.

It was agony to wait until 10 PM, which was 9 AM back in New York. On the stroke of the hour, Lori furiously dialed Claudia Purdum, the Greenes’ asset manager at Willow Crescent Associates. Willow Crescent was supposed to be the best financial management firm in the world; they couldn’t have allowed ruin to happen, could they?

“I’m very sorry, Lori,” Ms. Purdum said, sounding truly regretful, “but I’m afraid your situation is bleak.”

The situation was bleak, indeed. Over the last year, Mom had gradually liquidated all of the family assets, pouring them into Bernie Madoff’s glittering money scheme. The transfer of wealth had started slowly... but had been complete. Madoff must have been one smooth talker.

“The losses do include your personal trust fund, I’m sorry to say,” Ms. Purdum told Lori in a heavy voice. There was the clack of a computer keyboard on the other end of the line. “It looks like... your tuition has been paid off for this semester. But you’ll have to find other funding for room and board and all other expenses going forward.”

“I have... nothing?” Lori exclaimed, disbelieving. Her head reeled.

“You have... a few hundred dollars in your savings account,” offered Ms. Purdum. “But that’s it.”

Angry and deeply hurt, Lori hung up on her.

For the next hour, Lori curled up into a ball and sobbed. HOW COULD THE UNIVERSE BE SO CRUEL?!? Her life in Japan had been exciting, full of promise. Now... now she wasn’t even sure she had enough money to buy a plane ticket home. To say nothing about covering her rent. Or massive credit card bills.

“Lori?” a soft voice outside her door said.

It was Hiyori. The American student sat up, quickly drying her tears. She’d forgotten how paper-thin the walls of this apartment were. With clumsy haste, she tried to fix her hair. Then she slid back her bedroom’s sliding screen door.

Both Hiyori and Nanami were outside her room, both looking at her with wide, sorrowful eyes.

“What has happened?” Nanami asked.

The three women moved to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. Hiyori made tea as Lori explained her plight.

“Oh, Lori,” sighed Nanami. “That’s just awful. What will you do?”

The American student twisted a paper napkin in her fingers. “I don’t know,” she sniffed. “I’ll have to get a job, I guess.”

Lori caught her roommates sharing a quizzical glance. Osaka was a terribly expensive place to live, and foreigners were discouraged from taking jobs.

“Well,” Nanami said diplomatically, “...perhaps this is for the best, somehow?”

‘Easy for her to say,’ Lori thought bitterly. Nanami’s father was a wealthy real estate tycoon; she never wanted for money.

Hiyori turned, placing steaming teacups before Nanami and Lori. “We must think ahead,” she said, using a formal tone. “Lori, if you are unable to make rent for next month, you must inform us as soon as possible.”

Lori scowled. A regular pillar of emotional support, that Hiyori.

“We don’t have decide anything tonight,” Nanami said quickly.

Lori remained in the kitchen long after Hiyori and Nanami went off to bed. The American student sat at the table, glumly staring at the empty teacups, wallowing in her depression. Her life seemed to be over.

A soft click at the apartment’s entrance roused her thoughts. The front door was opening; her third roommate, Ayaka, was stealing inside the little abode.

Sitting up, Lori frowned and glanced at the clock. It was after 1 AM. She knew Ayaka worked late, but 1 AM? The restaurant where she worked must be clear across town. Or something.

Ayaka wearily slipped off her shoes, and then her winter overcoat. To Lori’s surprise, the young Japanese woman was wearing a stylish party dress, complete with sexy stockings and a diamond pin. Her hair was carefully done up, in a very elaborate and showy manner that Lori couldn’t ever hope to pull off. Ayaka looked as if she were returning home from a champagne party. On a yacht.

As she stepped into the main sitting room, Ayaka’s eyes popped when she spotted the American blonde. “Lori,” she said in surprise. “You are awake? Why so late?”

“No reason,” Lori lied, composing herself. “I, um... was just having some tea.”

Ayaka’s expression didn’t change, but Lori could see the wheels turning in her head. The Japanese woman moved to the table, then sat down.

“What has happened?” she asked softly.

Lori studied Ayaka. Out of her roommates, Ayaka was the most mysterious, mostly because she never seemed to be around. Unlike Hiyori and Nanami, she did not come from money, which was why she worked her demanding evening job. Lori also secretly thought was Ayaka was the most empathetic of the three. If she was around more often, perhaps Lori and Ayaka would have been close friends.

Ayaka blinked, a simple action which highlighted her big, brown eyes. She was a lovely woman. Classically Japanese, Ayaka possessed an elegant, doll-like face, making her a plain but breathtaking beauty. Her body was extremely thin, giving her a graceful, willowy figure, very feminine even among the most gorgeous of women. Lori admired her hair, her nails, her trim waist, her inviting demeanor. In another time, Ayaka could have been the consort of an emperor.

“What has happened, Lori?” Ayaka repeated, her voice full of concern.

In Japan, it is not customary to burden another person with your personal problems, especially financial ones. Money worries are usually seen as the result of bad decisions, evidence that karma is punishing you for being foolish or stupid. Given Hiyori and Nanami’s earlier reactions, Lori hesitated to say anything.

Oh... fuck it, the American student thought miserably. She needed all the advice she could get.

Trying to speak as formally as possible, Lori explained the disaster that had eaten the Greene family fortune. “I’m pretty much broke,” she admitted, crumpling up the napkin again. “Actually, I’m... in debt. My credit card bills...” She did not finish that sentence.

“I see,” Ayaka responded, looking crestfallen.

There was a silence. The electric clock ticked loudly.

“Perhaps,” Ayaka said, “we should have more tea.”

Lori blinked, thrown for a loop. “No, no, its late,” she mumbled. “I should be in bed, I have—“

“Tea will do us good,” Ayaka said crisply, rising and collecting the used teacups from the table. “I will make it; you remain there.”

With a graceful efficiency Lori could only admire, Ayaka put a fresh pot on the stove, then removed a clean teacup from the cupboard. “I feel like I’m at work,” she joked as she worked.

Lori’s ears pricked up. Had she heard that correctly? Or was Ayaka using another Japanese phrase that she wasn’t completely understanding?

Suspicious, Lori cocked her head to one side. “You’re a restaurant hostess,” she stated. “You seat the customers at the tables. But they also make you pour tea?”

In Japanese society, the pouring of tea has an enormous cultural significance. Traditionally, women pour tea for the men, and there are multiple layers of respect and status associated with this action. Japanese Tea Ceremonies are elaborate affairs, all performed according to exacting standards. Lori understood little of why this was so important in her host country... but she knew enough to know that tea-pouring was not left to a mere restaurant hostess.

Something was up. Ayaka was creeping home at 1 AM, dressed as if she’d gone to the opera. Lori watched her roommate carefully.

The young Japanese woman rested her hands on the kitchen counter, weighing something in her mind. She looked at Lori sharply.

“What?” Lori asked.

Pursing her lips, Ayaka sat at the kitchen table in a very Japanese way; her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. “I like you, Lori,” she said, almost formally. “You are a good friend. And you have lent me money when I was in need. I’ve never forgotten that.”

“...’kay,” Lori replied, not getting her roommate’s wavelength.

Ayaka leaned forward, almost whispering now. “You must not tell Nanami or Hiyori, understand?”

Lori nodded.

Ayaka glanced about, as if she needed to be reassured that the two women were alone. “I am a hostess,” she murmured. “But not at a restaurant.”

A light bulb went off in Lori’s head. “You work at a hostess bar!” she exclaimed.

“Shhh...!” implored Ayaka, instinctively looking back into the apartment.

Lori clasped both her hands before her mouth. She’d heard of the hostess bars, of course. According to wild rumors, hostess bars were specialized clubs for men only. Japanese businessmen came to drink, smoke cigarettes... but mostly be entertained by the company of a beautiful young lady. The women’s only role was to flirt and enchant the men, to give the males the illusion that they were younger and more attractive than they truly were. Men spent heavily to lose themselves under such charms.

Lori was a Gender Studies major, specializing in Japanese society. Sexual mores in the Land of the Rising Sun both fascinated and bewildered her.

The Japanese, Lori thought, possessed the most sexually repressed culture on Earth. The traditional samurai ideal, of the emotionally detached man with his demure but elegant wife, was still very much alive and well. Gender roles were defined in ancient, rigid terms.

But the modern Japanese woman had other ideas. Aghast at being cast as the lovely geisha princess, (and then an ever-toiling housewife), the young women of Japan had rebelled. They wanted disposable incomes, disposable hobbies, and disposable boyfriends. They kept the males at a firm distance, and rejected sexual advances often. Their anthem was “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

And while most Japanese men learned to adapt to the new reality, many more were abjectly terrified. Women who would publicly shun them, just for wanting a date? Horrifying!

In Lori’s opinion, a sizable chunk of Japanese men had reacted very badly. Many gave up hope of ever winning over a mate, and dove into hardcore pornography. (Japanese porn, Lori had been appalled to discover, was vulgar and unspeakably misogynist.) Other men willing entered marriages where they were deeply unhappy. And many more gentlemen sadly regarded women as almost mythical beings: entertaining, but cruel on a whim. The balance between the genders, Lori thought, was badly out of whack.

The American student had never seen a hostess bar, but she was fairly certain that such establishments existed because there was a huge number of Japanese men who longed to feel sexually attractive... even if they had to pay handsomely for a pretty face to lie to them about it.

“Oh my God,” Lori murmured, staring across the kitchen table at Ayaka, as if seeing her for the first time.

“Working as a hostess is honorable work,” her roommate insisted, frowning.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Lori agreed quickly. ”Holy cow... So, what do you... What do you do? You know, while on the job?”

Now Ayaka sighed, sinking back in her chair. “There’s not much to it. Every customer is different.”

“Uh-huh...?” said Lori, coaxing.

Ayaka shrugged. “I only entertain one customer at a time. When they arrive at the club, I greet them. I take them to our own table. And then I pretend that they endlessly fascinate me.”

“...and do they?” Lori couldn’t help but ask.

Ayaka rolled her eyes. “Most customers just want to seem important. So that’s easy. When they brag about their success, their business deals, the productivity of their companies, all I have to do is act impressed.”

“Do you have to touch them?”

“Not if I don’t want to,” replied Ayaka, annoyed at the question. “But if I lightly touch their arm or the back of their hand, the tip will be higher. It’s a flirting job.”

“Uh-huh...” Lori nodded, thinking about how to phrase her next question. “Uh, do you ever—“

“There’s no sex!” Ayaka said firmly. “None. Period. They can’t even touch me or say something inappropriate.”

“Wow,” Lori murmured, processing. “We have nothing like that in the USA.”

“No, you have strip clubs,” sniffed Ayaka. “Hostess bars are nothing like that.”

Of course, Japan had strip clubs too, but Lori didn’t want to argue the point.

“I’ve only been working at my club for a few weeks now,” Ayaka confessed. “But it pays well.” She locked her eyes on her American roommate. “It pays very well, Lori.”

The unspoken implication hovered in the air. Lori’s eyes widened.

“Me?” she said slowly. “A hostess?”

“You could do this job in your sleep,” Ayaka assured her. “You would be the only blonde woman; that’s got to be a money-maker. You’ve got the sexy American girl look. Big eyes, white teeth, red lips, perfect skin. And you have big breasts.” She gestured at Lori’s chest.

The American was taken aback. Usually, Japanese people were modest and polite when discussing other’s bodies. It was jarring to hear Ayaka rate her so brazenly.

“I’ll show you,” the Japanese woman clucked, straightening in her chair once again. “Let’s pretend, you and I. I am a fifty-something Japanese businessman. I work long hours in the Kamana Watch Company—or something—and I do not want to go home to my nagging wife and bratty children. So I come to the club. You are my hostess.” She nodded toward the still-steaming teapot, resting on the stove. “Pour the tea, then make me feel handsome.” Her eyes flashed. “Go.”

Lori blushed. “Aw, geez, Aya, this is...”

“Hurry!” frowned Ayaka. “I am waiting!”

Fuck it, the American student thought. Forcing herself not to think about how insanely weird this whole scene felt, she leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on Ayaka’s forearm.

“Oh, Tanaka-san,” she purred, using the polite form. “I’m so glad you came to our modest club tonight. May I serve you tea?”

Ayaka drew her face into a solemn expression. She bowed her head once.

“One moment please,” Lori smiled, trying to rise to her feet in a single, graceful motion.

The American student had seen tea-pouring before, of course, but never done it herself. Well, not for an older gentleman, at any rate. Certain that she was making hundreds of tiny mistakes, the young woman plunged ahead anyway.

With speed but precision, Lori placed a single teacup directly on the table before Ayaka, careful to use both hands, but never touch the lip of the cup with her fingers. Then, she returned with the teapot. She bowed once. Then, using careful movements, she tipped the pot forward, bending only at the waist, keeping her feet together. What was important, Lori remembered, was that you poured the tea at a rapid but constant rate; no slops, no trickles! The tea must almost fill the cup. And then when you retracted the pot, the surface of the tea should be perfectly still. Only steam should be seen moving.

Ayaka watched the tea-pouring in complete silence, a sour look on her face.

Sweating her performance, Lori quickly returned the pot to the stove, then sat back in her chair. “Oh, Tanaka-san,” she gushed, taking care to sit in a ladylike position, “you seem like... such a... handsome and important man. Tell me about your work?”

Her face neutral, Ayaka nodded once. “I am the manager of a watch factory,” she intoned, sitting straighter. “I have many workers. We craft high-quality watches.”

‘Watches??? Jeez... what am I supposed to do with that?’ Lori wondered.

Swallowing her nerves, the American student pressed on. She widened her eyes. “Oh my,” she almost giggled. “Watches? Oh, I love watches. You must be so incredibly smart to produce such a luxury item.” She tossed her blonde curls in a bashful giggle. “Maybe you can bring me one, next time?”

Ayaka broke character and burst out laughing.

“What?” Lori said, embarrassed. “Too flirty? Too bimboesque?”

“Not bad,” chuckled Ayaka, relaxing once more. “Not bad at all. Your tea-pouring is terrible. And you were far too aggressive. You’d scare away most of my customers with that wide-eyed, silly girl act.”

“Oh,” Lori said, surprised that she felt disappointed.

“But,” Ayaka continued thoughtfully, “you have the right instincts.” She lifted the tea to her lips, and blew once. “You knew to fawn over me in the right way. And the most important thing? You only asked about me. You never once tried to talk about you. I see so many new hostesses who lose customers because they prattle on about their apartments, their wardrobe, their cell phone, their boyfriends. The customers don’t care about you. They want you to make them feel like an emperor.”

Ayaka smiled in approval. “That’s what this job requires. All the other customs, those you can learn. I can teach you.”

Lori sagged back in her chair, relieved that she’d passed her roommate’s bizarre little test. “I’ll have to think about this,” she said, dejectedly remembering her financial woes.

Studying the American student closely, Ayaka set down her tea. She scooped up her purse, removing a single envelope, crafted in silken Japanese rice paper. The little package was lightly scented in perfume.

“This,” Ayaka said, placing the envelope on the table, “was my take for tonight.”

She lifted her teacup again, watching Lori.

The other woman hesitated for a moment, before peering inside the folded paper. Inside, was perhaps TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND YEN, in crumpled and aging bills.

Lori gazed at Ayaka, her mouth hanging open in wonder.