The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

June of my senior year, and no job yet. Most of my friends had cusy engineering companies set up, begging for their services, but I just hadn’t seen any reason to sell out early. I figured that at some point, the right thing would come along, and I would jump in then. Something, well, different. I didn’t need one before graduation.

I got it, but something I never thought I would get.

I was walking down the hallway at the big Technical Sciences building when Professor Ormsby asked me to stop by his office. It seemed that an old friend of his was looking for a replacement for an entry-level employee. I had worked with Dr. Ormsby, my advisor, and a pretty good guy, on a number of biotech research projects, and now, the work seemed to be paying off.

“Mr. Ken Jones is coming into Chicago tomorrow,” Dr. Ormsby said. “We worked together for the government a while back, and he’s looking for a well-rounded man like you. He wanted some military service, plus engineering and general knowledge. I think you will fit the bill.”

Dr. Ormsby said that if he had the chance to work with Mr. Jones, he would jump at it, even though he didn’t really know a lot about what Jones and his company did.

I was to meet Mr. Jones at the Nikko hotel on the North Shore for lunch.

Mr. Jones was in his 50s, well built, kind of non-descript. We sat down to lunch at the sparse hotel restaurant, and talked for about an hour about me. My work with the Air Force back in Iraq, my knowledge of American History, my experiences with Dr. Ormsby. By the time lunch had ended, I kind of felt that Mr. Jones had sucked the info out of me. I dodn’t know anything about him, and said that I had tried to do research on the company, called HAIC, but couldn’t get anything on the web or otherwise.

“HAIC is pretty private,” he said. “We do a lot of government contracting, but most of our clients are in the private sector. I guess the best way to put it is that we implement new technologies for the business and government communities.” He had a slight smile as he said this.

“I can’t really talk about the work we do. You’ll have to understand that for now. But I will promise that it will be interesting, and challenging.” Besides, he said, he knew that I couldn’t talk about a lot of the things I did in the Air Force. It was similar, but did not involve any invasion forces.

Mr. Jones said that he would get back to me in the next couple of weeks with a decision.

After finishing up my capstone papers for American history, and completing some final research projects for the engineering classes, I spent most of April sitting in front of blues bands and drinking. Finally, one morning, I got a call from Mr. Jones. He wanted to talk with me again, to clear up some final details.

We met, again at the Nikko, but this time in a small quiet meeting room. He told me that the job was mine, but wanted to make sure I could make the commitment. He said he knew that I was typically a loner, and had no strong connections to really anyone anymore, which was true, as I had left home almost a decade before after my mom’s death, and left my dad to hang out with his new bride after a year and a half. No sisters or brothers, etc. Mr. Jones wanted to make it clear that the job required a big time commitment, and although it wasn’t brain surgery, I wouldn’t have time to do much of anything else.

I asked what the job entailed. He said that, at first, it would be mostly deliveries. But he couldn’t say more. The salary was higher than I had heard anyone was getting paid.

I took the job.

About a month later, I had set up shop in a small apartment in Manhattan. Not so bad. With the signing bonus, I was able to lease a small one bedroom, about 15 blocks form the office.

On the first day, I showed up, as requested, on the 60th floor of the building. A small waiting room, no corporate name or logo. As I came out of the elelvator vestibule, I saw this gorgeous woman behind the receptionist desk. I introduced myself. Her name was Jane. My Jones would be right with me. I sat on the functional leather two-seat couch. In front of me were the newest copies of Foreign Affiars magazine, and the IEEE journal. I thought this might be a test. I picked up foregn affairs.

“Ah, Mr. Grayson. Right on time.” Mr. Jones came out into the lobby from one of three doors to the back. “We’re all ready for you. Come on back. I see you picked Foreign Affiars. Good.”

I followed him down the short hall into a conference room with a great view of the United Nations buildings. Two other men, both dressed in dark suits with white shirts, sat at the conference table. Mr. Jones introduced me to Steve and Ray. They were technicians, who were going to do a full physical on me, and show me around. I also got my security pin and a Rolex.

“What’s the Rolex for?”

“We like our people to be on time, Mr. Grayson. Also, all of our customers know that we all wear the same watch.” He showed me his, as did Steve and Ray. “Plus, it has this.” He showed me that it was no regular rolex, but also had a little beeper built into the system. “Just so we can keep in touch.”

Steve and Ray, who I supposed were doctors, went to work after Mr. Jones left the room. Weight, blood sample, and even various measurements were taken from me. They then escorted me around parts of the 60th floor. They said the company had four floors up here, plus three in lower parts of the building, for research and design functions. We took an internal staircase down one flight, to the fully-equipped gym.

“This is more than a perk,” said Steve. “You need to get into and stay in very good physical shape. It’s part of your job now.”

It wouldn’t be hard. They gym had everything anyone could want. They said there was a basketball and racketball and squash courts downstairs as well.

This job looked better and better.

They also showed me the currents event library, which was on the 61st floor. Also, more than amusement, I was supposed to keep up on everything that was going on. Computers, of course, abounded, with access to all kinds of databases.

After about an hour of the tour, Steve and Ray brought me back to the conference room where Mr. Jones was waiting.

“What do you think, Mr. Grayson?”

I told him I thought it would be a great place to work, except I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to do except work out and read newspapers.

“Well, for a while, that is going to be a big part of your job. You have to stay in shape, and stay informed. We have a couple of research issues we want you to monitor, but overall, your job is to know what is going on. Plus, you are going to be making deliveries.”

To whom?

“we’ll start with that tomorrow. For now, why don’t you take the rest of the day to adjust to all this. Plus, you have to go see Larry.”

Larry?

“The tailor. In case you didn’t notice, we have a kind of uniform here. He has your suits pretty much ready, but wanted to do the final fittings on you.”

He gave me an address, and said I should be back tomorrow nine for the first deliveries. I went to Larry, who was an ancient tailor, but who made all the clothes himself. Larry did me right. I could pick up everything the following morning before work. Then, back to the apartment, in time to meet the cable installer.

The following day, I stopped back at Larry’s, got my suits, and went up to work. Mr. Jones explained my job. For now, I was to write summaries of all the news converage on a number of different issues, to be used by the various analysts. Plus, I was to deliver packages to the company’s clients. All the packages would be the same, and there was a very specific procedure for delivery: I was to hand the package directly to the person who was supposed to get it, and was to shake his or her hand on delivery. I was not to make small talk, unless talked to, and I was to be cordial, but firm. Then, I was to leave, and come back to the office. Sounded simple enough.

For six days a week, I was on 24 hour call, and was expected to be available on 10 minutes notice any time, any where. That meant no drinking, no partying, etc. and I had to stay close to the office. I could sleep there if I wanted. Then, I would get a day or two off, and would be back. Mr. Jones pointed out that it was very similar to the schedule I had in the military. He was right, but I wondered how he knew that, as I had never told him about my time there in any specific terms. I decided that Mr. Jones knew a lot more about me than I had told him.

I spent the morning getting to know the computer system, and figuring out the various information sources. At noon, Mr. Jones came to me with the first package.

“This one goes to a banker down in the financial district. You can take a cab, or walk. Here’s his picture and address. Memorize it, and give it back to me.”

I took the package, a medium-sized padded manilla envelope, and put it in my briefcase.

“You have your watch on your right hand, right?” Indeed I did (as I was left handed). “Good. Tell Mr. Burlington I said hello, if he wants to talk.”

I headed out, down to the building near Wall Street. I had no problem getting up to the 50th floor, Mr. Burlington’s office. I got off the elevator, told the lithe receptionist who I was, and she told me where to go. No escort, just head back and to the right, to the double doors. Mr. Burlington was waiting. I proceeded back, knocked on Mr. Burlington’s door, and went in. He was behind his desk on the phone, but quickly ended the conversation, and got up out of his chair.

Mr. Burlington was more than a banker. He was president of a multinational bank that had its fingers in everything and was in the Wall Street Journal every day. His office oozed confident power.

“Mr. Grayson, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Burlington?”

“That’s me. Thanks for coming.”

He came over to me, and extended his hand. I shook it.

“Allright,” he said, seemingly releived almost.

I opened my black leather briefcase and gave him the package.

“Thanks,” he said. “You’re new?”

I told him that I was just getting into the job.

“Your people do a great service. Always most efficient. Thanks.”

“No problem. Thank you. By the way, Mr. Jones said to say hello.”

“Ahh, Mr. Jones. Quite a man, your boss. Well, thanks again.”

With those niceities out of the way, I turned to go, and headed out back the way I came in, clsing the door. No problems. This job was going to be interesting, if only from an interior decorating point of view.

I took the elevator down, and headed back to the building. I reported into Mr. Jones, and told him there were no problems.

“There almost never are,” he said.

I spent the balance of the day working on my reports, and working out. The company had a regimen set up for me—it was tougher than I had ever put myself through, even in the military. If I could keep up with the physical training, in a couple of months, I would be a true spec.

Indeed, the next two months were pretty similar to the first day. I met a couple of other people, but didn’t really socialize with them in any meaningful way. The best part about it all was the deliveries. Over the weeks, I got to see the most mazing places in New York, and the surrounding communities. Always the same small package, always the same procedure. Walk in, shake hands, make a little small talk, hand over the package. Leave. I shook hands with some of the leaders of the business community, and some of the better known political animals in the country. I must admit that I was wondering what was in the package, but Mr. Jones told me I would find out soon enough.

The other work was also surprisingly interesting to me, and when I wasn’t working, I was very driven, more than I could ever remember being, to work out. I played racketball, and by the end of the second month, was pretty much at the top of the ladder at the company, plus I had turned my physique, which was not shabby to begin with, into something to be proud of. It seemed that drinking in moderation really did have a good effect on my body. How about that?

At the end of my second month, Mr. Jones came to me with a slight smile on his face.

“How about a quick jaunt out of town,” he said, handing me a package.

Sure.

I was to go to London, on the Concorde, deliver a package to a man in the Financial District, and return.

“You’re going to meet Mr. Smythe. He’s a real character. His reaction will be a little non-standard, but you’re at the point where you can figure out what to do. It’s time you had a little variety.”

No problems.

As was fitting, I had to make it to the airport quickly. Everything was arranged.

“Except one thing, Mr. Jones. I don’t have a passport.”

He handed me one. They really did think of everything. I didn’t remember signing off on anything, but he said it was part of the paperwork I signed when I first came aboard.

I headed out to JFK, and got on the plane. Four hours later, we touched down in London. I found my limo, and headed to Mr. Smythe’s office. Again, the same procedure, up to his office (in one of the taller towers in the Docklands) and no problem passing the receptionists. I went into his office.

Mr. Smythe was about 5′4″ and about 60 years old, with a round face, and slightly greasy hair. Although his office was one of a man of power, his physical form was that of an old professor, or maybe a longue lizard. He laughed nervously as I arrived.

“Hello young man. My, HEIC really can pick them, can’t they” he asked nobody in particular.

“Thanks.”

He came over to shake my hand, and took the package.

“Now, all the formalities are out of the way, would you like a drink?”

I had three hours before the jet back. “Sure.”

“Pour yourself whatever you want. I have to use the loo.” He pointed to the full bar. Not a bad touch.

I went for a straight whisky, and sipped it as I looked out the window at the sunset.

“A good choice,” he said, returning after a few moments. He placed the empty package into the garbage can next to his desk. “Ahh, the package always does wonders. Has Mr. Jones told you what you are delivering yet?”

I was a little concerned about this conversation, but interested. I could seek the eagerness in his eyes.

“No. I’ve only been there a few months.”

“A few months! Are you impervious to curiousity? ”

“No, I just don’t look under rocks where I’m not supposed to.”

“Ahh, you Americans.” He cackled as he laughed. “Well, I’m not going to spill the beans then. But I will tell you that your employer, in a word, provides miracles. Something nobody else can do.”

He poured himself a drink, and came next to me at the window.

“It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it, Mr. Grayson. Would you like another drink, stay a while?”

This was now getting a little too weird.

I begged off, and said I had to get back to the airport. I thanked him for the drink, and walked out. He looked a little dejected, but I couldn’t figure out whether it was a failure for him. “Ahh, well then, always work with you Americans. No time for some fine conversation. Well, tell Mr. Jones I said hello.”

I promised I would, and cordially said goodbye.

“I’ll see you again, sir,” he winked as I went out.

After getting back to the airport, on the plane and back to the office, I checked in with Mr. Jones.

“He’s a wild one,” Mr. Jones said when I told him the story. “He’s also not the only one that will come onto you,” confirming what I thought.

“You can do what you want. I make no judmgements,” he said. “You did a very good job talking to him, though. I get nothing but glowing reports about you.”

Mr. Jones smiled.

“That was your first tough one. You passed with flying colors. Go home and get some sleep, then report back tomorrow afternoon about 6. I’ve got a great assignment for you next.”

I went, worked out to get Mr. Smythe out of my head, and hit the sack. I remember thinking as I dozed off that I was glad I didn’t have a cat.

I checked back into work just before three the next day, after taking care of bills and banking. Mr. Jones found me in the library with his package at about 7.

“This one should be much easier,” he said, sitting down at the table. “Ms. Abernathy.”

He slid the package to me.

“You can learn a lot from her,” he added. “She used to have your job. Go hang out with her. You deserve some time off, and I think you’ll want to get to know her. She’s the best at what she does. Come back whenever you’re done.”

I was a little intimidated by the future as I took Ms. Abernathy’s package. Mr. Jones did not have a picture of her. Just a hotel room number. Suite 4801 of the Rhiga Royal.