The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Samba sat at the edge of the bed and noticed how well the cream color sheets blended with her flesh as she looked down. She turned her head to the girl still fast asleep, her short, spikey blonde hair poking out from under the blankets. Of all the people, it just had to be her. A fellow dancer and one of the easiest girls at the club. She cursed like a sailor, and she generally didn’t deny any girl who asked for a romp. She’d been trying to get in Samba’s panties since they first met. Not that she had any success, Samba didn’t want to get a reputation.

For once, Rumba had something Samba wanted. She talked her ear off all night about some redhead at a hot lesbian club in town. Her explanations were vague, but the reoccurring themes were impossible to miss. Rumba said she felt like her entire sense of self completely changed, that she lost control of herself as someone much greater took her over.

Samba understood the feeling.

She slowly stood up, trying her hardest not to let the bed shift too much. She hated mornings, even if she had gotten better at the scramble to collect clothes and get out without making much noise. It’s not like she could avoid Rumba forever, but a day or two would be fantastic.

Only Samba’s bra made it to Rumba’s room. She remembered it from her encounter with Seamstress – that strange woman who could morph clothes. It was her favorite, no other bra felt as good on her skin. She slid it on as she stalked into the front room. The line of clothes heading from the door to Rumba’s room was obvious. It started with heels kicked off at the front door, twisted around the coffee table where two skirts and a pair of stockings laid, and two pairs of panties showed a path right into the bedroom.

Samba shook her head, not believing she lost control again. Rumba wanted an exchange for a detailed description of the woman who had controlled her, and the only thing she was interested in was a close, personal dance from Samba.

Samba denied her at first. The information didn’t seem very good. Anyone with a commanding tone and a hot body could control Rumba. Or anyone with a few dollars.

But she pressed on, not letting it go. Her descriptions became more specific and more interesting, but it wasn’t her normal sense of embellishment. She wasn’t proud like she normally was, she just wanted someone to believe her. It was when she told Samba that it only took a very tall redheaded woman a few words to completely alter her sense of self. That it felt like her soul was being spoken to, not her ears.

Samba considered it. Her considerations started to turn into maybes. Her maybes finally turned into a yes.

Samba thought she would’ve been able to resist turning it into another escapade with a random girl, but here she was, collecting her clothes off the floor of another strange apartment. Maybe this tall redhead that hung around “The Pink Sakura” would be able to help her with that. Even if the chances were slim, any chance would be better than none.

But first she had to go home and find something to wear. And take a long shower.

Samba stared at the bright pink neon sign from across the street. She could feel each letter burning itself into her retinas. Sighing, she looked down toward the front doors where a rather long line of women waited. Getting to the front would be time consuming, but hopefully it wouldn’t take too long. What if she were denied when she made it to the front? The green kimono and stripper heels probably made her look more like a poser than someone who naturally belonged in this kind of club.

She walked across the street toward the front doors and turned to start walking to the back of the line when someone called out “Hey, green haired chick!”

Samba turned around to see a muscular woman in samurai armor – the bouncer. “Hello?”

The bouncer invaded Samba’s personal space, her face only inches away from Samba’s. “I remember you.”

“From where?” Samba took a step back.

“You really don’t remember?” She took a step forward and wrapped an arm around Samba’s waist.

“Would you stop that?”

“What’s wrong? You didn’t mind how close we got the night you seduced me.”

Samba blinked. Shit. She recognized the bouncer now. No idea of her name, but she could remember those hazel eyes. How long had she stared into them while she slowly took control of the night?

“Oh. Yes, right. I didn’t recognize you in that uniform.” Samba winced, she didn’t know how she could get past this without knowing the girl’s name.

“Hey! I recognize you too. You’re that Samba chick, yeah?” a cotton candy pink haired girl called out from the line. “You freaking know how to treat a customer right, girl. What you doing here though, run out of girls to fuck at your club?”

“Hey now, that’s not—”

“Excuse me, it’s rude to interrupt a conversation,” the bouncer said as she glared at the girl.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we can chat later Samba, I’m sure you remember me, don’t you, bad girl?” The pink haired girl’s tongue flickered across her lips as she winked at Samba.

Samba drew another total blank. Another face with a name she couldn’t place.

“The hell you will!” The bouncer’s samurai armor suddenly appeared distinctly non-decorative as she loomed over the unwanted competition. “Why don’t you take a . . . .”

“Samba!!! Oh. My. Gawd!!!”

An exceedingly ample and bubbly young woman with blonde hair blown out in all directions squeezed Samba from behind.

“Honey, why haven’t you called me?”

The ground opened beneath Samba and swallowed her whole. Or at least it should have, but life refused to work like that.

The bubbly young woman continued on while the bouncer and the pink haired girl turned red.

“Samba, honey, come on down to O’Donoho’s with me, I’ll do that thing that makes your eyes cross again I promise.”

Things moved fast. All Samba remembered afterward as the pink haired girl tried to claw the bubbly woman’s eyes out and the bouncer yanked them both up off the sidewalk by their hair is that a tall Asian goth leaned over and whispered, “Samba, honey, I think this is your chance to skip the line, see you inside, lover girl.”

Samba fled inside the door to the club. Diving through the threshold, Samba felt the atmosphere of the club fill her lungs. The ambient beat of music in the first room, which Samba assumed was a take on a modern Asian bar, was already making her hips sway.

She weaved between women carrying drinks and dragging their friends around. She went straight for the dance floor, feeling its call irresistible. The girls dancing knew what they were doing, she would be able to join them and dance the night away. Sure, she might end up in some random girl’s home again, but it really could be worse.

As soon as she touched the first tile of the dance floor, she hesitated. She was here for a reason. A remarkably tall redheaded girl might be lurking somewhere in this club. She just had to pray she would get lucky and find her.

Samba clenched her jaw and turned around, stepping away from the dance floor and trying to ignore the music. She took careful steps back into the crowd as she looked around. There were a few tall girls here and there, but none with red hair.

She spotted the cocktail bar and thought that it might be a good place to ask. Maybe one of the bartenders could point her in the right direction, they usually knew the regulars, at least.

Samba stepped up to the bar, but before she could say a word the Asian woman working behind the counter lit up. “Oh! Samba! I thought you were hit by a bus something!”

Crap. Someone else that recognized her.

“No, no. I’m just fine.”

The Asian woman frowned. Samba looked for a name tag, but there wasn’t one. “You left before I could even give you my number or my name. Did something happen?”

“I had to return a book to the library.” Samba tried to be sincere, but the Asian woman saw through it.

“Well, it’s just as well I could get myself out of those handcuffs then isn’t it?” The Asian girl blew her floppy black fringe up in the air and narrowed her eyes at Samba who stammered in mortification. She leaned in and took Samba’s arm. Samba saw that an intricate dragon tattoo ran up the girl’s forearm and disappeared beneath her short silk shirt sleeves. “Never mind, I like a chase.”

She set a shot glass down in front of Samba and filled it with green liquor from a dark bottle whipped out from the treasure trove behind the bar. “On the house.”

“What’s chartreuse?” said Samba, raising an eyebrow at the name she’d seen on the label.

“Try it, you’ll like it,” said the bar girl. She pulled a card from a back jean pocket and pushed it inside the front of Samba’s kimono. “You better call me.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Samba picked up the shot glass and sidled away through the crowd as quickly as she could. She took a sip and nearly choked as the alcohol burned her mouth and the fumes went up her nose. She decided against any further sips.

Samba stopped. She never even got to ask about the redhead. She thought about turning around, but something told her that wouldn’t be the wisest move to make. If she hung around the bar too long, she’d have to keep talking, and she really had nothing to talk about. She wasn’t in control of herself when she slept with the bartender. She could hardly remember the night. They all just seemed to blur together.

She shook her head and moved into another room. The atmosphere changed completely as soon as she stepped through the door. The decorations all appeared vintage. The theme was more what she expected for an Asian themed nightclub. Paper walls, girls dressed as geisha, the crowd mingling politely instead of dancing wildly.

Samba took a few tentative steps inside, drawing a few eyes from an older demographic than the other room had. No one called out her name, but a tall woman in a business suit with long brown hair started walking with obvious purpose across the floor.

Samba pretended not to see her and headed toward an empty table before realizing just how close to the floor it was. There weren’t any chairs or booths, not even any stools. She looked at it a little confused, not sure exactly how she was supposed to sit before she felt someone tap her shoulder.

She rested her glass on the table before turning around to see the woman poised and smiling. “Nice to see you outside the club, Sammi. You aren’t living there like the other strippers, are you?”

With relief, Samba recognized who was talking to her. “Hey Caramel, it’s nice to see you again. You look great.”

Caramel was a teacher Samba had to see when she first started stripping. Caramel wasn’t her real name, of course, it was just a stripper name, even if she never actually stripped in a club.

“You can call me Kara out here. I don’t teach those classes anymore anyways.”

“Alright Kara,” Samba said. “Hey, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you seen any really tall redheaded girls around? Like, really, really tall.”

Kara smiled. “Sure, but the information has a price.”

“Oh come on, I really just came looking for her.”

Kara frowned.

“Not that meeting up with you again wasn’t nice, it’s just, you know, I need her help with something.”

“You’re only dancing for money still, aren’t you? You need to do it for some fun occasionally, you know? If you don’t, you’re going to lose all that grace and beauty. You really should relax and dance with me for a little while, then I can tell you who you’re looking for. I’ll even show you to her, she’s in the club right now.”

“Kara, I really need to see her, it’s important.”

“Is the world going to end if you don’t see her?”

Samba paused. “Well, no.”

“Is someone going to get hurt.”

“Not really.” Samba cast her gaze away from Kara.

“Then you have time for a dance or two, don’t you?”

Samba mentally debated how wise dancing would be. She would have to fight every urge the entire time, and Kara was good enough that she would notice. Still, she had to meet the tall redhead. “Fine.”

Kara’s full lips curled upwards as she drew Samba out onto the dance floor. “And don’t you dare treat this like you’re getting payment out of it. You know I’ll be able to pick up on that.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Samba leaned her head back as she took in the music. Unlike the first room, this room had a small live band playing a slow rhythm from beneath an ornate golden dragon in the corner.

Kara placed her fingers lightly on Samba’s hips and started to shift in time to the beat. She drew Samba in close, “I always wanted to do this, you know.”

Samba’s throat went dry. She put her arms behind her, crossing them at the wrist, but Kara tightened her grip and pulled her in further. They ground against each other, and Samba felt her body tingle with excitement. She pulled her head back teasingly making Kara follow her but let her hips tell the older woman how much she needed this.

“Yes, that’s right,” whispered Kara.

Her lips drifted across Samba’s neck and Samba arched into her. Her nipples stiffened into hard points as Kara’s lips nibbled her earlobe. The heat of their pussies pressing against each other through cloth made Samba moan softly. “That’s right, baby, you don’t need anybody else tonight.”

Kara’s fingers slipped around Samba’s waist and cupped her ass. Samba shut her eyes and let herself sway to Kara’s time.

Then she felt it.

Her beat rising inside her, overwhelming her.

If she opened her eyes, it would be obvious. They would be glowing green. The last thing she needed was to dance for a whole club and make them think this was normal. She needed to get control, now. Though, with the thudding in her head, she wasn’t sure that would be possible.

“So public?” Samba said, letting her lips accentuate every word. “You’re much more courageous than you were in your own little studio with all those young, sexy girls learning how to strip.” Samba snaked her hand up Kara’s side and tilted her chin upward as she stepped back. She fluttered her eyelids, letting them open fully. “A good dance isn’t vulgar though, you know that.”

Kara smiled as she looked into Samba’s eyes. “A little dirty dancing never hurts, bright eyes.”

Samba grabbed Kara around the waist and spun a single time, making a little distance between them and tuning them better to the rhythm of the music. “But it’s just not as satisfying when the music stops.” Samba leaned in, planting a small kiss on Kara’s lips. “It’s really best to start slow and work our way up. Just a little bit at a time.”

The thudding grew louder. Samba knew she was falling into her own power, but as long as she didn’t let it get too strong, she might be safe

“No use arguing now, I suppose,” Kara said.

Samba and Kara slowly worked their way around the dance floor, both practiced dancers, making each step more graceful than the last. A crowd slowly formed around them as they started twirling and intertwining their legs without so much as stepping on each others’ toes. The band picked up the tempo, and the dancers moved faster.

The beat only grew louder and louder. It was like the bass at a concert shaking every bone in her body. She could feel Kara’s, tiny in comparison, bending around it and matching it.

Before long, everyone in the room was watching them. No longer did they seem like two people, but just one figure that elegantly moved across the floor. All the while, Samba’s glow became brighter and brighter.

The beat still rang out inside Samba’s head. There wasn’t a way to escape it. It already had her and was driving her actions more than she consciously could. She could hear the entire crowd’s beat, each one so quiet next to hers. They were starting to get swept up as her glow intensified.

The lighting of the room seemed dulled as a green hue washed over the amassed faces. Kara had long since ceased having a choice in the dance – Samba overwhelmed her. The power of the girl radiated outward, causing a few of the women to pair up and start dancing.

Samba twirled and spun with Kara until everyone was dancing except the band. Seeing her chance to escape, she found a lone blonde woman dancing with a happy look on her face and empty eyes and spun her and Kara together. They started dancing as Samba sashayed out of the room, trying her hardest to suppress the beat going off like a cannon in her head.

She felt the techno before she heard it. The strange multicolored strobe lights going off dimmed her own glow, and the rapid fire techno was nearly impossible to dance to. She focused on the music as she stumbled into what looked like a possible future.

Girls in rave getups looked like they were convulsing to the beat, others stared emptily out into space. Everyone wore something that was glowing. Neon reds, blues, pinks, greens, and yellows were everywhere, only being noticeable when the light briefly stopped.

“Hey!” a girl managed to shout over the music. “Did you just come from another section of the bar?”

She was wearing short shorts and a tank-top. No socks, no shoes. The girl was covered in sweat, and she had a dopey smile on her face. Little homemade beads that looked like they might have come out of a candy package decorated her wrists, ankles, neck, waist, and random spots along her arms and thighs. Even her hair was braided with the beads. She looked like she housed an occupant who had too much Christmas spirit.

Samba stared at her for a few seconds. “Yes,” Samba tried to say over the music, though she didn’t hear her voice carry beyond her lips.

“Then I got something for you!” The girl broke off one of the beads around her neck and popped it into her mouth before wrapping her arms around Samba and sliding her tongue past Samba’s lips. Samba felt the little candy bead in her mouth get pushed down her throat.

Samba grabbed the girl and pulled her off her. “What was that!?” she tried to yell, though she didn’t think it did any good this time either.

“It’s E! You’re in a rave, you might as well party!”

“Omigod,” said Samba. The candy girl giggled and pressed up against her again, but Samba twisted away from her and slipped into the middle of the jerking limbs on the dance floor.

Strobes blinded her from one direction and another and almost as a defense mechanism she started to jerk and thrust her body to the rapid time. Naked skin slipped and slid against her kimono as girls in barely there shorts and tops jumped to the high pitched jolts of sound. Their arms shifted in the air, moving in a constant flickering series of still images that played havoc with Samba’s senses.

She heard something shouted over the sound system and the whole crowd screamed back. Sweat stuck the cloth of her kimono to her body and the grind of the bodies against her made it start to come open.

She could feel herself getting hotter and hotter, raising her arms over her head now and chanting with the crowd. She felt . . . incredible.

She loved the dance. She loved the girls. She loved everybody, and they all loved her. Her kimono came loose and she loved the feel of the hot sticky air against her skin. A pretty little black girl with brightly beaded dreads ground back against her and Samba wrapped her arms around her waist. Samba loved the girl so very very much.

Every touch and move and sound made her feel . . . ecstasy.

The cold water from the tap splashed onto Samba’s face making her flinch, but she made herself stay there a few seconds longer. She could still feel the chemical buzz tempting her to go back out on the dance floor, but she bit her lip and made herself count to ten slowly while contemplating the wet wreckage of her hair and kimono in the rest room mirror. Getting off the dance floor had been one of the harder things that she’d done in a while and she had no intention of repeating it.

“Samba!”

Her heart sank.

The tall Asian goth from the line outside gazed at her with obvious delight. “I’m Sidhe. I know you probably don’t remember me, but I remember you, lover girl!”

“I . . . please to meet you, Sidhe, . . . I do remember you though, I mean how could I forget?” Samba hoped her bright smile looked convincing.

“Really? Because you actually slept with my roomie, I just met you creeping out in the morning,” laughed Sidhe. Samba’s cheeks burned. “But I really appreciate the thought.” Sidhe’s smile ran from ear to ear. “Come join me in the chill out room.”

Samba walked over to the girl and grabbed her hands, lacing their fingers together before resting her head on Sidhe’s shoulder. “Alright, I kind of need to get away from the loud music anyways.”

Sidhe just laughed as she guided Samba from the futuristic room into what looked more like an Asian themed lounge. If the room she ran into Kara in was over the top, this one was tasteful. Cushy love seats and beanbags dotted the room while serving girls in more casual wear brought out primarily water and juice.

Sidhe and Samba plopped onto a love seat, and against Sidhe’s initial protests, Samba was rubbing her cheek against the girl’s while half in her lap.

“Got a visit from one of the rave fairies?” Sidhe couldn’t really find any way to discourage Samba as any time she drew away, Samba just moved closer. Samba didn’t care if she was earning any looks. She just couldn’t resist Sidhe’s wonderful smell and smooth skin. She giggled as she kept nuzzling.

“A what?” Samba managed to say.

“A rave fairy. One of those girls covered in ecstasy.”

“Oh, yes. She was so nice. I feel so damn amazing right now. Even the air on my skin~!” Samba could feel herself losing her mind in the best way possible. The gentle circulation of the air over her sweat soaked skin was giving her goosebumps, and she could feel every single one.

“Why are you here anyways? Don’t you work at a lesbian strip club?”

Samba heard the question, but she spotted a couple on another loveseat making out. She wanted to do that. They looked like they were having so much fun. She couldn’t imagine how great Sidhe’s lips would feel against her own. “Yeah, I’m looking for someone, though,” she said as she gave Sidhe a sloppy kiss.

“Oh? Who’s that?” Sidhe returned the kiss.

Samba licked her lips. She couldn’t resist anymore. She pounced Sidhe and pushed her tongue into the girl’s mouth. Sidhe returned her affections and wrapped her arms around Samba. While Sidhe closed her eyes, Samba didn’t. She couldn’t. The way Sidhe’s skin glistened, the contrast of the makeup and her skin, she couldn’t stop looking at it if she tried. She loved this girl too. She loved everyone right now.

She lost track of time as they made out on the couch, pushing and tugging at each other playfully, giggling and laughing, their hot breath tickling each other’s nose, chin, and cheeks. Time didn’t mean anything to Samba anymore. It wasn’t until Sidhe pushed her away that she even considered how long it had been.

“Hey, I need some water, and you never answered my question. Who are you looking for?”

Samba pouted. She didn’t want to stop yet. “Some tall redheaded girl.” She pushed her lips against Sidhe’s again, but Sidhe resisted this time.

“Wait, Rebecca?”

Samba stared for a few seconds. “I don’t know, who’s that?”

Sidhe looked over to a clock on the side of the wall. “Hey, follow me, she’s about to show up.” She pushed Samba down next to her before grabbing her hand.

“What? Really?” Samba grinned. She was trying to remember exactly why she needed Rebecca, but she was sure it would hit her when she saw the woman.

Samba let Sidhe lead her by the hand into the first room with the modern Asian theme. The tall goth pulled her into her body, and Samba snuggled against her, pressing her lips against her neck. She could see the bartender with the dragon tattoo at the other end of the cocktail bar through the crowd, but thankfully the woman seemed preoccupied with the heaving mass of customers.

“Rebecca just joined Scar’s harem a week or two ago. She’s a seriously hot bitch,” said Sidhe.

“Harem?” asked Samba licking at Sidhe’s ear. The Asian girl giggled and slipped a hand down to squeeze Samba’s ass.

“Yeah, Scar’s the club owner, and she owns girls too. Well, I guess they’re volunteers, I think?” Sidhe frowned for a moment. “Scar likes to parade in here and sit on the balcony up there overlooking the dance floor. It’s a whole ninja gangster shtick and she has this posse of smoking hot ho’s she’s picked off the dance floor from time to time coming in behind her . . . they’re kinda unusually dressed, wait’ll you get a load of them.”

Samba’s head cleared a little, “And Rebecca is a really tall redhead, right?”

Sidhe nodded. “Yeah, she came in one night, and she owned the place. She had these girls dancing round her, hell, I wished she’d picked me . . . .”

“My friend Rumba was one of them.”

“Oh, no shit? Well, she got invited up to see Scar and let me tell you any girl who goes up on that balcony . . . Scar ends up owning them. Last time I saw Rebecca she came in behind Scar wearing . . . . Look! That door at the back with the butch guards on either side.”

Samba watched as two women came out first. Both in similar outfits, though the colors were different. One was an older woman, short, Asian, some color missing from her face, but otherwise attractive and alluring in a harsh way. Samba thought she was adorable in her brown ninja-shirt-thing and the long ninja-skirt that went with it.

The other one was tall. Very tall. Samba almost thought it would be Rebecca, but the aqua blue hair screamed it wasn’t her. She wore the same thing as the short woman, though her color scheme was a solid blue. She looked like an islander, maybe from Hawaii or another Pacific Island. She was also incredibly stacked, and her lips looked like they were plump with juice. The innocent expression on her face said she was guileless, but with how muscularly toned she looked, Samba didn’t want to cross her.

“So, the shorter one is Scar?”

“Yeah, never seen the taller one before, though,” Sidhe said. “Don’t look at me though, here come the girls.”

From the back door follow at least a dozen women. All dressed in different colors, most in geisha outfits, two in Japanese maid outfits, and two girls that were different from the rest. One was a beautiful blonde. The others seemed to know where they were going intuitively, the blonde seemed to be making the choices consciously.

The other was Rebecca. It had to be. She was as tall as the woman dressed in blue. Her outfit matched the blonde’s in that it wasn’t much of an outfit. She had a ninja-shirt-thing like Scar had, but hers was obviously too small. Her cleavage stuck out from the top, and her navel was clearly visible. Only a red thong and brown thigh high tabi socks covered her bottom half.

“That’s Rebecca?” Samba said with a frown “Her?”

“Yeah. She was a hot shot on that first night. Now she’s just one of the girls. I think she might be Scar’s favorite. She’s almost always wearing the least amount of clothing.”

“There’s no way, though.” Samba pouted. Rebecca was supposed to be someone in control, not someone being controlled. Though, if Scar could control Rebecca, maybe Scar could help Samba master her own abilities? “I have to meet with her or at least Scar.”

“. . . Are you crazy? You’ll just wind up like them.”

Samba rested her head on Sidhe’s shoulder. “Will not.”

“Yes you will. It doesn’t matter anyways, I mean, yeah, you’re a great dancer, but Scar doesn’t just judge dancing skills. She likes certain types of women. No offense to you, but you’re... well, you just don’t pull off the kimono look well.”

Samba kissed Sidhe’s cheek. “I know. I don’t really like it either, it doesn’t show off my sides enough, and it really doesn’t let me dance very well. Still, I’m going to get up into that balcony, and you’re going to help.”

Samba took Sidhe’s hands and pulled her through the crowd towards the spiral staircase leading up to the balcony. She could see that one of the butch guards on the door through which the parade had come through had shifted positions to cover the bottom of the staircase. The guard by the staircase had short, close-cropped dark hair and surprisingly pretty black eyes while her colleague who still covered the door nearby had a blonde page boy haircut. They both obviously had seriously ripped bodies under their tight black tee’s and jeans.

Sidhe hissed in protest as Samba started to dance with her close to the black-eyed guard, a little way off the dance floor proper. The guard’s eyes flicked to them for a second and then moved back to keep scanning the crowd. The blonde guard didn’t even appear to glance at them, although Samba suspected if she made any sudden move in the direction of the staircase she’d find out very differently.

“Stop! No, I’m not doing this!” Sidhe looked stricken, her goth cool coming apart at the seams.

Samba could feel her power responding to the beat of the club around her. The sweat and excitement and arousal in the air stroked across her skin. She focused herself on Sidhe, some part of her at the back of her mind told her she needed to treat this the way she would with a particularly hot, but shy customer. Get Sidhe moving and then see if anybody else who so happened to be standing nearby might be induced to join in.

She raised her hands over her head and moved in closer to her new best girl. Sidhe’s eyes bulged. Samba couldn’t figure out why at first. They had just been making out for an extended period of time. It hit her a few seconds later when she saw the glow of her eyes reflected in Sidhe’s. One eye was strangely brighter than the other.

“Your eyes look weird.”

“Oh, really?” Samba said, trying to play it off.

And being this close was stirring up that raw happiness inside her again. She didn’t really want to dance all that much herself even as the rhythm of the club soaked into her. She found it much more appealing to just tackle Sidhe and tickle her until she stopped worrying.

Her own beat was out of rhythm, fluttering along at random. She focused inward as she spun Sidhe and forced her into the dance. Her body was responding well, each movement was carefully planned and plotted, a little flashy but still tasteful. Her power wouldn’t come out, though. The glow in her eyes was all that would manifest.

“Slow down if you’re not going to let me go at least,” Sidhe said. She did her best to keep up, but she didn’t have the experience Samba had.

Samba looked past her toward the crowd. A few girls had taken notice, but none of them seemed drawn. Samba waved them over behind Sidhe’s back, trying her best to paint a mischievous grin on her face. The girls nodded and started walking over, a similar grin on their faces.

Samba spun Sidhe again, letting her see the girls coming toward them. She took the chance to wink at one of the guards and signal them over. Neither moved even as Samba waved to them again when the girls showed up. They started to tease and dance with Sidhe, all nodding to Samba, exchanging wordless conversations.

Samba frowned at the guard with black eyes as she approached her. She still couldn’t manage to access her power, but all they would need is a little push.

“Come on, join us,” Samba said with the most pathetic pout she could manage. “You can still watch the stairs and doors from where we’re dancing.”

“No,” said the dark eyed bouncer.

Samba took her hands gently, swaying back and forth on her heels. “It’ll be fun. You can dance with me first.”

The bouncer looked at Samba, obviously undressing her with her eyes. Samba gave a little shake, feeling more like a fairy with each passing second as a bit of her green glow returned, though subtle enough to not draw much attention. The dark eyed bouncer turned to the other guard who shook her head.

“Come on, just a little dance. If you each give me a little dance, we can maybe meet up after you get off work?” Samba twirled a little, feeling her kimono slip down, revealing more of her soft skin. A bit more of her glow returned. She could feel her heart flutter. Even as she could only think of nuzzling the powerful women in front of her, she could feel an edge of her seductiveness returning. Each step made her shine just the tiniest bit brighter. She could see the little green twinkle in their eyes.

That got their attention. They looked to each other then to Samba. “How about I call you tomorrow night, and she calls you the night after.”

Samba tried her best to make a nervous laugh, but it came out more as an excited giggle. She couldn’t deny that she loved these two girls’ attitudes. Even if she didn’t want to fuck them now, she certainly wanted to give them each a big hug and a sloppy kiss.

“Alright, deal,” Samba said. She grabbed both of them by the arm and tried to get moving, but they refused to budge.

“Your number first, then we dance,” the dark eyed bouncer said.

Samba shrugged as she gave them her digits. Before she said another word, they both pulled out their phones and entered them. They apparently intended to keep her to her word. Part of her regretted not giving them a fake number, but another part of her was kind of excited to see them in bed.

Samba pulled them out into the forming throng of dancing girls. Sidhe seemed to be at the center of attention, blushing profusely as more people showed up. Samba rubbed against the bouncers while waving some other girls over who quickly took a liking to the two bouncers. They provided just enough of a distraction that by the time anyone noticed Samba was missing, she was already on her way up the stairs.

Samba held her breath as she crept up the staircase. Out of the corner of one eye, she caught a girl sitting in one of the alcoves underneath the balcony nudging a friend in astonishment at Samba’s boldness. She paused just below the doorway opening to the balcony.

She thought she heard a slap of skin against skin. Like somebody getting spanked. She shook her head, her mind had to be playing tricks on her.

Deep breath.

She stepped up the last few steps and and out onto the balcony in a few smooth, confident steps, trying to look like she knew she belonged there even if nobody else did. And then her jaw dropped.

The short, striking-looking woman called Scar sat with her back to Samba by the balcony railing, leaning over to the left to trail a finger around the exposed nipples of the beautiful blue-haired woman. The blue-haired woman sat with her back to the nightclub goers just below, with several geisha further arrayed on either side of the two ninja-gangsters to ensure the view of the balcony’s activities remained obscured from any crane-necked revelers. The woman’s skirt had been hiked up around her waist so that her deliciously long muscular legs spread wide to allow the redhead between them to worship her.

The blue-haired woman had her eyes closed and licked her lips in appreciation as the redhead moved her mouth vigorously against her pussy. Samba realized with a start that it was Rebecca

Rebecca’s brown shirt lay discarded on the floor as she ate out the blue-haired woman, naked on her hands and knees except for her thigh-high socks and red thong. The blonde knelt to one side playing with the crotch of the red thong, making it rub against Rebecca’s clit and between her wet pussy lips. As Samba watched the blonde delivered another sharp spank to Rebecca’s right ass cheek. The redhead shivered with arousal and the blue-haired woman gasped as Rebecca clearly re-doubled her efforts.

Samba could make out Scar whispering to her fellow gangster, “She’s a magnificent recruit isn’t she, Nazzo? Do you have anything like her in your own stable, mmm?”

Nazzo moaned, “I . . . have . . . .”

“Liar,” chuckled Scar. “The Kage would have . . . .”

Scar’s head turned sharply. Samba flinched as she met the small Asian woman’s eyes. There was something off about them. She couldn’t figure out what. Her suspicions evaporated though as she looked over the tiny woman. She was adorable, absolutely adorable. Samba wanted to grab her and start hugging and cuddling until they both just fell asleep in each others arms.

“You’re daring, girl,” Scar said, bringing Samba back to reality.

Samba tried her hardest to not stare at the lewd display in front of her. “A little, but it’s more because I don’t really believe curiosity kills the cat.”

Scar grinned. “It certainly doesn’t kill.”

Samba motioned to Nazzo and Rebecca. “Not with you, anyway.”

Scar sat on the railing and crossed her legs. A girl dressed as a geisha brought her a drink before she could say another word. “Now, really, you have purpose in your eyes. And your sweat smells like ecstasy. Why are you up here? On a high and feel like everyone loves you as much as you love them?” she said with a very cold tone.

Samba shook her head, though, she sort of believed everyone loved her right now, she logically knew better. “No, I’m here for her.” Samba pointed at Rebecca.

Scar snorted, but not without some humor. “I know Rebecca-chan has acquired a certain following amongst my customers since she joined my service, but you’re the first to try to come up here and try to meet her.”

Samba squeaked. She saw a blur, and the small woman stood in front of her. Samba dropped her jaw, awestruck as she considered the possibility that the ninja-gangster thing amounted to more than a shtick to pull in curious party-goers.

“What is your real interest here?” Scar’s voice whispered and lingered, drawing Samba out.

“I need to ask her for advice on some things.” Samba couldn’t hide her smile as their legs brushed against each other. The cloth of the ninja-skirt-thing was softer than she imagined. It almost reminded her of Seamstress’s clothing.

“But that drug, it really interferes. You don’t feel anything but happiness, do you?” Scar said as she reached into her shirt and withdrew a needle. “Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.” Samba never even saw Scar’s hand move, but the feeling of happiness and content quickly dissipated. Her mind cleared. She could feel the beat of the club in her head, the quick and agile beat of Scar, and the very similar, but somehow lighter beat from Nazzo. Finally, she could feel Rebecca. There was an anomaly, two beats going off, one after another in constant struggle.

Samba felt the blood rush to her head as she stumbled backward. Her eyes darted to take in her surroundings. The colors had dulled into normalcy. She could finally process everything again. She could still be in control of this situation.

At least she thought she could until Scar approached her again and slipped her kimono off her shoulders. Samba caught it halfway down, still covering her breasts slightly, only the edge of a green half-cup bra exposed

“Modest are we? I can teach you how to get rid of that modesty. A few little personal sessions with me and you’ll feel like you’re always on drugs, though, the bliss is superior, none of that reserve.” Scar’s grin wouldn’t fade. She looked at Samba like she was a wolf who had a rabbit cornered.

Samba gasped as Scar stepped closer and slid her hand under her kimono and into her panties. Samba didn’t even have time to protest as Scar dipped her fingers inside Samba’s pussy and withdrew a glistening finger.

“Exquisite,” said Scar, her eyes filling Samba’s vision as she licked the juice from her fingers. “I shall reward your boldness with a special treat. Choose one of the girls here and she will give you the most extraordinary pleasure this night before returning here with you so that you can receive . . . my undivided attention.”

“Oh, yes,” sighed Samba. “I’d love that.”

“I know,” said Scar. “Choose.”

Samba’s heart jumped to her throat. “Rebecca then.” She glanced over at the private sex show still going on behind Scar’s back.

The blonde had pulled Rebecca’s red thong fully to one side and alternately tongued the redhead’s asshole or dipped her long fingers inside Rebecca’s dripping pussy. For her part, Rebecca continued to eat Nazzo out with scarcely credible fervor as the blue-haired gangster jerked her pussy up against Rebecca’s face and her hands twisted in Rebecca’s red hair.

Nazzo’s breath came in heavy, ragged gasps and her hips rose suddenly off her seat.

“Oh! Goddess! Yes, slut, just like that!”

Scar laughed with malevolent delight, “Rebecca-chan, obeisance!”

Rebecca and the blonde both snapped up like a pair of erotic clockwork dolls, the blonde shifting to allow Rebecca to spin around onto her knees and press her forehead against the floor in front of Scar’s feet, palms flat, bare ass high in the air. The crotch of the red thong remained pulled aside baring Rebecca’s pussy.

Nazzo spluttered, “Scar! Like, what the hell!?”

Scar snapped her fingers at the blonde, “Jezebel! Attend to Nazzo-chan.”

“No!” Nazzo started to turn red. “That’s not the point, like I want the slut I had ba . . . ooh . . . oh, yes . . . thazz verrr nizzz.” Nazzo’s head tilted back again.

Scar contemplated the blonde working between Nazzo’s thighs for a moment and then turned her gaze on Rebecca.

“Rebecca-chan, submission.”

Rebecca raised her forehead from the floor with a shudder and sat back on her heels, her head hung low, eyes on the floor, her hands folded behind her back. “What do you wish of me, Scar-sensei?”

Rebecca’s high-pitched breathy voice surprised Samba, it seemed out of place for such a tall, athletic woman. Samba could see little silver rings through the thick pink nipples of Rebecca’s big breasts.

Scar placed a hand on Samba’s hip. “This bold girl is . . . . .” Scar raised an eyebrow at Samba.

“Oh, people call me Samba.”

Scar’s lips twitched slightly in amusement, " . . . Samba. You will let her experience some part of the pleasure that I give you tonight. You understand me, don’t you, Rebecca-chan?”

“Yes, Scar-sensei,” said Rebecca, her breasts and thighs shivered. “I understand you perfectly.”

Scar stroked Samba’s hip, making Samba’s pussy warmer with each touch. “You’ll be quite safe with Rebecca-chan, Samba, tell her what you do when you aren’t serving me.”

The shivering rippled through Rebecca now, her whole body trembling with obvious erotic tension. “Scar-sensei, I am a lead detective in Infinity City PD’s Special Investigation Unit.”

Samba blinked in shock, but the feeling of Scar’s hand on her hip soothed it away. “But you’ve discovered something that’s so much better than that, haven’t you?”

The redhead mewled softly, and her head dropped a fraction lower. The tremors running through her porcelain skin had taken on a life of their own. Samba thought she could smell the musk of the redhead’s arousal.

“Yes, Scar-sensei.”

“And what is that thing?”

“Submission to you, Scar-sensei!” A high note burst from Rebecca’s mouth and she fell forward onto the floor, her forehead pressed once more at Scar’s feet as her hips jerked in helpless orgasm.

Samba exhaled.

“Good, you may leave with Samba now. Return after hours.”

“Yes, Scar-sensei,” said Rebecca. She lifted her head slightly and pressed her lips to Scar’s toes. Samba saw another small tremor pass through the redhead before she slowly drew herself up to her full height, towering over both Samba and her mistress.

“Follow me,” said Rebecca.

“Um, you’re not wearing . . . .” But Rebecca had already passed her and started to head down the stairs to the club.

Samba glanced back at Scar, but found that the small woman had returned to teasing Nazzo’s breasts. She quickly pulled the top of her kimono up again and hurried after Rebecca down the stairs.

Sidhe gave her a bright smile and two thumbs up as she passed the dancing guards and girls and followed Rebecca through the door in the back of the club. Samba noticed faintly glowing Asian symbols tattooed on Rebecca’s lower back.

“Where are we going?”

Rebecca turned, “Give me a moment to get changed. I’m taking you back to my place for a night you won’t forget.”