The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Snoopy is a Cat Chapter 2

Hello again.

I am sorry I spammed everyone before.

However, I didn’t receive a reprimand for it, and I did get some answers, so I must not have messed up to badly.

For the record, the first time is best time is only true when the first time is the first time.

I thank those who took the time to make actual answers instead of just commiserating, and thank you as well for the commiserating.

I talked about myself a lot before.

What I was feeling.

What I went through.

How much my world has changed, yet how much it has stayed the same.

This time I want to expand on that theme.

I have been researching the UCA in my spare time.

You get the joke, and it is nice knowing I don’t even have to ask.

That is still new to me.

Even in crowds I have always been alone.

The few I found like me, always avoided me as much as I did them, to avoid drawing attention to any of us. We saw what happened to those who were just bright, and if they even suspected we exist.

Bad things, bad things we don’t even want to think about.

Worse than we have imagined I would guess, but maybe not worse than I could, but either way, I do not want to know.

The layers of the package are starting to kick in, I am starting to be able to actually use it.

I spotted something in school today, and it kind of freaked me out at first.

Anyway, you know that situational awareness map, the one that tells you where everyone and everything around you is.

That was running at school yet again.

For some reason it runs constantly there now.

Anyhow, it was doing its usual thing, then it started showing me vector maps as well.

It took me a while, but I eventually figured out what it was, I was seeing where people were looking.

Concentrating in it, the package would show me what they were seeing based on my last glance or look in that direction.

I had no idea we processed, let alone retained, that much or kind of information, I guess we all have something to learn if we are open to it.

It became kind of a game I played with myself.

I would think about someone I just passed, trying to guess what they were looking at, then compare my guess to what the package showed me.

There are these two couples that have constantly double dated for years.

I mention constantly because they very seldom go out without both sets being there.

As usual they were scanning the crowds, taking in the view, the T&A review process that is part of the whole teen experience. I remember when I was just a teen, and I am still not sure I miss it.

I was watching them when I saw something, something weird.

I predicted the butts, abs and cleavage they were admiring perfectly.

I did not however, predict who was doing the looking at what.

They look exactly like two really close couples who enjoy each others company, and they are.

It is just that the couples in private are not exactly the same ones advertised in public, despite the token amounts of rather normal looking kissing, groping and grab ass they do for show.

Notice I’m not naming any names, that is on purpose.

I have no intention of outing anyone, by accident, or by design.

Besides, how would I explain being able to tell who was looking at exactly what, especially while simply walking by.

So I simply walked on smiling, let the world think what it wants.

If they are happy, that is all that counts, let the bigots drink battery acid.

As I have said to my coworkers more than once already, life as a companion is weird.

Being a companion while still in school though, especially high school, is even weirder.

I wonder writing this, what college will be like.

Somehow easier because I control more of my schedule, or will that make it harder since my schedule will be more open for them to work assignments into.

Homework Vs hard cash, why am I worrying about that now, I have years.

First period is Government and Law, followed by AP English, then AP Math, the rest of the day is boring crap I slept through before, now it is an effort to just make myself show up.

It is hard to take a class seriously when it takes longer to write down the answers during tests, than it does to study for the class.

G&L is currently covering prohibition, McCarthy is next.

Roe Vs Wade is coming soon, and given my(our) job, I find it kind of funny.

The people writing the laws that outlaw us, are some of our biggest customers.

I mean seriously, what right does some old man, or old men, have to say what I can or can not do with my own body?

If he isn’t the father, mine or a theoretical child’s, why does he get any say in what happens inside my body?

Am I person or not?

If I am not, then who do I belong to?

If I own myself, then what is the problem?

Are we citizens or subjects?

If Prima Nocturna is dead, what is some old fogey doing in my bedroom?

If he wants to control that biology, let him go get his own.

I hear gender changing surgery has come a long way.

I sometimes doubt the people writing those laws talk to each other truthfully.

Certainly no sane person can believe all those contradictory things at the same time.

Last night I was eye candy at some big business meeting.

Fortunately there are rules about us under-agers being look but don’t touch to the of-agers except under prior arrangement, and even then never in public.

One of the executives, a woman. Ok, Claire, is in the middle of a nasty divorce and custody fight.

Her reaction to seeing us was horror, like she expected to have a spontaneous orgy break out.

She had to bring her four year old son, Bryan, with her on this trip just in case her husband decided to pick up their son from daycare or sleepover, and keep him.

Possession remains nine tenths of the law, even when it shouldn’t apply at all.

Bryan was too exhausted, bored and frustrated to settle or sleep after an hour.

She eventually got him seated in a corner after some quiet yelling and screaming.

Wait until you have siblings, cousins or children, you will understand what I mean.

Until then, just take my word for it.

Naturally, it wore off after a while and he began wandering.

I picked him up as he was tugging at a table cloth, before he spilled the table contents on himself.

I took him to the kitchen to get him apple juice and snackwiches before the staff cut them into small squares for the trays.(Ok, Hors d’oeuvres, whatever. I still think of them as snackwiches; taster teasers to nag you to eat real food later, or help your blood sugar stay up long enough to get some.).

Once he finished that, I took him back to where his mother had left him, we played games until he got sleepy, then he wouldn’t let go of me.

The smiles I got, from the men and women alike, sitting there holding him as he slept in my lap, they were very nice, not even one condescending look.

No one looked askance at me, or said anything bad, many seemed relieved in some way.

I was taking care of a child who needed to be held, and that was fine, great crowd.

After three hours his mother showed up panicky, having lost track of time.

Her look was equal parts anger, disgust, and relief.

Here I was, dressed as a maid, obviously underage, very obviously eye candy, yet Bryan felt safe enough to fall asleep in my lap, and I had interrupted my job to let him.

“Are you UCA?” She asked sitting down cross legged, completely ignoring everyone and her own supposed dignity. I like tomboys.

“Yes.” I answered truthfully.

“Tell me about it.” She said then frowned at herself. “Please.”

“I can’t.” I replied. “We have rules.”

“I thought you were just for …”

“Decoration?” I asked prompting.

“Decoration. Yes, decoration … let us stick to calling it, decoration.” She agreed. “That seems nice.”

“You have questions you can’t find words for?” I asked.

“Yes. I have wondered why all these negotiations are staffed by the UCA or the BAU. Do you know why?”

“I can’t say.” I replied honestly. You know what it is like when the public starts asking about our internals, even indirectly. The pressure and headache sat on the horizon, enough to make themselves known, but not interfering, yet. Though it remained close.

“Wondered where you ran off to.” Tamara said joining us though she stayed standing. Yes, that Tamara.

“I, umm.” I stammered. Now when I really needed words, the package stayed silent, figures.

“I was coming to find you, to let you know you are off duty.” She continued as she smiled at Bryan. “I can see that might be a little more involved than I thought though.”

“She has questions.” I warned.

“You must be Claire Becket.” Tamara said kneeling beside us.

“Yes. And you must be this Tamara I’ve heard so much about.” Claire laughed unable to not stare.

“I get that a lot.” Tamara giggled at the very mildly blessed woman staring her own ridiculously large chest.

“I umm …” Claire stammered embarrassed.

“Snoopy here indicated you have some questions.”

“Yes.”

“She’s technically off duty. However, I think I know why you have questions.”

“You do?”

“Yes. In part, we of the UCA never leak the secrets of our clientele.”

“So I have been told.” Claire agreed looking both of us over. “However, I see an apparently random collection of women and a few men here tonight. How can you screen so carefully, especially ones like her who look like she is still in school.”

“You work for Deltronor if I remember correctly.” Tamara asked deflecting. (Yes I changed the name of the company. Client security remains in force even in our internal systems after all. Comms discipline is an ongoing thing as we all know. Besides, I don’t want to know if the package would change it for me. Claire has no problem with me using her name I guess, since I am able to.)

“Yes. I am surprised you know that. There are a lot of people here tonight.”

“Two hundred seventeen people from thirty seven companies.” Tamara replied. (I have checked and she got all her facts right, off the top of her head, incredible.).

“Snoopy.” Tamara said turning to me. “I leave it up to you to explain. You have permission to speak freely. Ms. Becket works for an international negotiating and diplomacy firm. They have used our services for several years now. They are also happily taking advantage of us beginning to operate internationally ourselves. She is cleared for whatever you decide to explain. She needs to not so much know, as understand, or even better, comprehend, the services we offer.”

“Umm …” I mumbled feeling the pressure and headache evaporate. I should explain. The lack of context keys is a result something otherwise unrelated. As I said before, I am a volunteer. I also chose to have an identity locked primary control. As you know, all acquisitions have one at least initially. Normally your first manager. The person responsible for pulling your stupid ass out of any messes you get into not on assignment. According to the manual it is removed with two years good behavior, but I intend to keep mine as long as they will let me. Anyway, they order, you obey, no context needed. Volunteers though, they don’t have one. I chose to have one, and use him for my rescue contact as well. I’ll go into the exact why another time.

I chose James. Yes, the James that has Virginia. It means I can’t play chaperone since he can if he chooses have or make me anything he wants. I know he can ‘Score’ the chaperones all he wants, but me he can assign, which is a completely different thing. She is a dear friend. He is taking care of her, and she trusts him. I don’t mean she has to do anything he says, which she does. I mean she also trusts him. She doesn’t fight his control. She uses him for stability.

While I have known people more and better than I do her, there is no one I have ever trusted more for things like this. He has not taken advantage of or used that control either. The only times he has pushed were to assure testing that he does if he chooses, have control of me. They insisted, he rebelled, they made some not so veiled threats. Virginia said to just get it done. If he kept being stubborn they might have reason to get inventive. The biggest threat there is for us I have to come to understand. Yet I am utterly safe in his hands and have absolutely no fear of him. His second act when we got to his house after I was discharged post decanting, was appointing two submanagers in case of emergency. Tamara and Fran. (Yes, the lactating one.) They can both issue orders in his name with no need for context.

“I know.” Tamara said gently. “It is a lot to dump on you. However, you are the right person in the right place. No one will think anything odd if you go with her. I also think she might be open to actually listening to you given the circumstances.”

“Ok.” I said, knowing I was in over my head, but trapped. I carried the sleeping child up to Claire’s room. Sitting cross legged at first on the bed with Bryan still sleeping on my lap, we talked.

“Seriously? You don’t remember him at all?” She asked three hours later as I explained the way things fade after a couple of days, for the third time. I had just finished explaining spending a weekend breaking in a young man.

“I know his picture, yet I don’t know him at all. When we get together at Easter, my reflexes will know him. I will be drawn to what he liked before. But I have no conscious memory of him at all.”

“Then tonight?”

“Everything up to where Tamara told me I was off duty, will fade. Though it is possible I will retain memory of Bryan on duty since there is overlap with off duty. Without us talking here like this, the entire evening would just slide away. All I would know, is I played eye candy and maid.”

“Have you? Umm … ”

“Yes I have had sex on assignment. My oldest client according to records was forty. His wife hires one of us for him every three months for a weekend. She is wheel chair bound, and going down hill. They were childhood sweethearts. They held off children until their careers were better. She was three months along when a drunk driver in a subcompact cut off a long hauler. His trailer was going to flip over on someone. His choices were between aiming at a greyhound bus, or a minivan. He chose the minivan. She lived, but will never have children, or feel anything below the bottom of her rib cage again.”

“Oh my god. That poor woman.”

“And man. He stayed with her through it all. The wife has been doing this for seven years now. She knows her husband won’t cheat on her either. He hates himself, but it helps.”

“I hate to admit it, but I can’t really blame either of them.”

“I remember my directions for the weekend. She wanted to talk to me. To explain what she wanted him to have. How she wanted him to have it. I was not on assignment for that talk. Somewhere during it I realized what she had in mind. This was her way of saying goodbye. She did not intend to be alive to greet him Monday morning. They had run away camping one weekend when they were sixteen, my job was to replicate that weekend. I did.”

“I see.” Claire said staring at me.

“Have you Heard of Vargas?” I asked segueing into expanding our description, which is why I had chosen this particular assignment.

“Yes. Chemical spills. An entire town isolated or quarantined for its own good.” She answered, confused by my apparent change of subject. “They had to evacuate everyone I think.”

“When I realized what she had in mind. I made some calls after her husband and I left to go camping, but before we left town. People from our Vargas branch visited. They sold her a set of house keepers and brooders. One male, who has been given a skill set covering physio therapy and massage. Two female who resemble the wife just enough to look related. One of the females is receiving an IVF embryo from the wife’s eggs right now. She was lucky enough to have her ovaries left intact, it was just the rest that was … damaged … or lost. The male and both females will live in the two spare bedrooms. They belong to the wife who controls them. The husband gets one night a week with each of the women normally, the wife can also send them as often as she cares to. The male publicly acts as a boyfriend to the brooder, who supports her decision to help the couple. The pairing is to explain to the children as they grow why they have live in house keepers.”

“Children? But Vargas is a waste dump.”

“They are planning on two, maybe three children of their own. Neither of the females can conceive on their own, and the male is sterile, so all the children will be the couple’s.” I explained. Then explained what really happened in Vargas, though not the players or the plans. Only drugging the whole town, the mental damage, and the aftermath that ensued. Not a place I ever intend to visit.

“The servants were from Vargas?” She asked blinking. “Wipes you called them?”

“Yes. Mentally empty, literal shells. Otherwise completely healthy. Their personality template will fill in as needed to blend them into the household.”

“God.” She muttered shuddering. We talked a while longer. Then we shifted her son from my lap to beside me before she lay down. We slept with him between us. In the morning I ended up baby sitting the five children that had come. Hers was the youngest, a fourteen year old boy the oldest. The other three were girls that wanted to know what it was like being a waitress, and getting to dress up all the time. I had no idea how to answer their questions, or tell them what they really wanted to know either.

When noon came around I had to go to work. Claire called work, the arcade, to arrange for the kids to go with me to give their parents a break. I gave them magic tokens, the RFID tagged ones that trigger a game then pop back out the change return slot. The looks I got from passers by and customers alike having a four year old basically on my hip. Accompanied by five and six year old girls, were I am forced to admit, funny. The other girl, Ginger, appropriately enough a redhead, wanted nothing to do with me or the counter the others found so fascinating. The older boy alternated between driving games and one with dragons.

The look on Ginger’s face when her father came by and spoke to me like an adult, was and is, a very precious memory. Here she is trying so hard to be grown up, and I being eye candy get the kind of respect she wants. Attempts at an explanation fell on young ears, which is another way of saying, deaf. At least to what they don’t want to hear or understand. I have been warned to expect more baby sitting if Claire visits again. She doesn’t care about the money. We are hideously expensive after all, especially as baby sitters. She cares that her son is safe and happy. He likes me and that is all the further she looks.

And that confusion is part of what started me writing this evening. Claire knows what I do. I told her about being a teen boys birthday present so I could break him in, make him a man. I told her about replicating a man’s teenage run away camping sex fantasy that his wife arranged because she couldn’t. I remain unsure exactly how it was negotiated, or how I was chosen. Yet the only thing she saw is someone who took time from her work, to be with her son. Someone who took time to make sure a little boy was ok. Even if it meant interrupting her own job.

I brought a boy into manhood, on command, for money. I played teen recreation fantasy for a man old enough to be my father, at his wife’s behest. Yet all Claire saw is someone sitting with her son. She understands now why the UCA staffs so many high level functions. Why everyone seems to know us. Yet why no one ever talks about us. Without us, or someone like us, these talks could not take place.

There are no other truly neutral players out there. No other uninvolved sides. We serve a vital function everyone needs. Yet what we do is not our actual business. We sell sex. We sell sexuality and package it. We sell under-age service. And yet, we also play by rules. Under-age only serves under-age, other than exceptions. We take those who weaponize sex out of the game before they do themselves or others harm. I think we do far more good than bad.

I look at the boys, who call themselves men, that I go to school with. Now, I think even less of them than I did before. Ok, I’m a nerd by nature, and my view of boys is biased. The only boys I have ever gotten along with, are the type that aren’t aware of gender. Not all young males are jocks, but they cast such shadows the rest are hard for me to see. The more intimate I become with clients, the farther I feel from those in my life. I mean honestly, how can parents not realize what their daughters and the few sons are doing? How do they not know? I suspect they close their eyes, or don’t care.

Seriously, I don’t expect all parents to be quite as open as Kevin’s obviously are. Is anyone dense enough to miss that? He moved three girls, cheerleaders!!! even, into his house. They are living across the hall, working in a burger place called the UCBJ, for him! Come on people! Open your eyes! Look at Sir, umm, Wilhelm. Still getting used to that name and idea substitution even in my own thoughts. He has his assistant manager slash girl friend living with him. His other girlfriend slash assistant is working out of town right now, but she stays with him when she visits. How much clearer can it be? How can they not see? It can only be by choice, but I do not even pretend to understand that choice.

At the same time I look at how the world views the entire sex trade. They talk in hallowed terms about their own adventures. While treating the industry like insert tab A into slot B. Do none of them realize how much time we actually spend cuddling, or just plain talking with our clients? I broke in a sixteen year old. Yet, with him knowing I was his to enjoy. That he could do me as much as he wanted. That I was totally available. As much as he wanted, however he wanted. You know what he did? He far preferred being held, cuddled and talked to like a real person. This by the girl he could have freely, to actually having said girl.

I have read and reread my own report, I don’t even remember writing it now. I thought something was wrong with me at first. I mean seriously. He could have been doing me from five minutes after dinner until five minutes before breakfast. I would have done nothing but cooperate with that endeavor with enthusiasm. He liked me holding him. His fun peaked at me topless, taking my panties off did nothing extra for him, he didn’t care about that. He wanted touch. He wanted to be held. He liked the feel of resting his head on my bare breasts. I started stroking him when he eventually started suckling me. It rapidly turned into a hand job from which he popped almost immediately.

We talked for a long while before I started stroking him again. He refused to order me. I actually made a note of that in my report. He refused to ask, or order. Nude girl in bed with him saying he can have whatever he wants, just tell her. Yet his biggest desire is to be treated like a real person, to be talked to. I don’t remember it of course, but man did I use some flowery language to say he popped in my mouth like old faithful. Reading that is actually kind of funny. I have read many. ‘first few times out’, reports now, and most of them read the same.

“Likes sex, craves cuddling.” Is a common theme.

“Sleeps using breasts as pillows.” Is another common theme.

“Spent entire weekend nude serving meals while talking as he worked on sketches. And! NO!! SEX!!!” Is my favorite. Emphasis not mine.

So what is it. What is wrong with us? Anything? Why do so many buy sex, then not make full use, or sometimes any use at all, of us? Since they often don’t use the sex we sell. What are we really selling since it quite obviously isn’t sex. You expect his attention to be above your belly button if you have on a bikini or more, and below it if not. When a teen males main interest extends beyond, or barely includes your bare nether regions at all, you start to wonder if something is wrong with you.

The football player’s seventeen year old brother mostly wanted sex of course. However, after a while, after we could no longer hear his older brother. He wanted to be held. He didn’t want to talk, he kept up his women are for sex persona even in bed. But that changed when he wasn’t speaking though, when he wasn’t projecting loudly whose brother he was. During that time he was like anyone else, just with fewer words. All because he seemingly couldn’t talk without trying to sound tough like he thinks his brother is.

If I had the option I would burst his bubble though. I checked our records. The brother is consistent in his habits. Three days before a big game, then three hours after. Nothing but silent service with physical therapy and massage in between. He likes us because he can order a leggy blond physio trained masseuse, around his game. She starts three days before with a marathon of sex, he is held and massaged for three days, then another post game marathon. After that, he goes home to his wife and children. None of the game’s emotions, stress, anger, frustration, rage, or any other poisons touch his home life.

Now that. The separation of work stress and home life. That is who we are. That is what we are.

The world would be better off if it if removed that kind of unhealthy stress from itself, even if would cut into business.

That would require seeing other people as people though, which I don’t see happening anytime soon.

I am only beginning to understand the world I am in now. Only beginning to understand the world I was already in, but did not or could not see. As I look at the world today, I see war being waged upon us women. Men who want to control what we can wear, where we can go, what we can do, and to control us in so many other ways.

I find myself curious why so many men are so desperate to control us. Why are they afraid of us? What did we ever do to them? These are questions I had before, now they are question that eat away at me. Is my mind so dangerous to them they have to chain my body to feel safe?

I was born a beagle.(Sorry, puns run in the family.) Given my nature that made me a Snoopy, and I have always been really snoopy as well. Now I find myself curious. Yet I am who I always was, I remain who I am as well. So now Snoopy is more than a snoopy little thing.

I am a young woman now, so I can tell the world to its horror, that Snoopy is a cat. While curiosity may kill this cat, it will not stop it. Answers are my driving force. Its funny that I had to give up a little of myself, in order to find so much more of myself that I had never imagined existed.

So until next time.
This is Snoopy signing off.
Meow!