The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Loss

Paul looked out the large windows, down to the busy street three floors below. The morning rain had cleared to no more than a mist, pedestrians furling their umbrellas again. His hands clasped behind his back, he glanced at the clock on the mantle: nine twenty five. He looked down on the little people on the sidewalks. She should be ... ah, there she was, that distinctive stride... He smiled. She would be right on time. As always—she couldn’t help it.

She walked along the street, tears rolling down her face past her sunglasses. She hated herself, what she was doing, and him most of all. Yet she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t turn away. She had to keep going ... back to him. And even in the rage, the hatred, the coldness, she felt her body betraying her, knowing the ecstasy he would fill her with, with a touch, a word...

He looked down as she turned and approached the curb, mid-block, almost directly across the street from the entrance to his building. He thought he saw her look up at him as she removed her sunglasses. She stepped off the curb.

She took another breath, calming the rage. It was her only option. Him and his chair, she thought to herself. He’d fucked with her mind so much that she didn’t know which thoughts were hers and which his. And try as she might, she couldn’t let on to anyone what he’d done to her. All she could do was to obey—in obedience there was bliss, oh what bliss! But within that obedience, she still had some leeway. She glanced up the street, exhaling and taking a deep, slow breath.

She turned to the curb. Her document case was under her left arm with the latest contracts she’d prepared for his company. She still did her best for him—she had to. She squeezed the case one last time, thinking of the leather, a gift from her parents when she’d graduated law school. Best not to think about them now... With her right hand, she took off her sunglasses. She looked up to his window. Was he standing there, watching? She hoped so.

With another breath, she stepped off the curb, in front of the parked delivery truck. She was surprised at how calm she felt now. The fear and the anger had all disappeared. She took two more steps.

He watched her walk in front of the delivery truck. He frowned, then gasped softly.

She stepped from behind the delivery truck, and with three more quick steps, directly in front of a speeding express bus.

He watched from his window, astonished, as the bus struck her. The impact propelled her through the air and into oncoming traffic where she was hit by a car moving the other direction. The bus skidded and swerved on the wet street, hitting other vehicles. Her body flew over the top of the car as it too skidded and swerved, hitting other vehicles. He could tell from the way her body flew limply in seeming slow motion that she was already dead—her spine, a leg, and her neck all at unnatural angles.

As the carnage on the street below coagulated, he turned from the window.

What a loss, he thought. What a loss. He shook his head slowly.

All that time and effort on her, gone. Thank God he hadn’t had her pick up his shirts from the cleaners—that would have been a mess! Now he’d have to pick them up himself. All his plans for the morning shot. He’d even planned on taking her to lunch afterwards.

He got his coat from the hall closet. What a loss—all that time wasted. Where had he gone wrong?

Downstairs in his office about ten minutes later, he pulled a thin unlabeled black binder from a shelf. He phoned her office, asking politely if they knew where she was—she was usually so punctual. They didn’t know, but would inquire.

He sighed again as he walked to the window. His secretary, Becky, was out for the week. What was he going to do? Actually, it was perhaps best Becky was gone—she would probably have reacted quite strongly. That would have taken a while to correct. Ah well, there was Gina—she didn’t arrive until ten in the morning. Perhaps he should give her a call, set something up for this afternoon or evening.

How disappointing, how inconvenient—he’d have to do better next time. Where had he gone wrong?

He looked out the front window. The street below was filling with flashing lights and emergency equipment. With Becky gone, he might as well go out for coffee. Best to use the rear entrance and avoid the mess.

What a loss. He’d have to pick up his own shirts.

Opportunity

Carol sighed and gazed into her coffee cup. Habits die slowly—she’d gotten used to stopping for coffee on the way to work. She took another sip and looked at her wireless Palm sitting on the table. No e-mail, not yet. She’d sent out another batch of résumés, even one to her old thesis advisor. That thought sent a shudder through her. After living in San Francisco for only seven months, she couldn’t see going back to Pittsburgh.

Still, Pittsburgh with a job, and a much lower cost of living, could be better than San Francisco with no job. “Dot-bombs,” she’d called them laughingly only a few weeks ago. She smiled ruefully, swirling her coffee. Now she was one, another casualty on the information superhighway. The clean-up work she was doing would be completed in another week or so, with a bonus attached, but after that...

She glanced around the coffee shop. Things had definitely thinned out in the last few weeks. She glanced over to the table near the wall. A man sat there, mid to late thirties, wearing neat linen trousers, dress shirt and sport coat. He was looking at a three-ring binder...

Paul sat in the coffee shop, reviewing the history of his latest problem. He’d used the same training model. Phase 1 had gone very well. He looked up and to his left. A young woman, late twenties perhaps, nice figure, casually dressed, wireless PDA and cell phone on her table. He looked into her eyes. Would she turn away?

Carol held his gaze. Why not? She gathered her palm and her phone and moved to the table next to his.

“Good morning,” she said. She broke eye contact to look down at the notebook pages. She’d been right; she smiled.

“Good morning,” replied Paul. He followed her gaze down to the open pages. They showed the control equations for phase one conditioning—a simple but still challenging model. Did the look on her face imply some familiarity with the subject?

“You’re familiar with closed-loop control systems?” he asked.

Carol gave him a closer inspection: clean shaven, straight white teeth, brown eyes, neatly trimmed hair. All in all, somewhat particular looking. The notebook pages had been done in a meticulous hand—here was someone who paid attention to detail..

“You familiar with Gallway’s book?” she asked.

He nodded. He’d used it; it was a standard reference on control systems.

Carol smiled. “I wrote the second edition. I did my Ph.D. in control systems at CMU.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. Attractive and intelligent... Things always work out for the better, he thought. “Really?” he asked.

Carol leaned back a bit. She was used to that reaction, especially from men. “Yes, really. If you look at the ‘Introduction to the Second Edition,’ at the end it credits Carol, ‘for her assistance preparing the manuscript.’ Makes me sound like a damn copy editor, but I put two years of my life into that book.”

Her bitterness and sensitivity was understandable. Paul quickly said, “Oh, I understand. I’ve been through that mill myself as a grad student. Teach the bastard’s classes, write his papers, and hope to get out alive.”

Carol smiled a little and nodded, sipping her coffee.

“Are you still interested in complex control systems?” Paul asked, waving a hand at his notebook.

Carol nodded. “Yes. That looks like a variation on a standard P-I-D controller. What’s going on here?” she pointed to a set of equations.

Paul smiled. “Ah, that’s the interesting part. Yes, it looks like a standard closed-loop controller, but what do you do if you want to work hidden variables?”

Carol furrowed her brow. “Depends. Bayesian approaches perhaps. Looks like you’re using a neural net, or something similar? Control loop stability would be an issue in such a system. Have you had that problem?”

Paul nodded—control loop stability indeed. “Yes, that’s one of the interesting aspects. Standard approaches lose their meaning. What does ‘impulse response’ mean in such a system?” He thought of the incident earlier in the morning. “How can you be sure you’ve identified all the degrees of freedom in the system?” Anna, Miss MacDonald, had certainly identified a path he hadn’t considered.

Carol nodded with a smile. “You have a lot of heuristic information on the system?”

Paul nodded. She was bright. He also liked her blue eyes, full lips, and the way she filled out her top. Anna had been lacking in that department. “Yes, that’s a good way to put it—heuristic information. Do you work in the area?”

“Geographically or technically?” Carol responded.

“Both, actually, if I may pry.”

Carol smiled a little more. “I live nearby, over a few blocks. I used to work nearby as well, for a startup, but aside for some cleanup work, I’m afraid that’s over.”

Paul frowned, trying to express sympathy. This could work out quite well, he thought—similar to Becky. “I’m sorry to hear that. A company in control systems?”

Carol shook her head. “Nope, digital rights management—watermarking, that kind of thing, if you’re familiar with the field.”

Paul was indeed. “Somewhat. That field is quite politicized, if I recall, with some interesting players.”

Carol nodded, taking another sip. “You’ve got that right. People are finally figuring out that the V-folks techniques are worthless, and the SDMI house of cards is crumbling. We thought we had a good run at it—there are still relatively small companies making big contributions to the area. In a sense, that was one of our problems.”

“Oh?” Paul asked.

Carol felt relieved—she finally had someone to talk to about what had been going on. “I thought we had a set of good techniques. They are good techniques. It’s just that someone had patented a few of them already. I came up with improvements and workarounds, but the vulture, I mean venture, people were scared off, and pulled the plug. Sorry, the official line is ‘The Board of Directors on recommendation of management voted to voluntarily dissolve the company due in large part to the recent downturn in the private equity marketplace.’ God, that makes me want to barf. They fucking bailed on us.”

Paul was extremely curious. He though of surf, calming surf, breathing slowly. “Who was the one with the patents?”

Carol looked at her Palm. No e-mails. Well, what did she expect? There were a lot of people on the job market. “A small outfit called Waltech. Very good patents, from the ones I read. I didn’t think anyone else had thought of that approach, but this guy had, coming from the digital noise reduction area. I came at it from stochastic control theory, and got to about the same place, but I think my twists on it are a lot better. We’ll never know, I guess.”

Paul nodded. His patents—his company—he knew there were others working in the area, but wasn’t aware of this one. Time to throw out the bait.

“Would you be interested in working in similar areas? Control systems, and rights management? I must confess, while I’ve gotten this process to more or less work, I could use some help. There are some portions of your book that are difficult for me.”

Carol sat up a bit. This was taking a most interesting turn! “Yes, I would. What are you suggesting?”

Paul took out his pocket watch, checking the time. “Would you join me for lunch? I’ve reservations for two, and I’m afraid I’ve been stood up. We could discuss this further. If you have the time, of course.”

Carol nodded. “I’d be very interested. Are those limit lines on that graph, the one in the middle of the page?”

Paul glanced down. “Yes, a safe-operating limit. As you suggested, heuristically determined, and control loop stability is an issue.” Which one had that been, that had gone into convulsions? Barbara? Or was it Wendy? One of the early ones, anyway. He’d had a lot of setbacks in those early experiments—seizures, convulsions, strokes, coronary failures. But they’d been relatively minor, and had led to successes.

“Let’s start with a basic model, and the approach I developed. We have forty minutes before we should leave for lunch.”

Carol squinted a little as she stepped from the darkness of the restaurant back to the sun lit street. She shook Paul’s hand, thanking him for a very pleasant lunch. She’d given him one of her old business cards, and promised to meet him in the morning at the same coffee shop with an updated résumé. She looked up at the sky, now blue and clear, a substantial change from the gray dreariness of the morning. After he walked around the corner, she turned around, laughing and hugging herself. Things were looking up, inside and outside!

Paul headed to the BART station. He needed more than ever to drop by the law office. He flicked Carol’s card with his fingers. Not only was he interested in her, but also in the remnants of her company. He needed someone working on that, now.

He chuckled as he headed down the stairs. It had been a very good day. Things were looking up!

As he rode the elevator up to the law offices, he put on a more somber face.

The receptionist recognized him as he walked into the lobby. She looked shocked—the news must have hit. Her hand danced over the phone, and she whispered something into her headset.

“Mr. Walters, Mr. Weiss will be right with you,” she said, emotion in her voice.

“Is something wrong?” Paul asked, putting on a concerned air.

The receptionist caught her breath, unable to speak.

The attorney came hurriedly into the lobby. He held out his hand, a concerned look on his face.

“Paul, I take it you’ve not heard?” he said as they shook hands in a perfunctory manner.

Paul replied, “What?”

“Come back to my office, please. A tragedy for the firm—Miss MacDonald was struck by a bus on her way to your office this morning. She died at the scene.”

“Good God,” said Paul, hoping he’d put enough inflection in his voice.

They stepped into the office. Weiss closed the door as he waved Paul to a chair.

“It’s quite traumatic. She was a stellar performer, as you know—a very strong-willed, creative, and intelligent woman.”

Paul nodded—that was it, strong-willed, and quite creative. “Yes, indeed. What next?”

Weiss looked out the window onto the perpetual Market Street chaos, his hands clasped behind his back. “We’re still trying to contact her parents on the East Coast about services. We’ll let you know if you’d like.”

“Certainly,” said Paul. He figured he could afford the time.

“We’ll transition your work to another attorney. I have two candidates in mind. This has been a terrible shock to the firm, to all of us.” He turned to Paul. “I’m sorry—she was in the midst of some work for you, wasn’t she?”

Paul nodded. “That’s not important right now. We were supposed to review contract drafts. That can wait a few days. But I do have a pressing matter.”

The attorney took a breath, then said, “Oh? What do you need?”

Paul handed him a note with the information Carol had provided.

“This company, from what I understand, is folding. I’m interested in evaluating and possibly acquiring some of their intellectual property. Someone needs to contact this person as soon as possible. Time is of the essence on this, circumstances notwithstanding.”

The attorney nodded. “Yes. Well, it will get people focused once again on the practice of law. I’ve got just the man to handle this. Would you care to meet him?”

Paul stood, shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m headed back to my office. He can reach me if need be. I’d like the initial contact to be in confidence, not revealing my identity. I’d like my patent attorney to evaluate existing patent applications and disclosures.”

“Of course; I understand. We’ll get on it right away. Thank you for your consideration, Mister Walters.”

Paul shook the man’s hand. “That’s quite all right. I’m terribly sorry to hear the news. It’s quite a loss. I shall miss her.”

“As will many of us,” the attorney said, his face settling into a grim firmness.

As Paul walked back onto the street, headed for the BART station, he rolled his shoulders a bit. He stopped, pulling out his phone and calling Gina.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Gina, this is Paul. Would you have time for me late this afternoon or this evening?”

He heard her sigh over the phone. He added, “I’ll let you use the chair...”

She sighed again, then said, “Oh... Let me call you back with a time.”

Paul smiled. “That would make me very happy. I need your touch, Gina.”

He heard a soft whimper as her deep conditioning responded to trigger phrases.

“I... I’ll do what I can and get right back to you.”

“Thank you, Gina... You make me very happy,” Paul said, knowing what that last phrase did to her. He hung up the phone, not waiting for a reply.

He laughed, and headed back to his office.

He walked to the building’s main entrance, stopping at the cleaners to pick up his laundry.

As he walked in, he noticed two men talking to the proprietor, Mrs. Chan. She noticed Paul, and threw up her hands at the men at the counter, turning away. She went into the back and returned with Paul’s laundry. Paul stepped to the counter, giving the two men a stern frown.

“May I be of assistance, Mrs. Chan?” he asked, picking up his laundry and eyeing the men suspiciously.

One of the men reached inside his coat pocket, displaying a badge.

“I’m Detective Hastings. This is my partner, Detective Ross. Who are you?”

Paul nodded. He’d expected police. “I am Paul Walters,” he said formally.

Hastings smiled a bit. “We’ve been hoping to talk to you, Mister Walters. It’s about the accident this morning. Do you have someplace we could talk for a few minutes?”

Paul nodded again. Mrs. Chan must have had a ringside seat. He could still see chalk marks on the street and some areas still taped off, snarling traffic further.

“We could use my office upstairs for a few minutes, but I do have appointments this afternoon.”

Hastings nodded. “Any information you could provide us would be most useful, sir.”

At least they were taking the proper attitude. “Follow me, then,” he said.

As he left the cleaners, he looked out over the street. Debris from the accident was still visible. He shook his head—what a loss, what a loss.

He turned to his entrance to the building, next to the cleaner’s, turning to place the access card in his pocket within range of the reader. The doors unlocked with a satisfying “thunk.” He used his access card once more to open the elevator door, and pushed 2.

Passing through the office’s reception area, he said, “My office is this way, gentlemen.”

As he walked back, he smiled a bit. If things worked out, Carol would be in the office next to his, and soon. This could work out quite well.

Paul sat down behind his desk. His office was on the other side of the building from the accident, its windows facing the next street over, facing out over San Francisco Bay.

The other detective said, “Impressive security.”

Paul said, “I value my privacy.”

Hastings said, “Mister Walters, I take it you’ve heard about the accident this morning?”

Paul steepled his hands in front of his face. “Just recently—Miss MacDonald—quite a tragedy. She was such a professional, punctual young woman, always coming promptly.” Paul suppressed a smile.

“How did you learn of the incident?” Ross asked.

Paul nodded. “I stopped by the law firm after lunch. One of the partners, Mister Weiss, informed me. She was struck by a bus?”

“You didn’t see the accident, then?”

Paul glanced out the window. “No. Traffic on that street is always a mess.”

“What was your relationship to the deceased? We understand she was on her way here?”

Paul kept looking out the window. “I was her client. I employ her firm to handle legal matters for my company. We had an appointment this morning to review some contracts.”

“Did you become concerned when she didn’t arrive on time?”

“As I told you once before, she was always most punctual. But the matters we were to discuss were not urgent. She has rescheduled with me in the past when more urgent matters arose. I called her office to inquire, expecting that such an event had occurred.”

“What did you do after that?”

Paul frowned at the two policemen. “After a while, I went out for coffee.”

“So you saw the accident at that time?”

Paul shook his head, frowning more. “I abhor traffic and congestion. I thought I’d heard sirens and such, so I left through the rear entrance, just below us, avoiding the area. Do you have further questions for me?”

The two detectives exchanged glances. With no further questions, Paul showed then to the door.

As he was about to go upstairs to the lab, the phone rang. Caller ID identified it as Gina. With a smile, he picked up the phone.

“Hello dear,” he said.

With a sigh, Gina said, “Four thirty to six? Will that work?”

“That would be very nice, dear. I’ll have the chair ready for you.”

“Ohhh... Thank you... I’ll see you at four thirty then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He hung up the phone, and with a chuckle, left the room.

Rather than heading upstairs to his development lab, he walked down the hall to another door. He swung his hip pocket with the access card in it closer to the card reader. The reader beeped, and the door clicked open.

He stepped into the office’s rec room. Windows covered by translucent blinds filled one wall. The other walls had heavy carpet on them, quieting the room. Paul had spent quite a bit of money soundproofing the entire facility. A massage table occupied part of the room. A large futon was in another area, currently set up as a couch. Paul smiled—he’d leave that decision up to Gina, or to her libido.

He stepped over to the chair, and its control panel.

The chair itself seemed to be a 1970’s throwback—a large white fiberglass egg-shaped object sitting on a complex base. The front of the egg was open, showing a comfortable looking seat, complete with headrest, armrests, and a footrest currently folded up into the chair. A large bundle of cables exited the rear of the egg, descending into its base. From there, the cables disappeared under the raised flooring of the room to the control panel.

Paul thought for a moment as he approached the control panel. Which program should he run Gina through? It might be a good idea to reinforce basic conditioning, given what had happened. Losing someone else wouldn’t be good, especially someone with Gina’s talents.

He activated the chair’s control console, the large liquid crystal display flashing to life. He typed in a password, unlocked the control. He switched on the chillers for the superconducting coils in the headrest. The display predicted 37 minutes to operating temperature. That was fine—he had the time. He’d have to check—the new coils should be arriving soon, reducing both the time required to cool down to operating temperature, and the power required to cool them.

He brought up Gina’s profile, and selected program elements. Deep trance reconditioning, get her aroused, but no relief—not in the chair, at least. Hmmm—interesting thought—she, like the others, was deeply conditioned not to harm him in any way, or to reveal her programming. But Gina also had additional conditioning not to harm herself. Paul had added that after she’d seriously strained a muscle while pleasing him during an extended massage session. Control loop stability—that instruction, that constraint, might have preserved his substantial investment in Miss MacDonald. Hmmm—have to consider that fully.

He looked at the chair and sighed. He could run his own half-hour deep-trance relaxation program—it didn’t need the coils, even though they were nice.

No, he decided—he still had a business to run, and a prototype to debug. He checked the chair controls once more, then headed up to the lab.

On the way, he pulled his copy of Gallway’s book, the second edition, off the hallway bookshelf. Yes, there was the note in the introduction, just as she’d said. He replaced the book with a chuckle. He knew how that system of slavery worked. He hadn’t liked it either, but then he’d found a better system—and control loop stability was the key.