The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The dim light flickered over the table, casting long shadows and illuminating the paper and the four forms huddled around it. Somewhere distant, a siren sped away followed by staccato pops. Gunfire.

“This plan is shit.” A flat, feminine voice said. The wolf raised a bottle to her lips to punctuate her assessment.

“Brit, you think any plan more complex than ‘just take it’ is shit” said a deeper baritone.

The weasel clack-clack-clacked his claws on the crate serving as the table, rustling the papers that constituted the “plan”.

“The last job you planned, we didn’t even steal anything.” Brit replied, belching out the stench of cheap booze.

“We did, if you weren’t so drunk you’d recall.” A more refined tenor added, gently placing something onto the table. A thin hand reached onto the table and picked up the rectangle and held it up.

“We nearly got grabbed… for this?” The last member of the four spoke, the small reedy voice of a female ferret dripped with disbelief. Violet held the piece of paper up to the light.

THE CYPRESS

ADMIT ONE

248 2ND AVENUE

KNOCK FOUR TIMES ON THE RED DOOR

REPLY “I HAVEN’T SEEN HER”

DRESS CODE:

• FORMAL
• INFORMAL
• CLUB ATTIRE
• SOMETHING YOUR MOTHER WOULD DISAPPROVE

CIRCLE WHERE APPLICABLE

Violet let the cardstock slip from her paws and back onto the table. “Maz, what the hell are we even going to steal out of some bougie nightclub? We could just go downtown and pick some pockets if we were after wallets.”

Maz, the rotund racoon leaned forward, his teeth gleaming in the light. “This place moves every few nights. Clientele from all over the map. Uptown, downtown, fancy. Big names. Big wallets. Some of them go in, don’t come out till morning.” He raised a cigarette to his lips, exhaling smoke towards the bare lightbulb. “Some don’t come out at all.” The group fell silent.

Brit leaned forward. “So what, we think they’re running some kinda ring in there? We really gonna take on some gangbangers who have that kind of cash?”

Maz shook his head. “No gang, checked all the contacts. The owner is unaffiliated. No one wants to mess with him, but no one claims the place.”

“Smells like shit.” The weasel spoke. “If it were easy, someone would have knocked it over by now.”

“If it were easy, we wouldn’t be talking about it.” The raccoon replied, exhaling more smoke. He tapped a claw on the papers, a series of crude blueprints, floorplans and sketches of hallways overlaid with wire diagrams and camera placements circled in red marker.

Violet shuffled some of the papers around, eyes darting this way and that as she took in the plan. She agreed, it did smell funny. “What makes you think there’s something in here that’s worth it?”

Maz gave her a sidelong look, his beady black eyes drilling into hers. “No one buys this kind of security for a few kegs of beer and the take from a fancy nightclub. Whoever owns this joint, he’s got something down below the dance floor. Something big. Something you’re gonna grab.”

Violet spluttered. “Me? What about Brit? She’s—”

“Wanted for the break-in. Can’t risk someone eyeing her on the cameras.” Maz interrupted. Brit shrugged, and received a sigh from the weasel. “Besides, the ticket is only good for one. So you’ll be going in solo.”

Violet swallowed, suddenly finding a lump in her throat. Her first solo job. She could feel the eyes of the rest of the crew on her, so she shoved her misgivings down.

“Well, guess I better find something dear old mother wouldn’t approve of.”

Violet stepped out of the van into the alley, knocking on the back door twice to let Brit know that she was off. The van crawled away, turning onto the street and out of sight. Violet was dressed in a revealing little slip dress, bright white and yellow, with slits showing her brown fur around her midriff. Fancy, but easy to move in and no dangling parts to get in her way. She had her signature amethyst necklace around her neck, trailing gems into her cleavage. She hoped it was formal enough while being revealing enough to distract from her obvious discomfort.

The ferret-girl skittered up to the door, numbered 248. She pushed her way inside. It looked like a normal walkup, dark on the inside and smelling faintly of mold and dust. There were no sounds out of the ordinary; nothing to indicate that there was some sort of underground nightclub operating nearby. Violet narrowed her eyes. Something about this place was setting off her “shit’s fucked” internal alarm. She walked up two flights of stairs until she reached the landing and saw a wall sconce illuminating a faded red door.

She patted her pockets—one of the obvious ones, not the hidden ones—and pulled out the invitation. For a second, she pondered the instructions. They were so delightfully vague that she smirked. This plan was fucked. Still, might as well humor Maz and go through with the steps. She reached out to the peeling crimson paint and knocked four times.

A minute passed. Nothing happened. Violet tapped her foot, crossing her arms. The invite had been a dud. She was going to give Brit an earful when she got back.

A small door opened, revealing a pair of eyes. She started. “Are you here to see the lady of the wood, who walks in the darkest midnight?”

Her mouth flapped soundless for a moment. Then she regained her footing. “I haven’t seen her.” She said, her voice squeaking at the end. She gritted her teeth. The door slammed closed. There was a sound of locks, some small, some large being unhinged and something whirring and humming. The door slid open, into a hidden recess in the wall. Violet squinted as the hallway was flooded with a wave of sound, smoke, lights and smells. Aside the entrance, a doorman, a large dog-man, dressed in a black v-neck shirt with some sort of stylized symbol over the chest stood aside, gesturing for her to enter. She nodded and did, the door sliding shut with the reverse series of sounds, whirs and clunks.

To her sensitive hearing, the club was a cacophony of noise. Pounding bass thrummed around her, rattling her teeth and making Violet’s fur stand on end. She smoothed it down, trying to keep her composure. The thief hated places like this. Loud, smelly, too easy to get lost, too easy to get pinched. No way to tell where anyone is or where they’re going.

A dancer collided with her, sending her sprawling. She scrabbled out of the way as a large bear danced, throwing her head back with the beat, twirling off into the acrid fake fog. She swore, her voice instantly being swallowed by the music and climbed back to her feet, balancing on her heels. No sooner had she gotten the floor under her again then a trio of dancers approached, spinning around, thrashing arms and legs. She ducked under one pair of arms, dodged a clumsy attempt to grab her and pull her into the sway, and spun away panting. Her heart was racing, she turned forgetting which direction the door was when she ran hip first into something solid, she crumpled, head striking a sticky but solid wooden surface.

“Fuck, you alright?” A half-shouted voice said. Violet groaned, wishing that she could go back in time and slap Maz so hard his teeth would fly out his ears. A gentle hand laid on her arm, warm and soft. She looked up, and found herself snout to snout with a fox-woman, her deep yellow eyes reflecting the color changing lights of the bar and dance floor.

“Yeah,” Violet grumbled. “I’ll live.” She gathered herself and checked her surroundings. The door had deposited her directly onto the dance floor, and she had carved a crooked path to the bar on the opposite side. She couldn’t make out the doorway through the haze of fog and bodies. But she was in, at least. She scanned the bar in front of her, some top shelf booze, mostly mid line or cheap stuff all lit by those tacky lights that she found annoying to look at for too long. She sized up the bartender, good kind eyes, but that little half-smirk that all foxes have that made you think they either knew something that you didn’t or they were picturing you naked. Sometimes both. The bartender had her button down open far, far down her chest. Guess it’s good for tips. Violet thought. She couldn’t blame her, she was here to rob the place. Girls did what they had to in this town.

The bartender reached down, pulled up a glass, fizzed some liquid into it from one of those hose-guns that bartenders can produce from beneath any bar at will. She slid it effortlessly towards her. When Violet hesitated, eyes flicking between the glass and the bartender, she spoke. “Just some water, hon. You look like you got clocked pretty hard.”

Violet accepted the drink, it was that fizzy kind of water, the soda without the flavoring. She gulped it down and burped, remembered her surroundings and covered her mouth just a few seconds too late. The bartender raised an eyebrow and smiled. Thankfully she didn’t comment. Violet wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “This place always this crowded?”

The bartender shrugged. “It’s not a bad night, I can still see some parts of the floor.” She started idly collecting empty glasses from other patrons and tossing them into a nearby sink without looking. Violet was mildly impressed, she was good at her job. At that moment, she remembered she wasn’t here to sightsee. She was here to work too.

“Thanks for the drink, I appreciate it.” Violet said, digging out a crumpled bit of money and leaving it on the counter. The bartender smiled, showing pearly white sharp carnivore teeth. A shiver threatened to travel down Violet’s spine.

“Anytime, love. Come back when you want.” The bartender flicked a towel playfully at Violet as she pushed away from the bar, the ferret became lost in the crowd.

She did a quick sweep of the walls, trying to get a lay of the land. She counted her steps, carefully spacing each one. When she completed a circuit, she furrowed her brow and paused. No that couldn’t be right. She turned on her heel and did another circle in the opposite direction. When she returned to the same spot she chewed on her lip in a mix of frustration and confusion. Either the club was somehow much, much larger than the building that housed it, or Maz’s blueprints were off by a couple of factors of ten. She’d counted the doors, they didn’t line up with anything that the crew had been able to find on record. They wouldn’t line up with the doors of the building it was in. It didn’t make any sense. She ducked behind the DJ booth, where the song had just transitioned to something that she’d heard Brit describe as “Trance” and that she considered to be “annoying screeching.” Here there were three doors. After a bit of waiting, she saw people enter and leave two of them, smelling of soap, water, urine and other liquids. Bathrooms. Made sense.

But what was behind door number three? She smirked, checked her back and corners, then pretended to be tipsy, swaying on her feet and pressing on the door on the right.

It held fast, not giving an inch.

Hello. Now we’re talking. She slipped her hand into her dress and into the hidden pocket over her right breast. Violet palmed the pick and torque wrench with practiced skill, and gave the lock a quick exploratory rake. Her eyes widened. Ten pins, two, no, three security pins? A fused cylinder! Even she would need a few minutes to crack something like this, not to mention she wouldn’t be able to hear any of the tell-tale clicks over the damned music. But, a door like this? Definitely had to be hiding something. Something important. Something the club didn’t want any random drunk getting into. Time for plan B. Violet thought, returning her tools to their pocket.

She looked around, scanning the room until she found another black t-shirt wearing person not bouncing with the incessant beat. She giggled, her voice trilling up to what she hoped was an annoying but not not obnoxious level. She stumbled, almost tripping over her heel. She practically threw herself into the chest of the technician.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” He said without a note of alarm. This wasn’t his first time catching a drunk.

“Hehehe hi!” Violet said, waving by fluttering her fingers. “I was looking for the um. The uh, the bathroom?”

The mouse-man sighed, pointing over her shoulder. “Door on the right, you can’t miss it. I hope.” He helped her back to her feet and she waved happily in thanks. As soon as she was out of earshot, she opened her paw, inspecting the key-ring that she’d lifted off the man’s belt. Carabiners made her job too easy sometimes.

She returned to the third door. Something in her head flashed. He hadn’t said, ‘the door in the middle’, he’d said ‘the one on the right’. She glanced to her left at the three doors. One for males, one for females and the locked door. Something was seriously off with this place. A part of her told her to head back to the entrance, bug out and give Maz an earful about even suggesting this batshit plan. But she was in, she had the key. Might as well see where it leads. Checking her back and shoulders again, she slid the largest key on the ring into the slot. It clicked, and the deadbolt on the other side turned. She slipped in, closing the door behind her.

The door hissed closed, blocking out the thumping bass of the dance floor beyond. Violet stood in a dimly lit hallway, She hugged the wall, checking to make sure the entrance was closed behind her. (It was.) She peeked around the corner, to her right, just a storage rack of some power and sound cables. Good for the copper in the wires, but she wasn’t here for some druggie level score. She checked left, the hallway continued, doors on either side. The lights here were dimmed, and there was some kind of white-noise machine hissing in the background. If there were conversations going on in the rooms, Violet couldn’t hear them from here. Her trained eye tracked that there were trails on the floor, different colors led to different rooms, matching paint on the floor and the door. Every detail felt off, this place didn’t feel real.

Her feet crept down the tiled floor, managing stealth despite heels as best that her thief skills would allow. She came to the first door on the right. The plaque read “Redwood Room”. She pressed an ear to the door. She could feel… something? It wasn’t a conversation, something more like a presence. She turned her head to all sides. The hallway was still deserted. Her fur started to stand on edge. She crept to the next room. “Olive” this time, with a matching green line. She pressed her ear to the door, this time she managed to catch a snippet of a conversation.

“...just like that.”

“Yes…”

“Such a good…”

Two voices, higher pitch. Women? Seemed to be, one sounded pretty drunk. The ends of her words were getting eaten by the door’s noise canceling. She pressed her ear to the door again, the sounds of words had dissipated, but she did catch a sound of a high pitched moan of pleasure.

Ah okay. She felt heat rushing to her face, but shoved the embarrassed heat down. Private rooms behind a nightclub. Of course that’s what people would be doing. Feeling like this place had finally turned into a normal venue, she let herself have a couple steadying breaths. She pushed off from the door, walking as silently as she could. She could still play the part of a lost party-goer. She wasn’t fully out of bounds, yet. As long as no one spotted her sneaking around she’d be able to get pretty far down using her ‘drunk girl’ routine and-

A door handle on the opposite wall jiggled, the door budging a terrifying inch.

Violet’s heart leapt into her mouth. She grabbed the nearest door handle to the “Ash Room” and threw herself behind it, closing the door with a click just as the other one opposite opened. The sounds of conversation in the hall were echoing, but she couldn’t make them out over the pounding of her heart in her ears. That was too close. She bent, ear against the door, waiting for her almost-discoverers to depart. The sounds of slurred conversation and aggravating laughter continued, so she turned her eyes to the room, which she was admonishing herself for only now considering could have been occupied.

She exhaled her caught breath when she noted that the room was not only dark, but deserted. The room was a pretty spacious one, black leather chairs, a couch in the center of the room facing a blank wall. All the seating was facing the wall, but she couldn’t see a TV or projector. She guessed it was some sort of room for those annoying bachelor parties where they bring a stripper. She perked her ear up, straining to hear if the hallway was clear. Absent-mindedly, she started tracing a hand in-between the couch cushions. It was an old habit from her less glamorous criminal days. But hey, change is change. Her hand closed around something, pulling it out. Opened condom wrapper. She flicked it away with a face of disgust. She turned to head to the door. They couldn’t still be there, standing chit-chatting in the back hallway of some seedy club, right?

Flickering drew her vision to the side. Her breath caught. Shit. Motion detector!

Something in the room whirred, something else clicked. The wall on the far side began to hum. Her fur stood on end. She whispered a desperate swear. Did she bolt? If those people were still in the hallway they’d see her, she would be made. If she had just tripped some sort of private show, she would be made either way.

Compromising between the “Run” and “Hide” plans, she vaulted the couch and crouched, pressing herself against the opposite side of the faux leather upholstery. Something in her mind objected that this was in fact, a shit compromise and any asshole that walked into the room would know someone had been in there. But her adrenaline-addled mind didn’t see any other alternate paths. So she crouched behind a couch smelling of that ‘new-car’ scent. She stared at the featureless back wall as whatever weird animation movie thing started up on the main screen behind her and the couch. The room started to fill with weird humming, some kind of buzzing that felt like it was moving from one ear to the other then back again.

Violet felt her head starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges, her legs started to untense, sliding a few inches on the deep black carpet. She shook herself. Had that bartender dosed her? What kind of fucking place was this? She pricked her thumb with one of her claws, the pain brought everything back into focus, but the buzzing hum seemed to be circling around her. A thrumming that felt like it was vibrating her from the inside out.

She sighed, trying to focus on something that was real. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening. This was all some weird prank that Maz and Brit were playing on her and eventually they’d all jump out from the door and they’d all go back to the hideout. She found herself rocking back and forth in time with the humming, back and forth, back and forth.

She spaced out. She spaced back in what felt like a few moments later, but realized that she had taken off her heels. They were uncomfortable anyway, she reasoned. She flexed her paws, digging into the plush carpet. It felt like she could pick out every individual fiber of the flooring. The humming had faded into the background, a sound she could say was still happening but wasn’t taking note of anymore. She stretched her legs languidly. She’d been crouched behind this stupid couch for… How long had it been?

That’s not good. How long have I been in here? It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Times like these she wished she had a watch. That would be nice. Something to tick-tock-tick-tock away on her wrist and just tell how much time had passed since she last had a thought-

She shook her head again. Something was fucking with her. She could feel it. Something dampened her every move, her every thought. Like a weighted blanket on her mind. She let out a desperate little whimper. She planted a hand into the carpet, trying to rise. Her arm was unsteady, and she fell back to her butt, rolling even further to be curled up on the floor.

She lost time, getting lost in the thrum, the hum, the feeling of pulsing reverberating through the floor. She opened her eyes, when had she closed them? She felt her hand between her legs, she was whimpering—no, moaning. Making small little circles around and around with her finger and moaning in time with the hum. Her hand was starting to get wetter-

That was it. That snapped her out of her reverie. She wasn’t gonna be some drugged up slut for some fucking nightclub. She rolled, awkwardly landing face-down on the carpet. She crawled, agonizing bit by agonizing bit, straining against the weight on her mind and body every step of the way. She thunked her head against the door. She reached up, fumbling the door handle with the first two attempts. She could hear and feel the thrum deepening. Beckoning her back. She screwed her eyes shut, screaming mentally and if she wasn’t mistaken, physically. Something cold and metallic landed in her palm. She wrenched, and pulled herself free of the threshold.

The hallway was cool and silent. Violet panted, the strangeness fading with each passing panicked heartbeat. She let the door close on its own accord. She lay face down on the cool tile for a moment, letting her heartbeat return to normal as her awareness came back with it. She reached down, adjusting her underwear back into place. Something had been inside her head. Making her do those things. Making her want to do those things. She thought emphatically and not for the first or last time: What the fuck is this place?

“Impressive.” A soft voice, a soft thrum on a cello string, sounded from the darkness of the hallway. Violet cringed, her whole body tensing. She lifted her head from the floor and peered into the darkness for the source of the sound. Out of the shadows of another door frame, emerged a wolf-like man. He stood towering in the entrance to one of the other rooms, black-furred, intricate yellow swirls criss-crossing his arms, and around his eyes. The markings seemed to glow in the dim light, and Violet hoped it was just some sort of optical illusion or dumb body LED raver shit because she was exhausted by all the creepy weird shit.

“Glad I could,” she said, trying to push herself up from her prone landing position, “impress, that’s what we aim for.”

Her conversation partner laughed, a dry, deep sound. “It has been ages since someone managed to avoid the Ash Room, I cannot remember the last time to be honest…” Something about his manner of speaking put Violet at ease and sent sinful shivers down her spine. She managed to find her footing again and drew herself up to her full height. She barely reached this guy’s chest, she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. His eyes were a deep crimson, she found herself blinking at the sheer intensity of his gaze, like looking into a search light.

“Well, sorry for uh…” she fumbled for words. “Avoiding your weird room. I’ll just be go—”

“I know why you are here.” He said, matter-of-fact. Her stomach bottomed out. She’d been made. Cautiously she flicked her eyes between his and the end of the hall, the nearest exit.

“You… do?” Violet said.

The man nodded. “Of course. One does not run this sort of establishment without attracting a certain clientele, and that clientele attracts opportunists of all stripes.” His voice was weirdly reverberating in the hall, and the way he was speaking made Violet think of someone who hadn’t been keeping up on recent slang. For centuries. Violet swallowed hard. She couldn’t think of what to say to that. The man, sensing her hesitance, continued. “You are the first in a long, long while to provide more than just the barest of resistance.” He flexed his fingers, in the dim light of the hall Violet could see his face more illuminated by his own markings: a thin gaunt face, with a large maned head. She hadn’t met any maned-wolves before, and she wasn’t sure she liked this one.

“Um.” Violet ’um’ed. “Thanks.” She wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or not, but her fur was starting to stand on end.

The man nodded in acknowledgement. “Because of your, shall we say, ingenuity and tenacity. Let us reach an accord, shall we?” The maned wolf gracefully raised one hand and snapped his fingers, a crack of percussion in the silent hall. Violet winced, her eyes closing to miss the distinct glow of the man’s markings in unison with the sound. She blinked, noting that something seemed different about the hall that she couldn’t put her finger on. She felt lighter on her feet, nimble again.

“What did—” she started.

“I have disabled the security on this level.” He said. “The door at the end of the hall leads to the stairwell.” He gestured with a dark, clawed hand. “You have a choice, little vagabond.” His eyes seemed to glow a ruby eminence. “Go back out to the floor, none of my staff will accost you, go out to your compatriots and admit defeat.” He turned his head towards the far door. “Or,” he added, tantalizing. “You can continue down to the lower level. If you manage to bypass the security there, you may help yourself to anything you find on the last level. I will not impede your escape.”

Violet was stunned. What the actual hell was going on here? Was this guy just letting her go? “What’s… What’s the catch?” She added, her voice becoming uncharacteristically small.

The maned wolf smiled, pure white teeth in the gloom. “The ‘catch’ as you so put it is thus: No intruder has ever managed to pass the second level. If you get caught by my security,” he added, his eyes flashing with a hunger she could only think of as ‘predatory’ “you must stay and face the consequences of your choices.”

Violet looked down the hall, back towards the dance floor and the club. Then further down. She was so close. And this was something no one else had done before. This is clearly a trap, right?

“Make your choice, little footpad.” The man said, turning to return to his room.

“I can take anything I find?” She blurted.

The man slowly turned. “Anything you desire.” The way he growled the last word sent a shameful shiver down her spine that she hoped that she masked well enough. She glanced one way, then the other.

Her feet started down the hall, towards the stairwell down. In for a penny, in for the whole fucking carcass. As she grabbed the door and started to descend, she tried to shove the strange warmth that she started feeling as she was talking to the maned wolf. Just some residual effects from that weird room, she thought. Definitely. She tried to convince herself, and failed.

The stairs were a wrought iron spiral, leading down much further than she would have thought possible. She had to be deep underground now, was she even on the same block? Her internal map was all over the place, and she was still trying to get herself back from her little ‘episode’. She tried to squeeze her thighs to keep them from rubbing together as she took each stair two at a time; damn this choice of dress. Finally Violet reached the ‘second level’ as the strange man described. She hadn’t even asked his name. Should she have? She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She was grabbing the first thing she saw and booking it. She planned to shove it down Maz’s stupid throat and never speak of this job again so long as she lived.

The door was an old style that Violet associated with those cheesy fake medieval restaurants: thick gnarled wood and wrought iron with a big ring instead of a doorknob. She tugged it and the door swung open with a muscle-clenching screech. Violet bit her tongue, startled by the sudden noise. It gave her a small bit of clarity as she moved into the hallway beyond: pain was real, she could focus on it. Focus and get out of this house of fucking horrors.

The hallway beyond was lit to honest-to-gods torches. Wall sconces every few feet were filled with flickering flames, first of a deep red, and moving down the spectrum to a deep mysterious purple. Violet had to admit, this place didn’t skimp on the theming. She reached for one of the torches, hoping to pull it from the wall and use it for light in this dim passage, but it must’ve been drilled into the wall; it wouldn’t budge an inch. Shrugging, she stepped forward, noting that between each of the torches there seemed to be a single door, of course painted in the same color as the flames.

As Violet stepped forward, her foot sank about three inches as the single cobbled stone tile clicked into a mechanism. She swore, then dove forward by instinct. As she rolled, a hissing sound preceded a swarm of little darts, feathered in red, that clattered against the wall on either side of the trapped floor. She rolled to a stop, eyes tracking one of the darts as it rolled past her foot. The dart tip was trailing some sort of bright red liquid. Because of course it was. Of course the second floor was something straight out of one of those cheesy adventure movies. She wanted to scream. She picked up and threw the dart down the hall. It clattered and rolled into the gloom. She let herself have a few seconds, trying to get her breathing under control.

The maned wolf’s words came echoing back. This must’ve been the ‘security’ he was talking about. She ground her teeth in frustration. She took another step, towards the orange flame torches and their matching door.

Something dripped onto the floor from above and she froze. She pressed herself against the wall opposite the door. She peered at the strange glob that had fallen. It looked viscous, like a strange glowing orange gelatin. Another drip landed on the ground a few inches from her feet. Ice flowed down her spine. She tilted her head up. She was just in time to see the entire deluge of the gelatinous mass come crashing down on top of her.

Violet gasped, a reflex that sent the strange material cascading into her mouth and nose. She swam, kicking and scratching at the strange mass. The sensation was strange, like burning ice. She kicked and swam and scratched and dragged herself until her head crested the top of the lumpy mass. She sputtered and coughed, half-swimming half-climbing her way out. She hit the cobbled floor with a wet smack. She shook the weird gel out of her fur, then stood to adjust her dress, running her hands down her front.

Her hands only ran across her bare fur. She looked down, it was all gone, everything except her necklace. She whirled around just in time to see her dress—her only good one—dissolve into the orange gel with a fizz. This time she did scream. Violet emitted a feral screech of disbelief, consternation, and fury. Now, completely nude except for some gaudy necklace, she stood, shivering slightly in the dank basement of a club that made no sense, invited her by a strange man who she had extremely mixed feelings about. Something inside her snapped. She grabbed the door handle of the nearby copper colored door. She pulled so hard her shoulder twinged in complaint, and stormed into the room beyond.

Violet stepped into the room, each step a strange bare-pawed slap onto ancient cold stone. Here, lit by several more matching orange torches, was a series of shelves, hangers and racks all displaying clothes, equipment and other apparel. She padded over to the first coat-rack that she could find. Leather straps, latex and rubber. She proceeded to the next, and found just the same. The shelves were full of lewd objects of every shape, size, material and make; some of a size that made clench reflexively for thought alone. In the center of the room, illuminated by a single light from above, was a copper-plated chest. She stumbled away from the racks of fetish gear, half-covering her chest with one arm and wrapping the other arm around her lower half for good measure.

She would just grab whatever was in the chest, somehow sprint back up the stairs, make up some excuse of losing her clothes in the bathroom, make a bee-line for the exit. She was flushing, with excitement, with embarrassment, with the latent arousal of her episode in the Ash Room. She just wanted the night to be over.

She threw the latch on the chest and pulled it open. A strange but familiar hum filled the room. Violet had just enough time to sigh wearily and swear before the screen on the inside of the chest’s lid began to illuminate her face with its eerie glow.

The small screen was filled with a pattern of swirling color, oranges and reds, some yellows. The colors swirled around and around, pulling Violet in, inviting her. The humming seemed to be swaying back and forth, and she found herself swaying with it, this way and that. The swirling colors changed to match, reflecting their autumnal colors in her eyes, across her weary face and directly into her mind. The buzz was familiar, but this was clearly the full intended experience. She stared deeply into the center of the swirling colors, every time she tried to wrench her eyes away, another pattern of color appeared to guide her back to the center.

Violet noticed that there were words flashing by in the center of the pattern, too fast to read. She found herself mouthing something, words that she barely registered. The last part of her mind was still struggling, still trying in vain to get her to do something, to turn around, to close her eyes.

“Submit… Relax… Forget…Relax… Down” The words said. There was a hollow voice now, a raspy monotone that read out each word as they appeared. Dully, Violet realized that this wasn’t part of the effect—it was her own voice repeating the words back.

“Nnn—” she said, her neck straining to look away. Her right arm started to glide down her front as her left began to climb up towards her chest. She tried with all her might to get the muscle in her legs to kick the box closed, but only succeeded in sinking to her knees directly in front of the screen. Her right hand found the wet warmth between her legs, as she touched, a heat spread throughout her body. She moaned, a wanton sound echoing around the empty room. The heat, the sensation moved from her slit to her thighs, up and around her midsection. Her other hand was groping and massaging her own breast.

“Submit… Obey… Drip… Wet…” Violet repeated the words in the pattern, each one eroding her resistance a little more. She was quickly losing this fight. She had to get out, had to do something, had to-

She heard the door to the room open then close again. She tried to turn to see who had entered, but it proved more than futile. She tried to stop what she was doing, willing her hand away from her erogenous zones for a moment, but they both slowly crept back. Her whine was desperate, almost helpless in pitch.

The maned wolf’s voice seemed to fill the chamber. “I see you have found one of my little treasures, thief.” Each step towards her was measured, confident, closer. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Nn—” Violet started. “Nnnn…” The words flashed brighter, now tinged with a bright swirling yellow. “Y-Yes.” She said, sighing. She was standing over the precipice, pushed to the brink of her will.

A warm hand was laid on her shoulder, the sensation made her shudder. “You remember our agreement, do you not?”

Violet managed to nod, the motion taking immense effort as she stroked herself in time with the swirling colors.

“So you understand that you must,” he paused, savoring the moment as she gave a gasping shuddering breath of pleasure, “stay and face the consequences.” Violet could only nod her head slightly upward, giving out a desperate little squeak/gasp as her other hand groped her breast with wanton abandon. “Very good.” The man said, and then snapped his fingers.

The spiral disappeared, the room falling silent except for Violet’s waning moans and panting. She blinked, shaking her head. She held up her hand, noting just how utterly soaked her fingers were. She felt like she should be mortified, furious, even sprinting from the room, but somehow she just couldn’t find the energy to do so. She looked up at the maned wolf.

He was looming over her, his markings glowing brightly in the torchlight. She found her gaze drawn to his eyes, which pulsed with a rhythmic crimson. A fried, ragged part of her brain intoned the thought: out of the frying pan…

He leaned down, pushing her chin up with a single pointed claw on his dark furred hand. Her breath caught. He tilted her head to the side, directing her gaze towards the now dormant treasure chest.

“Claim your prize. It belongs to you, after all.”

Violet crawled on her hands and knees over to the chest, and saw there was something at the bottom. She reached in and her hand enclosed around something made of leather and metal. Drawing her hand out into the light she saw it for the first time.

It was a stylish orange collar, studded in black metal with an intricate swirl pattern that seemed to form an eye on one side and a stylized tree on the other. There was a black metal tag on the front, engraved with a similar orange lettering. She turned it over in her paw. “VIOLET—PROPERTY OF THE CYPRESS”

She looked up to the maned wolf, her tail wagging slightly in excitement. “It’s mine? I can keep it?” She said in a voice small and brimming with excitement. He crouched down, palm up. She placed the collar in his outstretched paw.

“It is yours,” he said, reaching the collar around her neck, she obligingly shifted her hair so it would not be caught in the clasp. The last part of her resistance, her conscious mind, was screaming, bellowing words that she could barely hear. The clasp closed on the nape of her neck with a delightful tugging motion.

“And you are mine.” He said, giving her that wonderful grin again. She felt her lips part in anticipation, and her legs spread just a bit.

“Take me. Please. Please take me.” Violet said, turning around, hands planted on the rim of the chest, pushing her hips and behind towards him—presenting for him. She felt a pair of strong hands grab her hips, then she heard a snap, and the wonderful spiral pattern reappeared. Her mouth began to hang open as her vision started to become fuzzy around the edges. The only thing that broke her reverie for a moment was the sensation of a cock slowly entering her from behind. It filled Violet with a heat, a hunger that she hoped would never be fully satisfied.

The maned wolf began thrusting into her, slow at first, a careful precise motion driving all the way in and almost all the way out. She was still repeating the words on the screen, but every so often she would moan and be unable to continue for a few seconds.

“Feel my mind…Mnnhh. Dripping out my pussy… Nnnnmm” Violet said.

“Good girl” The maned wolf growled, digging his claws into her hips.

“Thank you master.” Violet said.

“Please,” he said, eyes flashing, “call me Cy.”

“Yes, Master Cy.” Violet responded, a thin line of drool falling from one side of her lips as she stared into the swirling colors as he fucked her.

“Close enough.” Cy said, increasing his speed. His hips rolled and bucked against her, she did her best to thrust back in time, but the swirls, his musky scent, his hands, and the thrumming made it so her every move was becoming slow and sluggish, she was just a moaning, dripping mess, full of pleasure. She squeezed him tightly, wanting to keep him inside as much as she could, and he grunted in approval. She thrust backwards against him, and he responded by grabbing a fistful of her hair and shoving her face into the screen. She moaned, she gasped, she squealed as the colors became her world, the sensation taking over her mind.

“Do you want this?” Cy said, growling in her ear.

“Yes!” Violet gasped.

“When you cum,” Cy said, dragging his hands down her spine, “you’ll be one of mine, working here, for me.”

“Pl-Pleaseeee,” Violet begged. “Please-please-please-please.”

Cy laughed to himself, amused. “As you wish.” He slammed into her again and again, bucking her forward as she braced herself against the wooden box. Her eyes rolled back, and she realized she was keening, moaning into a steadily building crescendo. His moans and panting joined hers. They filled the room with sounds of arousal, of pleasure. She threw herself back against him, her muscles spasming, clamping down around him. Violet screamed, and came the last of her mind away.

Cy panted, watching Violet as she draped over the chest. He slowly pulled himself free of her grip, watching as his seed dripped out of his new prize onto the floor. He rose, reveling in the feeling of another climax, and another successful acquisition. Violet whimpered, moaning slightly in her aftershocks. Ever the gentleman, Cy padded over to a shelf, and returned with a soft towel—orange of course, theming was very important—and wiped Violet clean. She mewled appreciatively.

“So,” he said, caressing one of her curves. “Do you feel as though you have received something worth your wiles?”

Violet moaned in deep satisfaction. “Yes Master Cy, thank you.” He grinned despite himself. He never tired of being called that. He dragged a teasing claw down the ferret’s back, and she shivered in response.

“Take as much time as you need, then meet me upstairs in the Redwood Room.” He said, rising and gathering his clothing from where he had placed it—folded of course, he was civilized. “I have a client that would just be thrilled to hear what sort of designs you had for our little establishment.”

Violet purred in response, stretching and giving him another fine view of her features. “Of course Master, whatever you wish.”

He reached the door, throwing his shirt around his shoulder. “I think you are going to enjoy your time at The Cypress, Miss Violet.” In response, she reached down, took some of his seed with her hand and lapped it off her finger. Cy grinned from ear-to-ear.

Stealing thieves from themselves always made him feel so ironic and proud.