The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

While two sizzling sisters made their contributions to academia (or at least one of the offshoot institutions there of) the gentleman in white moved on. He knew that Molly and Trudy would be closer than ever now, and quite the bit happier for it. Still, a rest was needed, while his needs were different from many, he thought a drink and a bite to eat could do no harm. Besides, people watching in such places often lead to breakthroughs in his chances to do some good.

This would prove to be one of those times. The diner was almost as much of an anachronism as the suit Sebastian wore, the décor still clinging to 1970 Truck stop chic when trendy coffee shops had long taken over their niche. One almost expected a surly blonde waitress to suggest the kissing of grits any moment.

In truth, the waitress at work was blonde, but she was not surly in the slightest. She was, however, overtaxed. While there were only a few customers, she was only one young woman and the cashier had problems of his own. Her name, Sebastian knew (in that way of knowing that he had) was Marge. Currently she moved from table to table deftly, if distracted. Supernatural senses would certainly determine the cause of the distraction, but they weren’t necessary. A glance to a side counter where a college textbook lay partly open, plus a bit of deduction would allow anyone to guess (properly) that this was a part time job for her, and that she was a college student. And she probably had an important test in her near future.

Marge was torn between the job of the moment, and what awaited her; a very human reaction. Fortunately for the lady, Sebastian noticed, much of the crowd consisted of regular customers who were sympathetic and even most of those, who like themselves, were not regulars were being patient.

Of course, there was, as is often the case, one unpleasant exception.

“My god, you have only two speeds don’t you? Slow and stop. Could we get some intelligently applied service here, or is that too much to ask?” The owner of the disdainful tone was not yet thirty, but her attire, so typical to executives, and sensible brunette coif screamed of one seeking to be seen as, above all else, mature, competent, and in control. She was angry her order had not been delivered to her right away. The fact that she was not the first to make an order mattered not at all to her.

Marge didn’t bring that up, rather she tried to mollify the customer, “Sorry, Ma’am I…”

“It’s Ms. Simmons,” the customer’s lip curled as she cut Marge off.

“Sorry, Ms. Simmons,” Marge stammered a bit. “I’ll get to you as soon as…”

“I have a meeting in a half hour,” Ms. Simmons interrupted again, “A very important business meeting requiring a brainstorming session that could end up bringing or losing my company hundreds of thousands of dollars. Now, this may not mean anything to you, since your job is hardly on the level of requiring much THOUGHT, but obviously I’m going to need my energy. I suggest you prioritize.”

Marge felt the sting of the harsh words, but was unsure what to say. She was a nice person by nature, but insecure about some things, and had always worried she wasn’t smart enough for college. Hearing this woman essentially confirm it made those worries ten times worse.

“Ma’am, why don’t you leave the young lady alone?” Sebastian interjected as politely yet firmly as he could, “We each have to wait our turn, and bullying Marge isn’t going to bump you further up the line so just be patient.”

The executive couldn’t believe anyone had spoken to her like that and turned to look at the man in white. Recovering, she turned her disdain on him without letting up on Marge, “Ma’am again? She’s a bit young for you, isn’t she? Oh wait, what am I saying, folks who talk like you end up marrying their nieces, right? By all means, protect the little idiot’s honor.”

At this point, Marge looked doubly stung, and the man at the cashier register started to look angry, but before he could speak up in his co worker’s defense, the gentleman in white responded.

Sebastian sighed, “Stereotypes really should be beneath you, Patricia. You have a lot of knowledge, the respect of your peers, and a keen mind. You should use these gifts in a constructive way.”

Patricia Simmons scoffed, “The day I need advice from a senior citizen with delusions of…” She paused, “Wait, how did you know my first name?”

“I know a lot of things about you, Patricia,” Sebastian said, “And I think you should heed my warnings about the way you treat your fellow man, or in this case woman, before someone or something teaches you a lesson.”

At that, Patricia laughed, “Really, if you’re threatening me, you’re a bigger fool that that girl is. I know at least a year’s worth of self defense, and three lawyers.” She smiled slyly, “And come to think of it, I know an editor as well who has a food reviewer on staff who would take my word on things if I choose to suggest a certain diner was unfit. Maybe I should ‘warn’ him about the service here.”

“Oh please, you can’t do that, not on account of me!” Marge called out in alarm.

“Don’t worry, Marge,” Sebastian said to her gently, before turning hard eyes on Patricia that were filled with disappointment, “She won’t.”

Patricia smirked, “We’ll see about THAT… I think I’m done here.” Since her order hadn’t come to her yet, she didn’t need to pay, and walked off with a superior smug stride.

She only paused long enough to hear the old man muttering, she assumed to himself, “Well, no point in letting it go to waste.”

Despite deciding not to stay for her order, Patricia Simmons found her drive to work difficult. She had driven this route hundreds of times, but for some reason she had nearly forgotten it. Did they do some construction or something? She wondered. As she stepped out of her car, she glanced at the driver’s side mirror. What she saw gave her a start. The reflection of the gentleman in white’s face hovered over the ‘maybe closer than they appear’, staring at her with a quiet, almost sad intensity. His lips seemed to move, though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, they seemed to be (if she were reading those lips right) announcing softly that ‘Gifts can be taken away if misused’

Whirling to confront him, Patricia barked out, “How the hell did you follow…” only to find herself alone in the executive parking area, “... me? Huh, must be my imagination.”

She walked into the building past the typical wage slaves and paper-pushers that made up the bulk of the work force. She knew they’d be looking on with envy as she went to the higher floor where the business meeting was being held. As she entered the elevator, Patricia found herself trying to remember just what the number of that floor was Six? Or was it seven? How many floors does this building even have?

“Seven floors, not counting the basement,” A drawling voice answered helpfully from the back of the elevator.

“I knew that,” Ms. Simmons sniffed; embarrassed that she must have spoken aloud. Wait, I thought I was alone in… again she turned, and again, no one was there. She left the elevator hurriedly when it hit the right floor, unaware that as she walked, her business suit was getting tighter and tighter.

Between her strides, just for a moment, her pant suit seemed to join together, causing her to stumble a bit, almost falling over, but then the joined pants seem to slide up her ankles and lower legs, forming into a long skirt. Patricia steadied herself, too fuzzy headed to look down before resuming her path. The click-click-click of increasingly higher heels echoed softly through the hallway, and the reflective stonework below them danced with the dozen mirror images of an older man’s eyes.

Things had finally settled down at the diner, and Marge was feeling better despite the threats of that impatient customer. She still worried about her studies. Some of the classes were very intimidating. Marge stole a glance at the text book and sighed as she saw the pages had been blown around. No problem, it was originally open at page two hundred and sixty nine. I’ll just turn it back, besides, the socio economic aspects of the root causes of the French Revolution shouldn’t be that hard to pin down.

Then she blinked.

“Is everything well, young lady?” It was the gentleman in white who had spoken up on her behalf earlier. What, how did she know his name was Sebastian? Did he mention that earlier? He’d been sort of quiet, staring at the chrome napkin dispenser at his booth with surprising intensity. Still, weirdness aside, he seemed nice.

“Yes, just,” Marge smiled, “Actually I’m feeling quite on the ball all of the sudden.” This brought a smile to Sebastian’s face. Then she offered, “You want anything else, a top off to your coffee?”

“Maybe in a moment,” He tipped his hat, “Why don’t you take advantage of the lull and study a bit?”

She looked around, accessed the number of customers and their needs almost instantly, and calculated how much time she would probably have between refill requests to sneak a peek at her study materials.

Then Marge got a bit dizzy, but it passed, and she was pretty sure her calculations were dead on target.

The air on Patricia’s legs felt nice as she moved down the hallway, the sway to her hips growing more pronounced, as if she were –trying- to draw every eye to the increasingly shapely contours of her skirt clad rear. She had some trouble, at first, remembering which room the other execs were at, and that was almost scary at first, but now things were seeming kind of funny; even when they shouldn’t be.

She saw one executive’s name on his office door labeled DICK WOOD. Her giggles echoed down the hall. Wonder how big it is? came the unbidden thought.

For some reason, her mind couldn’t shake the question. Just how big was Dick’s… well, dick?

She almost walked past the room where the meeting was to be held, but this nice old guy in the shiny stonework column, or was that just his reflection, pointed to it for her. Had she seen him before?

Patricia swung the set of doors to the office open and called out, “Ta Da!”

Oh wait, Hello might have been more pro...professhun..err bizness like way to say hi

Inside the room, gathered around a very expensive table with a high gloss, were four executives, all men, wearing fine suits, and shocked expressions. They had been expecting Patricia Simmons, a woman who, while none of them liked, was at least respected as competent, ambitious, and, above all, intelligent. What they got was someone that looked like she stepped out of lewd music video.

While still brunette, Patricia’s hair was full and teased. Her legs were on display thanks to a skirt now so short that even the employee handbook was shocked. Her top was much smaller than usual as well, causing her breasts, somehow liberated from any bra, to rise up quite enticingly. Her eyes were lovely, but lacked their usual calculating gaze, instead seeming … well, doe eyed, if one wanted to be generous, vacant if one didn’t.

“Ms. Simmons?” One of the male executives blurted in surprise.

“Uh huh,” She nodded like a bobble doll, “It’s me, Patti. Isn’t the meeting today?”

“Of course it is, do you have the numbers?” Another executive asked.

Patti beamed and responded huskily,“555-Oh Oh 69.” One of the executives, a younger one named Joe something, grinned at that, but the others didn’t look happy. Patti wondered if she’d said something wrong.

Dick Wood couldn’t believe this nonsense, “Patricia…”

Oh, call her Patti a helpful voice seemed to intone just behind his left ear.

“Patti,” He corrected himself, “We want the figures you were going to contribute?”

Patti stared at Dick blankly for a moment. Her mind was racing. She knew Dick wanted something, but ‘con trib yewt’ was such a big word, and she couldn’t remember what it meant.

“Yes,” said one of the men at the table (was he dressed in white, and had she seen him before?) spoke aloud in an easy manner, “These men want to see your figure. It is a nice one after all, don’t we all agree?” At this, some of the other executives seemed puzzled for a moment, but the moment was short, and soon they all began nodding. After all, the woman before them was a buxom bombshell. Her hands lay to the side of her microskirt clad thighs, allowing full display of her impressive size D, no, make that double D, cleavage. The men’s confusion had been replaced by admiring leers.

“Yeah,” Joe let a burning hot gaze run over Patti’s body, “Show us more.”

For a moment, Patti felt confusion again. Wait, what am I doing? They want me to be naked? Oh god, they do…

“Really, Patti,” Dick said in annoyance even as his right hand went under the meeting table. The man in the white was whispering to Mister Wood, and it almost seemed as if Dick were repeating whatever was said, “You appear to have two speeds, slow, and stop. Your job may not be on the level of requiring much THOUGHT, but do try to prioritize.”

Patti felt herself flush with embarrassment, “Sorry, sirs,” her fought the urge to giggle in her nervousness, “I’ll get right to it.” And she unbuttoned her blouse releasing her endowments my tits for all to see.

And it was, if it maybe said honestly, good. In fact, they were great. The large melons hovered before the table like ripe twins of lush temptation showing all signs of eager arousal. The reactions of the men at the table showed their appreciation.

“What a fantastic pair of tits,” Joe blurted.

Another agreed, “Either we have the A.C. on too high, or Patti really loves her work.”

“And now you see why I hired the bimbo,” Dick Wood smirked and then made a ‘down’ motion with his fingers directing Patti to remove the rest of her flimsy garment, though he was tempted to have her leave the heels on… just the heels.

Patti took it slower this time, scooting out of the tight tight micro-skirt in what she hoped was an entertaining fashion. They like me! I have job sec… secura.. I’ll never get fired! she congratulated herself Wait… bimbo? Wait, I’m not a bimbo…

“Sway that bimbo ass as you take those down, Patti,” Joe suggested, “Like a dance.”

“Good suggestion, Joe,” Dick agreed. He was impressed with the younger man’s ability to handle human resources. Clearly, Joe’s star was rising in this company… of course, all of them were rising right now. I’ll have the slut do something about that Mr. Wood thought.

It now being confirmed by two of her superiors (Had they always been her superiors?) that she was, indeed a bimbo, Patti obediently swayed.

“And that’s how you can save over five hundred dollars more on your tax returns, if you follow my advice,” Marge told the cute guy who was drinking the coffee with two sugars and one cream. She’d never realized how EASY tax returns were before this, and was happy to help the guy.

The customer was amazed. How often did you meet a nice super genius who was nice on the eyes to boot? “I cannot thank you enough,” He assured her, “Do you like opera?”

“More than I did now that I know Italian,” Marge answered with a wink, “Why?” HOW she knew Italian was a question she might ask herself another time.

She knew Italian? Alfred (For that was the young man’s name) became more and more intrigued by this woman with ever passing moment, “Tosca is playing at a theatre my aunt owns and I have two complimentary tickets. Interested?”

Marge had never BEEN to an opera, though she had heard some pieces, and before, she might have felt like she didn’t belong, now? Now she was feeling confidence. She could at least give it, and Alfred, a chance.

A few minutes later, and arrangements for the date had been made. The crowd had died down and was easily managed. She noted the gentleman in white was still muttering to himself, and she was worried a bit.

“Sebastian? Are you ok?” she put a hand on his shoulder.

He seemed to wake up a bit, and smiled broadly, “Oh yes, quite. Don’t worry about me, my dear. I’m just giving to the deserving and doing my best to teach some valued lessons about judging to someone. In fact, I suspect I’m done.”

“Are you talking about that woman earlier?” Marge cocked her head curiously, Sebastian could be so cryptic sometimes, “For some reason, I’m not even remotely scared of her anymore, so don’t worry about me. You ARE a dear though for standing up for me.” And she kissed him briefly on the lips.

Sebastian blushed.

Patti didn’t know where the Gentleman in White had gone, and she might have had her feelings hurt at any man walking out on her if it weren’t for the fact she was currently getting her ass and cunt pounded while Dick shoved his namesake deep down her throat. Lathered in the creamy cum of the male executives, Patti’s pleasure had almost completely drowned out that silly little woman’s voice in her head that was screaming in protest. It was silly because it said things like she wasn’t a bimbo (When she clearly was), she was smart (which was impossible), and this wasn’t the real her (Who else could it be?). That was okay though, it was getting quieter and quieter. Sometimes, she almost swore it was moaning with her.

Mister Wood was well pleased with the company bimbo. He spewed down her throat, “Take it like a good whore and swallow.” The other guys also finished up and pulled out, smiles on their faces.

Joe leaned back “Patti really helped us distress for the brainstorming session.” He looked the sexy bimbo brunette over. “Should we get her to dye her hair? She’d look hot as a blonde.”

Patti, to everyone’s surprise, shook her head, “Oh please no,” she spread her legs to see if any of the other guys had recovered, “Being a blonde bimbo would be a stur-e-o stair e o?”

“Stereotype?” Dick Wood offered.

“Right,” She smiled, “And those are wrong.” Her pout was so adorably blow job inspiring, they all decided to let Patti keep her hair color.

Somewhere, a gentleman in white smiled. Some lessons were hard learned, but there was always hope.