The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Marisol Angela Vallejo arrived on campus two days before classes started. Her parents helped her move into her new dorm room, and her mother almost cried as they got in the car to drive home. Angie could tell her father didn’t wish to leave, either. He kept scowling at everything, as if he expected burglars and assassins to be lurking behind every bush.

This semester, she’d been assigned to a triple. Her first roommate, a blonde girl named Tanya, had already moved in. She seemed friendly enough, and immediately started complaining about her music situation. She had a kick-ass receiver, but her speakers were tiny.

“Looks like we’re gonna be good roommates,” Angie told her, and offered to wire their systems together.

Tanya was skeptical, until she saw the size of her new roommate’s speakers—then readily agreed.

Angela unpacked her own receiver. It was a late 1980’s model. The radio still worked, but the antenna was broken. It had no plugs for a CD player, and only one of the two tape decks worked. The two sophomores exchanged glances, and Angie consigned hers to the trash.

As Tanya and Angela were setting up the joint stereo, their other roommate arrived. A black girl named Nisha, she looked over their project and volunteered a DVD player. Soon, they had surround sound, and had fired up Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

Nisha was a business major, but was terrified of public speaking, and knew she needed to improve. Tanya and Angie quickly volunteered to be her practice audience.

(You could tell her you have a friend who could help with nerves, Angie’s inner voice said. She shushed it.)

Tanya was undeclared, but she planned to choose studio art. Her passion was paintings, but she hoped to work on inner-city murals. She wanted to bring color and hope to the drab subway stations near where she’d grown up.

Her new roommates grilled Angie about her own life. She admitted readily enough that she had already chosen a zoology major and had planned on a psych minor, but was now having second thoughts about it.

The conversation then turned to boyfriends.

Angie felt herself start to blush. Nisha had a boyfriend, Tanya didn’t—then both girls turned to Angie.

“Well,” she began, and could feel her face growing hotter. “There was this guy I was interested in over the summer... but things didn’t work out.”

“Was he cute?” Tanya asked. Nisha shushed her.

How the heck was she going to admit that she didn’t know, Angie wondered?

“He had a wonderful voice,” she said dreamily.

Her roommates giggled.

“Do you mind me asking why it didn’t work out?” Tanya said.

Angie took several deep breaths.

“We wanted different things,” she said eventually.

That evening, Angie found herself standing at the window, looking out over the campus. She’d gotten in to all her classes—two bio, one psych, and one gen-ed. It was shaping up to be a good semester at the State University of New York at Buffalo.

She missed Claude.

That thought startled her. She couldn’t believe a part of her had admitted it. No, if she let her libido run her life, she’d probably drop out of school, and end up in fast food, or homeless. She had to use her head, and not get addicted like that again. She knew as well as anyone that hypnosis was dangerous—and there are some desires that just can’t be fulfilled. She could never have anything to do with it ever again.

Later, after the three girls said their goodnights, Angie tossed and turned. She peeked out from under the covers, and saw that both Tanya and Nisha were already asleep. It must be because I’m in a new place, Angie thought. It’s my first night here. I’ll be all right when I get used to it.

(You could always... her inner voice began. No, she told it. Go away.)

But an hour had passed the next time she looked at the clock, and she was having the darndest time finding a comfortable position. She just didn’t feel at home, somehow.

Well, I’ve got to give it some time, she thought. But how was she going to fall asleep tonight?

She closed her eyes, and thought of Claude’s voice. Heck, she thought, I’ve been imagining a lover’s voice whispering to me at night for years, and now I know what one might sound like. I won’t need to do this tomorrow night.

“You are feeling very relaxed, very sleepy,” she imagined Claude whispering to her. “Your eyelids are getting heavy... you can’t resist... surrender to my voice and let go... sleep... sleep... surrender...”

She sat up in bed, startled—but it was only the alarm. Sunlight was already streaming in, and Nisha was stretching.

“Make it go awaaaaaay,” Tanya moaned from under her pillow.

After the fourth day of classes, the three roommates met for dinner at one of the main halls.

“Don’t you have any friends from last year?” Angie quizzed Tanya.

“Well, yeah,” the blonde sophomore said. “But most of them live on south campus now.”

“You can borrow my bike,” Angie offered.

Tanya grinned. “Thanks, maybe I will sometime. Nisha?”

The black girl shrugged. “I transferred in, remember? You two are the first I’ve got!”

“Who’s that guy?” Tanya asked.

Angie and Nisha followed Tanya’s glance to a group sitting maybe ten tables away. A guy with dark hair quickly averted his gaze.

“Oh, I met them earlier,” Nisha volunteered. “Psych majors. Tanya, I think he’s checking you out!”

Tanya looked down shyly. Trying not to be too obvious, Angie glanced over at the table again, and saw the one Nisha had pointed out. He was talking to someone at the moment, but she could see the Pierce Brosnan black hair and the hawkish nose. Not bad, she thought to herself. Not bad at all.

With a shrug, she took another bite of pasta, and the three girls went back to comparing notes about their classes... until Tanya abruptly changed the subject.

“Don’t look now,” she whispered, “but he’s not checking me out—he’s checking you out, Angie!”

Nisha giggled, and Angie grinned, trying hard to keep her gaze on her plate.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” the black girl grinned, and stood up.

“No, Nisha, wait!” Angie began, but it was too late—her roommate was already walking over. Angie met Tanya’s eyes, and they both laughed.

“What’s his name?” Tanya asked when their roommate returned.

Nisha shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t ask. He just asked me if you were named Marisol—” she glanced at Angie—“and I said no.”

Angie paled. For the first time in her life, she understood what people mean when they say “someone walked over my grave.”

“What?” Tanya asked.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Nisha added. “Who’s Marisol?”

“I am,” Angie said slowly. “Marisol Angela Vallejo. I started using my middle name in second grade, when I got sick of people reciting Mary Mary Quite Contrary.”

She looked over at the dark-haired upperclassman, but he had already left.

Saturday morning dawned cool and clear.

“What are we going to do on our first free day?” Nisha said, sitting up in bed at 10:00 A.M.

“Get breakfast, that’s what,” Tanya said. She had already risen, and was pulling on a sweatshirt.

There was a knock on the door.

“Who could it be at this hour?” Nisha asked.

“Probably Lloyd, he said he’d come by for... brunch,” Tanya said. She opened the door, and her voice trailed off as a delivery man handed her an immense bouquet of flowers.

“Sign here, please,” the man said.

“Umm—help?” Tanya said, trying to peer over the top of the bouquet.

As Angie watched in amazement, Nisha took the flowers, and Tanya signed for them.

The girls put the vase in the window. Illuminated by the sunlight, the roses made a glorious display. The contrast between green foliage, red roses, clear vase and white window sill was stunning.

“Is there a card?” Angie asked.

Nisha hunted around until she found it.

“Nineteen roses,” Tanya said. “Come on, Nisha, who’s it for?”

“To Angie Vallejo, from her secret admirer!” the black girl grinned. Angie made for the card, and Nisha made a great show of rushing around the room until Angie finally caught up with her.

She read the card again.

“So... who IS your secret admirer?” Nisha asked.

“Who would send me nineteen roses?!” Angie added. “I have no idea!”

“Could it have been the upperclassman who was eyeing you yesterday?” Tanya asked.

“A guy I’ve never spoken to?” Angie said. “How would he know my name?”

Nisha smiled sheepishly. “I might have mentioned that. Sorry.”

“What? Why?” Angie asked.

Nisha shrugged. “He asked if your name was Marisol, I said, no, it’s Angie. Sorry if I did wrong!”

“Yeah, well, he’d need her last name to send flowers,” Tanya pointed out. “Any other candidates?”

Angie shrugged. Who in heaven’s name had done it? And why nineteen? Of course, she was nineteen years old, but she’d be twenty soon...

After several hours in the science building, Angie returned to her dorm room early Sunday evening... to find another rose lying across the threshold.

A butterfly or two spread their wings in her stomach. A card was pinned to the rose; it read “A rose cannot compare to you, Angie—Y.S.A.”

“Okay, I need you guys to be on your guard,” Angie told her roommates as they got ready for class on Monday morning. “This is starting to creep me out. You see that guy, you see anybody looking at me strangely, let me know.”

All three girls kept their eyes open, but saw nothing suspicious. They split up to attend their morning classes, then Angie and Nisha met at the post office to collect their mail.

Tanya joined them there a few moments later, and found her roommates waiting in line at the service window. “What is it?” the artist asked.

“Angie got a package,” Nisha explained.

Tanya looked at the brown-haired girl.

“Surprised me too,” Angie said. “I’m not expecting anything.”

She showed the slip to the attendant, who rustled around in the back. After a moment of sound like a pig looking for truffles, she returned, and handed Angie a large padded envelope.

Within was something gift-wrapped. Revealed inside was a copy of “Love in the Time of Cholera,” the first hardcover edition.

“What the heck?” Tanya asked, peering over her shoulder.

“Who would send you a book about disease?” Nisha asked.

“It’s not about disease,” Angie said slowly. “It’s about love—it’s my favorite book.”

Tanya and Nisha exchanged glances. “I didn’t know that,” the artist said.

“Me neither,” the black girl added. “Who would know that about you, Angie?”

“I have no idea,” Angie said. She opened the cover.

Someone had written “Eternal Fidelity and Everlasting Love” on the inside front cover. There was no signature.

A few more butterflies spread their wings and fluttered around in Angie’s stomach.

“Who WOULD know this about me?” she asked.

“Your parents?” Tanya suggested.

“They wouldn’t use interoffice,” Nisha pointed out.

Angie stared at the book. Who could have done this?

The next present was delivered to her interoffice box in a sealed envelope. Angie was alone collecting her mail that day, and ripped open the padded envelope, hungry for clues to the identity of her secret admirer.

This one was not gift-wrapped, but was encased within plastic bubbles. She tore her way in, and almost fainted when she saw what it was.

In her hands lay a silver stopwatch, on a long chain.

Its cover opened like a locket, revealing the timepiece inside. She’d have to wind it, of course, but it was a beautiful piece of jewelry, with roses carved on the protective plates.

An image popped into her mind, unsummoned. She imagined herself sitting on a chair, while a byronic hero—like the Phantom of the Opera—slowly swung the watch in front of her. The motion would captivate her, beguile her, lull her to sleep... and then her seducer would whisper in her ear, planting suggestions that would make her his love slave.

Angie blinked, and forced away the fantasy that had tantalized her since before puberty. Because of the media’s bizarre misconceptions of hypnosis, a pocket watch was more to her than a timepiece. It was an instrument of seduction.

Who had sent it? Did her admirer know what she would associate with such a gift? But how could anyone possibly know that? It’s not as if she’d ever told anyone.

Not anyone in real life, she thought. But she’d spent the summer hanging out in hypnosis chatrooms.

But no one from the summer could possibly be here!

She started to put the watch on like a necklace, then thought better of it, and slid the cool, smooth metal into her pocket. She couldn’t wear it like that, at least not until she knew who’d sent it.

There was no card in the envelope. Maybe it was an entirely different person than whomever’d sent the flowers and the book.

But, unlike last year, she hadn’t been actively seeking the company of young men, nor had anyone asked her on a date.

She started the walk back to her dorm.

Angie turned the corner and started.

The upperclassman from the dining hall was sitting on the steps of her dorm, reading. He glanced up, then smiled, placing his book on the step beside him and standing up. He was at least a head taller than her, but somehow didn’t seem threatening, even though he was standing on a step looking down at her.

He stepped down so they were level—well, as level as they could be given their height difference—but didn’t approach.

“You’re Angela, right?” he said softly.

There was something about his voice... familiar, somehow, but she couldn’t place...

“Ummm... yes?” Angie said. This guy WAS her secret admirer. Who was he?

He grinned—a wonderful smile that made him look kind and handsome—and extended his hand.

“Claude Poitiers,” he said.

Everything clicked. The voice, the flowers, the gifts.

The world around her seemed to sharpen, the edges becoming more distinct, like a Cezanne painting. The sky seemed to grow lighter, becoming white instead of blue.

“C—Claude...” Angie managed.

She dropped her schoolbooks in a heap.