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Connie's PlaceThe Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive
Titles · Authors · Categories · Readers' Picks · What's New · Make a Donation
Story: Connie's Place · Author: Tuesday
Connie's Place
By Tuesday
Copyright © 2000 by Tuesday. All rights reserved.
Connie was suprised when she heard the bell jingle above the door. There weren't
any customers for at least an hour; at least she thought so. She was sitting at
the reception desk, and she checked the schedule book just to be sure as the man
walked in. As he walked to the desk she looked up at him and smiled her best
hairstyler smile.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"I think so," the man said. He was young, maybe twenty-four, with short blond
hair and a strong jaw. His shoulders filled his leather jacket out solidly, and
Connie could not help but glance at his tight jeans. The man spoke softly but
confidently, and Connie briefly hoped that he was not just here to read the
meter.
"Well," she said. "Are you making an appointment for someone?" She really hoped
the guy would say yes to her question. Ever since "Connie's Place" had opened
six weeks ago, she had found herself with few customers and not much money to
pay the bills. The only thing Connie had plenty of during the long days was time
to daydream about boys to whisk her away from her rut. Now there was a hot guy
right in front of her and all she could think of was business. Still, despite
her fantasies, Connie knew that deep down, she badly wanted to make this place a
success.
"Yes," the man said. "For myself, actually. Do you have any openings today? I'm
feeling pretty shaggy."
Connie giggled to cover her nervousness. She really did not have too much
experience with men's' styles; her training was in "chic styles for the modern
woman"-at least that was the motto of the styling school from which she had her
degree. But she knew a little, and she was willing to fake it if it meant a fee,
plus a chance to flirt with this man.
"Um, sure. In fact, my two-thirty just called and canceled. And since it's
almost two now... Let me just sweep up first." It was partly true. She had had
an appointment this afternoon, but it had been for one-thirty, and when Mrs.
Langham had not shown up, it had almost broken Connie's heart. Besides her
roommate and her roommate's aunt (two pity customers, she couldn't help but
feel), Mrs. Langham was Connie's only regular customer. If she stopped coming
now, that would be about it for Connie's Place. It was a relief for her to see
someone new in the salon.
The man hung his jacket on the hook and waited patiently as Connie pulled the
broom along the floor near the first chair. There were four setups, with plush
chairs, detached sinks behind, plus mirrors and stylist supplies. But only the
first station had signs of use.
"You must be Connie," he said. "My name is Michael. Nice to meet you." He stuck
his hand out.
"Nice to meet you," she agreed as she hurried back to the front of the store to
shake his hand. "That's right, I'm Connie."
"Do the other hairdressers have the day off?" he asked kindly.
The question should have embarrassed her seriously, but Michael's voice and the
small kind smile on his face made Connie feel that the truth was all right. "No,
it's just me here," she said, her voice still a little strained, her smile
rather desperate to move on from the subject.
"It's a very nice place you've got here, Connie," he said.
"T-thank you," she answered, more relieved than she wanted to admit.
"Should I sit down?" he asked and gestured a muscular arm toward the chair.
"Sure. I mean, yes, please, go right ahead." She had to snap herself back to
answer his question. He was really good looking. Her boyfriends had mostly been
nice enough, but dull and...unexciting. She never seemed to meet guys like this.
He can't be single, she told herself resolutely as he took his seat. Just cut
his hair. She threw a cloak over his body and picked up the spray bottle from
the mirror stand.
"So," Connie said as she worked. "Are you from around here?"
"No, I'm from the coast. Keep it as it is, just fix it on top and the sides,"
Michael said. She leaned over his shoulder slightly, and as she did so she
smelled his cologne. It smelled sharp, a little too sharp for Connie's taste.
After a moment she had to lean back to keep cutting; the scent was making her
dizzy.
A few minutes later Connie held up a small hand mirror to the back of Michael's
head. "All done," she said. Her other hand reached up to her temple, as she
rubbed with her fingertips. That cologne had given her a small headache. I feel
bad for his girlfriend, she thought. Still, I could get him to cut down if...
"Looks good," he said and grinned slightly. "Say, I wonder if you could do me a
favor."
"Is it the sideburns? I could trim them down more..."
"No, no, it's perfect. I just want to show you some products that might interest
you, that's all. How about it?"
Salesman, Connie said to herself. A stone rolled over in her stomach. So he was
only being nice to me to sell me shit. Damn it. He undid the cover's strap and
stood up. "I have some shampoo right here in my jacket," he said.
Connie almost got out the words "Get lost" when the headache turned in her
forehead again and suddenly she felt weak and sick. She sat down in the chair
just vacated by Michael. "Look..." she said, still deciding. "Okay, I'll humor
you."
"Great." As he walked back to the coat rack he said, "I promise you won't have a
single regret." From an inside pocket he pulled out a white plastic bottle with
no label.
"Just lie back into the sink there and relax," Michael said as he rolled up his
shirtsleeves. From the front of the store he saw her click the chair flat and
lean her head into the groove at the front of the white porcelain sink. She was
small and slender, but her figure was still girlish. Her hair went to the middle
of her neck, and was straight and the color of maple leaves in autumn.
"How long will this take?" she called out, looking up at the ceiling. "I've,
I've got a customer coming soon."
A glance at Connie's date book revealed her bluff. Steady now, Michael thought,
just keep it going. "We'll make it quick," he said aloud, and laughed kindly. He
slid into the space between the wall and the sink, put the shampoo bottle down
on the stand behind him and turned the faucet on. After a moment of running his
hand under the water he got it to a comfortable temperature, and grabbed the
hand-held spray.
The water ran softly and cleanly through Connie's hair. As he played with it he
thought, Pretty thick. Gonna need a lot of shampoo. The hair was wet enough by
now, so he reached back for the stuff. He squeezed a large mound onto his palm,
then replaced the bottle and rubbed his hands together.
She could tell the shampoo by its smell. It smelled more or less like a regular
woman's shampoo, flowers and potpourri-except stronger, almost cloying but
actually quite pleasant. As Michael worked it into her scalp she breathed the
smell in. It made her feel much more relaxed than that cologne. She could hardly
smell the aftershave now. No, the odor of clove and roses filled her nostrils
now. Plus, she had to admit, it felt real good on her head. Thick and light and
prickly, in a nice way. Of course, she did not need any new products; there was
plenty of hair-care stuff left in back collecting dust.
"So, what's so special about this formula?" Connie asked, glancing up as far as
she could to try and see Michael.
Michael said something, but she could not make it out. She realized that she had
been caught up in feeling the shampoo tickling her scalp. "What was that?" she
asked.
"Oh, I said that I really don't know the details too much. I'm just the
salesman," Michael said.
That was enough. It had been fun to play along with this guy, but if he was
going to become flip and hazy, Connie had to draw the line. Lazily she picked
her head up and tried to twist around to face Michael.
"Okay, I think you-" She felt so woozy all of a sudden. It was hard to get her
head up, and once she did it wanted to tip the other way. She giggled as she
tried to right herself. "I think you-" Her head just would not stop bobbing, and
it was so funny. She had to laugh because it was so funny. "I think-think-"
"It's all right," Michael soothed. He gently guided her head back into the sink.
Connie grinned wide and easy as he did. His hands were so strong, and she was so
dizzy, but it felt great, somehow.
"It's all right," he said again. His fingers ground into the head more deeply
now, as Connie lay docilely as a drunk, grinning and giggling happily. "Just lie
back and let the formula do its work."
Connie could not stop giggling. She felt so good. Everything seemed good. The
beauty parlor looked good, the leather barber's chair felt good, Michael
certainly looked good. And her head was the best part; it felt like a hundred
clowns were tickling her with their feathers, and the smell was like a
greenhouse.
After a couple more minutes Michael untangled his hands from the frothy hair. He
rinsed his hands off in the next sink and dried them on a nearby towel. Once
that was done he walked calmly around Connie and crouched down next to her right
ear.
"You see, Connie," he began, quiet but not quite whispering. Connie's chortles
came in gasps now. She sucked air in through her teeth and giggled it out again
in short spurts. Her mouth was still stretched in a wide grin.
"I sort of lied to you before. The fact is, I really don't know the secret
behind MKT06 and its chemistry, but I do know what it does." If Connie
understood what she heard, she gave no sign.
"It's powerful stuff. Technically, it really is a shampoo. It's the extra
ingredients that make it special. Once the MKT06 has worked its way through the
hair, down to the roots, the special ingredients work their way through the hair
follicles into the skull, then travel down blood vessels into the brain. They're
amazing chemicals: sedatives, muscle relaxers, mental depressors, all real
powerful, and all get absorbed in a couple minutes.
"But the key compound in this stuff-I won't bore you with its full name, but
it's the 'M' in MKT-really gets me. It makes your mind almost as open to
rewiring as a baby." He patted her forehead agreeably. Giggles and gasps were
Connie's only response. She started at the ceiling and ignored Michael now. Her
eyes were squinty from joy.
"I could use it and brainwash you the old-fashioned way. You know, late nights,
dark little room, eight-hour propaganda films. But I don't have the time or
energy, and the M wears off after awhile, and then I have to worry about you
building a tolerance. So I have to use something faster, and just as effective,"
he said. He kissed her on the cheek in a strangely fatherly way.
"The gear is in my car. Be right back," he said. Connie vaguely heard the bell
jingle as it shut on Michael's way out, turning the sign from "Open" to "Closed
as he went.
"Cann-I...help you?" she slurred, and burst into fresh laughter.
He came back into Connie's Place five minutes later with a polished steel
briefcase. There was not any need for a phone call. Once Mike had found out what
the scientists' projects were at the university lab he worked as an assistant
at, he had decided to steal it (with the instructions, of course) by himself. He
had staked out the salon by himself, for days, and now that the plan was about
to work he did not want nor need a partner. Mike liked to work alone.
Connie was still sprawled over the barber's chair, conscious but zoned out from
the drugs in the MKT06 shampoo. He walked up to the desk and set the briefcase
down on top. He clicked the latches and opened the case. Inside there was
padding that held a series of metal tools. Mike picked the first one up and
faced his first subject.
"Let's see...left or right...right looks good," he muttered. The instrument was
rod-shaped, with a bushy tip like a multi-ended toothbrush. A click of the
button on the side and the tip spun rapidly clockwise. It whirred like a
dentist's tooth cleaner. He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from the case, put
them on, leaned over her chest and pressed his left palm over her forehead
again, firmly this time.
"Just lie still, now," he said. Connie's euphoria had faded a little. She lay
quietly, still grinning but only chuckling occasionally. He pressed the button
again and the spinning begun. Carefully he guided the sweeper to her right ear
canal and inserted it. After a few seconds he pulled it out, pulled the tip off
and tossed it in the wastebasket behind the desk. "We don't need any mucus or
dead skin blocking the signal," he told her. "Don't worry, the hair is supposed
to grow back in a couple of weeks."
The next instrument out of the briefcase had a similar handle to the first one,
but its business end was a very small flat metal square with a nest of tiny
electrodes on one side and a small red bulb on the other. He put the flat end in
the nostril, with the electrodes rubbing against the inside of her outer ear.
With that in place Mike slowly slid the instrument around in Connie's ear until
finally the red light turned on. He saw it glowing brightly.
"There's that big nerve," he said with satisfaction. He pushed a second button
on the handle and heard a buzz. When he pulled the sensor tool out he could see
the small, round red spot. That was the bullseye. Now for the last step.
The last utensil looked pretty much like the other two. On the end were two
metal teeth. Melded to the incisors was a tiny, square microchip. It looked like
a toy, it was so small.
"They told me that you won't feel any pain, baby," he said sympathetically as he
pointed the microchip toward the spot. It did not look like it was going to be a
problem; Connie was almost out now. Her eyes were out, and only her twitching
lips indicated that she was still around.
Once Mike had lined the chip up with the nerve, he pressed down on the button
and held it. Slowly the teeth heated up electrically, until they became red-hot.
Her ear spasmed from the pain, but she kept still otherwise and it did not
affect the soldering too much.
Still Mike felt bad about having to do it this way and he thought about the
process to keep his mind off the guilt. The teeth were made of a special metal
compound that melted at a relatively low temperature. When the molten metal
cooled, which it did quickly, if would form a seal around the microchip. Then,
after a few days, Connie's own body would build new skin to cover the burn. On
contact with the new skin cells, the metal seal would disintegrate. Thus, the
chip would be held in place by all-natural methods. In fact, the extra
connections between body and microcomputer would aid in the connection to the
central nervous system.
The chip melded to the nostril with a steamy hiss. He held the rod until the
seal stopped bubbling and then he tossed the remains back into the briefcase.
Connie slept deeply, her lips still twitching from the burn.
He almost forgot to wash the shampoo out. After he took care of it, he stuck her
under one of her own hairdryers and waited. For the first time Mike felt a
little nervous. He sat in one of the waiting chairs near the front window and
checked his watch. Half past three. He had staked the place out long enough to
know that Connie did not have many regular customers, and drop-ins had been a
rare treat. That'll change, he thought. I have plans for this place. As long as
I planted that chip right, it should all work out like I planned.
The hairdryer buzzed. He pulled it off Connie's head and combed her hair as best
he could. Then he lay her back in the still-prone chair and rotated it so that
her head faced the back of the salon. That way there would be less chance of
incidental recognition off the street.
He had done everything according to plan. Now the only thing left was to wait
for her to wake up. He cupped a breast over her sweater and touched her cheek
with the back of the other hand.
"I'm going to make 'Connie's Place' a success," he said to her sleeping face.
"All we need here is a new attitude."
When Connie woke up, she felt very relaxed and upbeat. She knew that Michael
actually preferred to be called Mike. She also knew that she was Mike was in
charge now. The license would still be in her name, but Mike was the real boss.
She knew that was a great idea, and it made her happy to make any changes that
Mike asked.
Most of all, she knew that Mike was her soul mate, her lover and the only person
she could trust. She knew, both by intuition (and later by experience) that Mike
was the best lover she had ever been with, and that she often orgasmed simply
when he walked by. Not to mention the multiple pleasure trips she got from
riding him up and down.
The next day Mike moved into Connie's house, and Connie bought out her
roommate's share of the rent. The roommate was glad that Connie had found
someone that she was so crazy about, but she was puzzled. It wasn't like Connie
to move in with a man so quickly. She was the type to analyze something to
death, then at the end go the safe route. But it wasn't the roommate's business.
Two days later there was a sign in the window of Connie's Place that read,
"Reopening soon under new management." During the day passersby could see a
well-built man in a leather jacket walking around inside, pointing at things and
saying something, and a petite, slender young lady behind him with a notepad and
a cellular phone. The lady wore tight belly shirts and miniskirts, then just a
bikini as she followed the man around, nodding and taking notes.
Connie's Place reopened a month later and the sign in the window was replaced
with one that said that they were accepting applications for hairdressers and
promised competitive wages. The conservative pink-and-blue paint sign above the
door was replaced with a flashy neon script. Where there used to be a pair of
open scissors there was now a pair of sexy women's legs, with shear handles and
the end of each leg. One leg overlapped the other, and when the sign was turned
on the "scissors" appeared to open and shut rhythmically. All day a trickle of
women, from students to young executives, turned toward the door. Most of them
had seen the place before, but it had always seemed like such an old-lady type
beauty parlor that none of them had ever made an appointment. But Connie had
turned the place into something more chic (even if the sign was a bit much).
"It's worth a try," said one young, blond mother to herself as she pushed her
baby in a stroller. When she got home the mother looked up Connie's Place in the
phone book and made an appointment.
Several stylists in the area applied for work there. They were attracted by the
"new management", and they knew most of the equipment was still new. After
turning away the men, Mike carefully selected from the resumes he had on his
desk. He cut the old and ugly ones first, then the ones with a lot of family in
the area. That left two names: Suzanne and Patricia. A tall blond with long
legs, and a shapely brunette. After making two phone calls, Mike smiled and
glanced around the empty house proudly. It was nighttime of the sixth day since
the grand reopening. Connie had done more business that day than she had the
week before Mike had taken over. He looked over at the small addition he had
built. It separated the forth setup into a little room of its own. That was
where Mike would administer his personal makeovers.
Connie's car drove up and parked in front of the house. She got out and headed
for the door. Mike knew that underneath her coat she was not wearing anything
but a dental floss bikini top and thong, plus heels. The heels clicked on the
tile as she entered.
"Hey, baby-doll," Mike said.
"Hey yourself, Master Mike," Connie said slyly. She knew that she was not
supposed to call him "Master Mike" unless they were alone or Mike gave her
permission to. She shed the coat and tossed it onto the coat rack, and walked
silkily around the desk and onto Mike's lap. "How was your day?"
"Good. Very productive. How about you? Does the sound system work okay?"
"It's perfect. Walking around in the new uniform, with that techno pumping, I
just want to fuck anything that walks," Connie said. Connie knew that she was
bisexual now, that tits and a shapely female ass turned her on almost as much as
Mike. She also knew that other men disgusted her. Only Mike was the man for her.
"That's great. Well, it's time for your weekly checkup. Let's take a look." Mike
pulled a penlight out of his desk and turned it on. Connie obligingly tilted her
head back as far as it would go. Mike pointed the light into the nostril and
peered inside.
"Looks like the skin seal is healed nicely. How does it feel?"
"Fine," she said She began nibbling at his neck.
"I guess I should give you a reward, then," Mike said.
"It's up to you, Master Mike," Connie answered with a combination of flirtation
and sincerity. It really was up to Mike, after all.
"Let's go," Mike said. They headed to the bedroom, where Mike took off his shirt
and pants, and Connie untied the little clothes she wore. As they went at it,
the beauty he had created captivated Mike as usual. Afterward, as he drifted
off, he thought, I wonder if someday we should open up a branch salon somewhere.
All we need is an investor.
Titles · Authors · Categories · Readers' Picks · What's New · Make a Donation
Story: Connie's Place · Author: Tuesday
20050528025253