The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After spending Tuesday and Wednesday satiating my wanton desires, I couldn’t put work off any longer. But it was a very different Natalie Palmer who stepped into that office on Thursday. Elloise’s eyes almost popped out of her skull when she saw me saunter in wearing an outfit even she, a nineteen year old, wouldn’t have the nerve to try to pass off. I’d had to go out to buy a new bra the previous night, and decided to hell with it, I was getting a bustier. I found that my bust had outgrown even Jennifer’s bra, which I hadn’t worn in a day-and-a-half. I was now sporting a very buxom 42-DD chest and I decided to let everyone know it. I had gotten a very lacy bustier with an underwire, and the girls were held up and offered like quivering oysters in a half-shell. I had on some red capri pants with black lace up the exposed sides of my legs and a pair of sandals with six-inch heels that showcased my painted toenails. The top was a pale, white-ish pink silk that barely covered the bustier, let alone my now ample cleavage. My hair was big and daring and I looked like a woman ready for anything, especially men.

Elloise’s “boyfriend” was there, if you could call him that. Dr. Harry Bonner, or as he was known around the hospital, “Dr. Hairy Boner”, was less a boyfriend and more a sugar daddy to several women. And a married one at that. When the Brits came up with the phrase “Randy Scouse Git” they were thinking of the very Liverpudian Dr. Bonner, who had all the charm of Robin Leach with none of the sincerity. I took some satisfaction that “Dr. Boner” was as afflicted with bulging eye syndrome as Elloise. He smiled and Ellie glared, poking him in the rib.

“How are you today, Natalie?” he ask in his most unctuous voice, ignoring the poke.

“Just fine,” I muttered, turning on my computer. Bonner was a few years younger than me, but not young enough to peak my interest. He was almost old enough to be Elloise’s father. Considering my own recent proclivities, that should hardly have bothered me, but it did.

I opened my email and the first thing that caught my eye was one from Dr. Freemont. It simply asked me to see her when I came in, so I stood up and walked into her office. She didn’t even look up from something that she was writing on a legal notepad, so all I saw was a lab coat and a ball of grey hair. Dr, Freemont was less than 5′2″, with a thin frame. At 65, she looked older and very shriveled, yet she was anything but that. Ellen Freemont was a force to be reckoned with.

She continued writing and I was afraid that she hadn’t heard me. Yet she waved me to sit down without looking up. When she did look up, she did the eye-bulge thing too. She quickly put on her glasses and squinted at me. “Natalie?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She put her glasses down and resumed writing. “What on Earth do you have on?”

“I’m going for a different look,” I said meekly. I hated when she was like this. I felt like a teenager coming before her mother to tell mom that she was pregnant and mom already knew.

Still not looking up, Dr. Freemont said, “My dear, styling your hair is going for a new look. Dressing like that is begging for attention. What’s the matter, sweetie? Not getting laid enough?”

I blushed. “I... I’m sorry, Doctor Freemont. I... ”

She chuckled. “Relax, dear. I didn’t ask you in to talk about your dress sense. I wanted to ask you about Monday.”

I sat down, fidgeting. “Monday?”

Dr. Freemont stopped writing. “Yes, Monday. Day before Tuesday? There was some... commotion here. Were you aware of it?”

I began, “Yes, I saw this woman... ”

“I know. One of the orderlies reported that he found you and the woman in the gurney elevator on the third floor.”

“Y-yes. She was a patient... ”

“Actually,” Dr. Freemont said, twirling her pen, “she wasn’t a patient. At least not here. She was being chased and ducked into the building. It was just coincidence that it was a mental hospital.”

“Coincidence? Why? Who was chasing her?” I tried to pull down my capri pants, which were riding up in an annoying way.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Freemont said flatly. “Just that she’s been recovered and is no longer here.” She looked at me intensely. “What happened in the elevator? Did she touch you?”

I glanced at my fully-healed hand. “No. Why? Was she contagious?”

Dr. Freemont chuckled again. “You might say that.” She obviously knew more than she was telling me.

“She pushed me against the back doors.”

“I thought you said that she didn’t touch you.”

“Not directly. It was a cold day. I was pretty bundled up.”

“Good, good. Any cuts, bruises, lacerations?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Why were you out sick for two days?”

I was a bit shaken by the change in subject. “Um, a vaginal infection,” I lied.

“Any fever?”

“No.”

“They’re not uncommon with vaginal infections.”

“Yes, I know. No fever.”

“Ok, good. Thank you, sweetie.”

I rose from the chair and walked quickly out of the room. She didn’t believe me, I could tell.

I left the office and went to sit in the restroom down the hall for twenty minutes. I was shaking again. Why did I lie to her? Maybe because I was afraid—afraid that I’d end up like the woman, with people chasing me. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I felt fine. I dug the thermometer out of my purse and took my temperature. One hundred even. Just a little fever. I was fine. Just fine.

I got off work at 4. By 5:00 I was at home, eating a quick dinner before heading out for the night. Jennifer was home too, and my baby wasn’t happy.

“Mom,” she said, filling a plate with pasta salad, “what’s been going on?”

“What do you mean?” I asked as innocently as I could.

“You haven’t been home to sleep since Monday night. You’re suddenly dressing like a... well, dressing more provocatively. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, dear,” I said, looking at my watch. “Mom’s just... getting out a little more.”

Jennifer sat down beside me and grabbed a napkin. “Well it’s weirding me out. Stop it.”

“Young lady,” I snapped, “I’m still your mother.”

“Then act like it,” she snapped back. “My mother doesn’t dress like that. My mother doesn’t stay out for days at a time. My mother is..”

“Old?” I finished for her.

“Well, no,” Jennifer huffed. “I was going to say... mature.”

“Don’t you think I’m entitled to a little fun?” I asked. “While I’m still able to enjoy it?”

“This is the kind of stuff I was doing when I was seventeen,” my daughter insisted. “You’re forty-two.”

“And what does my age have to do with anything?” I asked. “Because you’ve decided—because society has decided—that at forty-two I’m supposed to be knitting and going to bingo and joining the Blue-Haired Bloody-Mary League? I still draw stares, thank-you-very-much, and I still enjoy them.”

“All right, all right!” Jennifer said, throwing up her hands. “Just tell me when you’re through with this... this acting out so we can discuss my wedding.”

I smiled and the smile wasn’t pleasant. “If I hear one more word about your wedding, dear, I’m going to choke on my own bile.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. Why had I said that? What was wrong with me? Jennifer looked at me with the most hurt expression I’d ever seen on her face, then bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“Jennifer!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it!” I repeatedly hit my forehead with my fist. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Shut up, bitch! came a voice in my head, and I stopped hitting myself. She’ll be fine. It’s getting late. It’s almost time to go out. I listened to the voice and went upstairs to get ready. I passed Jennifer’s closed door and heard her sobbing. I paused, my hand rising to rap on the door and apologize. It’s getting late. I put my hand down and went to my room to pick out an outfit for the night.