The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rrrrrrringgg.

Rrrrrrringgg.

Rrrrrrr.

Click.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Liz?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Richard.”

A pause.

“Richard? Richard who?”

Not good.

“Richard Spencer. We went out last Saturday.”

“Oh. Oh, Richard! I remember.”

Better.

“How are you, Richard?”

“I’m, uh, I’m fine. Liz. How are you?”

“Just fine.”

Even better.

“Would... Would you like to get a bite to eat tonight, Liz?”

Another pause.

“It’s kind of short notice, Richard. I have plans tonight.”

Shit.

“Oh. How about tomorrow? I know this great little Italian... ”

“I’m busy tomorrow night too.”

“Sunday?”

“Busy.”

“How about Monday? After work?”

“Richard, look. You’re a nice guy, but... ”

“What time do you get off, Liz?”

“What?”

“What time do you get off work on Monday?”

“I don’t get off, Richard.”

Click.

I’ll bet you don’t, bitch.

I never liked Liz anyway. Her nose is too long and looks like it was pinched in a book. To the domain of Hades and Persephone with her.

It’s Frigg’s day appropriately enough, and I’m tired of peeping into the spider’s parlor. I do that at the place where I sweat and at the place where I sit. All my women are flat and live in the spider’s parlor; even the ones who move and dance and lie to me. I decide to inflict myself upon others, even without the Pinched-Nose Liz. I clean the dust from my skin and the cobwebs in my head. I look at my reflection and decide that I don’t like what I see. I look like a geek. I live like a geek. It’s written all over me: geek, geek, geek. You can smell it on me, even through a pinched nose.

I comb my thick hair and look upon my countenance. Shabby I am. I start to scrape the hairs from my face and look again. Not shabby. Shaggy but not shabby. Narcissus. He fell in love with his own reflection, hence the word narcissist. By the time I’m finished scraping my hairs I’m in love with my reflection again. Time to leave the place where I sit.

The first place I stop is a smoke cloud, the stench of weak ale assaults my nose. I seem to be the only one here who thinks cows look better on barstools than on legs. The right-angle crosses make me nervous too so I leave. No land for Abraham and Issac there. Two more places add to nothing and I leave them without even wetting my throat.

On the next one I strike gold. It’s busy but not too busy. The bartender is a penguin and she takes my order as soon as I sit on a cow. Before my Diet Nothing arrives, a man sits beside me and I can see his navel, with as much hair on his front as I have on top. He smiles at me and as my Diet Nothing arrives, he pays for it.

“Hello,” he says, flashing that annoying smile again. He’s a chain-man so I ignore him. Not what I want or need.

“Are you looking for a woman?” he asks, cool-as-you-please.

I eye him up and down. A purveyor of flesh. “Sorry, I don’t pay.” It’s a damned lie, but he doesn’t know that. My secret is safe.

“It’s not what you think,” he assures me. “I’m talking a beautiful woman. A goddess. A real babe and not a whore... Except where it counts.” He nudges me and smiles again. Thirty-two teeth do I see, all uppers. He smiles too much and I don’t trust him.

“What are you then,” I ask, sipping Nothing. “Her brother?”

He holds up a chain. There’s a clear, round jewel at the end, swarthed in silver. It looks like a marble—a clearie—and the world is within it, and something else. He smiles again and the hairs on my arm bristle. “She can be yours if you buy this chain from me.”

“As you can see,” he says, “the chain alone is worth thousands, and at one time, that’s what people paid for it. Now it’s on sale for four dollars. I paid eight. I’ll sell it to you for four, and the gorgeous woman who comes with it.”

“And why would you want to get rid of such a woman?” I say, feeling like Jack, buying a handful of beans that I know won’t grow a stalk.

He shrugs. “I have my share.” He indicates the many chains around his neck. “What’s one, more or less?”

Just then, a woman walks into the room and all non-curved eyes are on her. Beautiful. A light brunette with classic features and the air of a babe who knows. She looks around for someone or something. Her tawny skin glistens with every cat-like move. She has big hair and she’s wearing tight jeans and a tighter blouse that strains against her two mountains. She walks in six-inch stiletto heels like there’s no other way to walk and her movements are graceful and hypnotic. She sees the chain-man and smiles. She walks to him, molding her cat-like body against his stocky build as she wraps her arms around his neck. She hisses and licks his ear. She’s a Cheshire Babe. They don’t talk much.

He holds up the chain again and her eyes lock onto it, like a cat watching a bird. “Four dollars,” he whispers to me. “Four dollars and she’s yours.”

Four dollars? How can I resist Satan’s tempting offer of Paradise? I give him Abraham and tell him to keep George. He insists on my change, saying that’s how it has to work: four dollars, no more, no less. He hands me the chain. The babe watches it but says nothing. She makes no move. I eye the chain-man suspiciously.

“Put it around your neck and talk to her,” he says.

I slip it around my head-stand. Her orbs bore into it. “You are a goddess,” I tell her, and her vision slides from the chain to me. To me. “You are an olive-skinned goddess and you are the most amazing woman I have ever met.” She parts her lips and shows her teeth, looking predatory. The chain-man beckons me to continue. “I would love you as you deserve to be loved,” I say and her smile grows wide. Her eyes look at mine, unblinking. Fascinated. Like a cat watching a bird.

“The big one,” the chain-man insists. “Tell her the big one!”

“You are a goddess and... and I love you,” I lie. She smiles wider still. Ear-to-ear. Like a Cheshire Babe. Thirty-two teeth do I see, uppers and lowers, and it’s perfect. Everything’s perfect. Her hands fall from the chain-man’s neck and she glides from his side to mine as smoothly as a lioness on the Serengeti. Her arms wrap around me and I can feel how smooth her skin is. Her nails lightly scratch my back and she smiles, her scented breath upon me like a bastard cat breathing on an sparrow dinner. A little kiss, followed by a heart-melting tongue to mine and she is mine. Mine.

The chain-man toasts our love and buys a round for the house that costs forty times what I paid him. The Cheshire Babe has champagne and laps it from a glass. Her eyes never leave me and we are deliriously happy. The last thing the chain-man tells me before we part is that if I want to be rid of her, I must sell the chain for exactly half what I paid. No more, no less or she’ll return. I balk. Why would I want to sell a goddess?

I take her with me to the place where I sit. We take off our clothes but she puts her six-inch spikes back on. She is never without them. We make love like we have no where else to go and nothing else to do. We sleep and then make love again.

The next day is the day of the Sixth Planet and we stay in the place where we sit. We order our meals be brought to our door and explore and celebrate our new-found love. Oh, how lush she is! A burning field of ripened fruit, glistening with dew. She is always smiling, my Cheshire Babe who loves me. Me, in the place where we sit.

That night and the Day of Sol are the same, with lovemaking and promises made. She fits in the place where we sit and she loves me. Me. She is beholden to me and hangs on my every word. She doesn’t talk much, my Cheshire Babe, but a nod and a smile is all I require. I ask if she wants to move in with me and she flashes 32 teeth and nods her head vigorously. The deal is done.

The next day is the Day of the Moon and I have to go to the place where I sweat. We drive there in her bright-yellow racehorse. She lets me drive and all eyes are on us as we pull up in front of the place where I sweat. We get out and she gives me the most sensuous kiss I have ever received, even from her. It dawns on me that she’s letting everyone know who I belong to.

“Later?” she asks, her voice desperate.

“Later,” I assure her.

“Hello, Richard.”

I turn and the Cheshire Babe grabs my arm possessively. Before us is the Pinched Nose Liz.

“Oh, Liz. Um, what are you doing here?”

“Paying my bill,” Liz says, holding up an envelope. She smiles unctuously at my lover. “Who’s your friend?”

There’s a low, gutteral growl, barely audible, and I feel a cat’s claws on my arm. That Cheshire smile is gone. “Liz, this is, uh... " Words fail me and Liz and I both realize why.

“You don’t even know her name?” Liz asks incredulously.

“Of—Of course I do. Don’t be silly.”

“What is it, then?”

“Well, uh... ”

“Leaving,” the Cheshire Babe snaps at Liz. She gets into her car and peels out of the parking lot.

“My God, Richard!” Liz exclaims. “I didn’t realize you were that desperate.”

“Liz, it’s not what you think. But I don’t have time for this. I’m running late.”

“I thought you were a nice guy,” she says.

“I am. You don’t understand and I don’t have time to explain it to you.”

“How about after work then?” she asks. “That little Italian place you mentioned?”

“Liz, I’m seeing someone,” I say, looking at my watch.

“Ok. Ok, can I call you then? At work?”

“Call me later,” I insist.

“Ok,” she agrees. “Later.”

Inside my cellmate is waiting. He’s a red mop and we work as a team, like drones we always say. He shows me a big stack of envelopes in our shared cell. “Mrs. Sherman said to do all of these today.”

I sigh. “That’s three days work, at least.”

“I know,” he says picking up the first one. “Whoever does the least this morning buys lunch.”

“You’re on.”

The Red Mop ends up buying lunch. Liz never did call. Probably got her nose pinched in a book. Fuck her. I have something better waiting for me at home. I hope. The way she peeled out this morning, maybe the spell is broken and I’ll never see her again. Either way, who cares about Liz? And it was a great weekend. I don’t know her enough to be in love with her but the weekend was the best four dollars I ever spent.

I have to ride a beast to get home, but that’s how I usually get to and from the place where I sweat. I shrug, figuring I’ll never see the Cheshire Babe again.

When I get back to the place where I sit, I can barely walk through the door. There are two huge bookcases to slide past and a couch I’ve never seen before that must have cost more than half a year’s rent. There’s two of everything and the new stuff is much better than the old.

I walk into the kitchen and she’s there, dressed in a tight summer dress and the same size heels in new shoes. She’s stacking new dishes in the cabinets. She looks up and sees me and smiles her Cheshire smile. All is right with the world. She rushes to me and hugs me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Moving.” She snuggles against me and sighs contentedly. She makes a soft, almost purring sound. Her expensive perfume tickles my nose and makes me horny as she rubs her face against mine. She’s taller than me in the six-inch stiletto heels she always wears. We spend the evening in bed. At some point I wake up in the darkness. I feel a high heel scratch against my leg. She is never without them, even when she sleeps, and I wonder how her legs can stand it. I drift back to sleep.

It’s Tiu’s Day and the dark clouds show Tiu’s anger for some reason. I’m tired from the night of love, but it’s back to the place where I sweat. She takes me there in her racehorse and the parting is as sweet as the day before.

It’s a long day and when I leave my 8-hour prison, she is there, leaning against her horse. She smiles and comes to me as fast as her six-inch heels will allow. I kiss her and she kisses me back, making me hard.

“Home?” she asks hopefully.

“Yes,” I agree. “Home.” It’s a beautiful word when two people mean the same place.

“Oh, Richard!”

I look up to see the Bee Queen at the entrance, waving to me. She keeps her head in a strawberry hive, does my boss, and she’s twice my age. Tough but fair. “Yes, Mrs. Sherman?”

Again, the Cheshire Babe’s nails dig slightly into my arm and she glares at my boss. She’s not happy. “It’s ok,” I assure her and I walk back to the door.

“Did you finish the receipts from yesterday?” The Hive Lady asks.

“Yes,” I tell her. “I left them on Freddy’s desk, like you asked.”

“Oh!” the Bee Queen says. “I forgot about that. Thank you, Richard.”

“No problem.”

I walk back to the Cheshire Babe and we ride her horse back to the place where we sit.

She is insatiable, my Cheshire Babe, and I am exhausted when I finally fall asleep.

The sun rises on Odin’s Day and I am alone. I don’t worry that she’s left me like I did last time. All of her furniture and clothes are here. I wonder where she’s gone; what she does each day. I don’t really know her and maybe she has another life. Maybe another chain bares her soul and she divides her time between us.

She’s gorgeous and she fucks wonderfully and that seems to be all we have in common besides a love of me. But I don’t love her. We watch what I want, eat what I want, do what I want. She’s nothing more than an object to me; a toy. A blow-up girlfriend without the mouthpiece. A virtual doll without the virtual. An object.

And now she’s gone, doing God knows what. But she’ll be back. I’m confident of that.

I take the bus to work. The Bee Queen isn’t in and the Red Mop and I slack until almost lunch time.

Toward noon there’s some excitement. One of the female drones sticks her head in the cell. She’s crying. “Did you hear about Mrs. Sherman?” she asks.

“No,” says the Red Mop. “What?”

“She’s... Oh God!” She runs off.

The Red Mop looks at his screen window. “Hey, check your email.”

There’s a message there from Mr. Purvis. I skim it. “... regret to inform you of the death of Amilia Sherman” and “last night” and “murdered”.

I break out in a cold sweat. Something scurries through the back of my mind but I don’t want to think about it. I look up the news story through the spider’s parlor. It doesn’t name her, but I know it’s the Bee Queen. Killed in her bed. Sharp object through her forehead. The police are very smart people. They’re looking for a woman because the killer wore high heels. Six-inch stilettos. They believe the killer used the heel of one of her shoes to... Second murder. Second? Something clicks in my head. Liz!

I call Liz as fast as I can, but there’s no answer. Straight to voicemail, like the phone has died, and the voicemail’s full.

I run out of the place where I sweat and she’s there, leaning against her yellow horse. Why is she here? It’s only noon.

I run to her and she smiles. She tries to kiss me but I push her away. “Why are you here?” I demand.

“Waiting,” she says.

“All day?”

“Yes.”

“Yesterday too?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you go last night?”

“Busy.”

“And Monday?”

“Busy.” Then she touches my face and adds, “Home?”

“What happened to Liz?” I demand, shaking her. She smiles. It’s a smile I’ve never seen before and it’s nasty.

We go home and she smiles the Cheshire smile, but it has turned predatory. She senses the change in me and knows she has the upper hand.

As she was an object to me, so I am now an object to her. A fetish in the literal sense of the word. A god who shall have no other worshippers before her. I take care of her as a god is expected to care for his follower. I don’t talk to other women in front of her. I’m gentle and patient and attentive to her needs. She frightens me.

When I can slip away I return to the place where we met, searching for the chain-man but he’s never there again. I try to play the chain-man’s game but I come across as a pimp or a liar or worse. Four dollars was too little and I didn’t see it. Two dollars is too much and it stares me in the face, mocking me. No one buys what I’m selling. He was a cool one, the chain-man was.

Wherever I go, there she is or not far behind. She can sense where I am and always finds me, no matter where I go. I am trapped by obsession and a keen sense of smell. I never thought about it before, but I guess even Cheshire Babes can smell the geek.