The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Snooty Fox Club: It was the place where Kali danced and, I learned that night, the place where Dana had been dancing too. It was OK, though. Kali told me that it was. It was very cool that Dana danced there.

The lighted, revolving sign showed a drawing of a young woman in lingerie, her white hair in a fancy beehive, a cigarette holder dangling from her mouth. Her nose was up in the air and her eyes closed in a haughty expression. Snooty Fox, indeed!

Kali had dressed in a see-through top and a micro-mini skirt, a pair of thigh-high boots with 6-inch heels, and a low, metallic belt that hugged her hips. Dana also dressed provocatively, with a green minidress, slit down to her navel and up to it as well. White, 6-inch pumps and 2-inch long nails. She wore a headband and about a ton of make-up. Kali was her usual, chatty self, but Dana was subdued. Every time I looked at her, she bowed her head and blushed, as if to say that she was unworthy to meet my eyes. I noticed, when we walked into the club, that she walked behind me.

Once inside, the place reeked of cigarettes, booze, and semen. For some reason, I found this a heady aroma and my cock suddenly stiffened in my pants. A Filipina waitress, who couldn’t have been any more than 5 feet tall and 80 pounds, lead us to the front of the stage and the girls set me up with a drink, then went in back to prepare for the show. Before they left, Kali pointed at a man a couple of tables down from me and whispered. “Go introduce yourself to Doctor Newhart.”

Doctor Newhart was a mousy little man, maybe about 5′6″, no more than 140 pounds. He appeared to be in his early 50’s and had gray, curly hair. He wore an obviously expensive suit and a pair of round, wire-framed glasses. He was staring intently at the empty stage and appeared to be twitching nervously. When I got close enough, he looked up at me. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Paul Sherman.”

His eyes widened and he ignored my hand. “Oh, you’re the one.”

“The one?”

“Yes,” Newhart said, finally shaking my hand. “Kali talked about you all the time.”

He indicated the chair beside him and looked back at the stage as I sat down. “You know Kali?” I asked.

“Oh yes. I was her psychologist.”

It dawned on me, in the darkness, that the reason Dr. Newhart was twitching was because he was slowly jacking off underneath the table. He didn’t seem to try to hide it, only look at the stage and jack. “Were?”

“Yes, for a time.”

“Why did you stop?” I asked the strange little man.

“Tell him why, Dr. Newhart,” Kali’s voice said from behind me.

Newhart froze in place, not looking up at Kali as she came up beside me. Now he really was shaking, and it wasn’t from stroking his cock. “Be-because I was rude,” he whispered. Again, he didn’t look up, but his brow was covered in sweat. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was afraid of her.

“What did you do that was so rude?” I asked. He said nothing and stared at the stage.

“Tell him,” Kali insisted.

“I... I... " He looked up at Kali now. “Please.”

“Go ahead, Herman,” Kali said, obviously enjoying watching the man squirm. “What did you say? What did you tell my mother I was?”

“A... a sociopath. ARRRGH!!” Herman Newhart suddenly arched his back and groaned. It was obvious that he had just shot his load under the table. He slumped back in his chair and moaned as if this was the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had.

Kali cupped his chin and turned his head toward her. “That’s my little silly-putty man,” she said condescendingly. She tsked-tsked him with her tongue, then traced a long fingernail along the edge of his face. Her nails were amazingly sharp, so sharp that when she pressed hard on his jaw line, she drew blood. Then she shoved his head away. The scowl on her own face said it all. Newhart just looked back at the still-empty stage and resumed jacking himself under the table.

“Herman likes big words,” Kali explained, smiling sweetly at me. “He likes them so much that certain words just make him cum all over himself.”

I looked at the little man in disbelief, then back at Kali with equal surprise. I didn’t have to be a genius to piece together what had happened.

“Just so you know,” Kali said, her voice dripping of honey, “what can happen to people who cross me, Paul.”

“Herman, Peaches is up first tonight,” she said as she sauntered off to the backstage door.

“Th-thank you,” he said, relief showing in his face as Kali walked away and out of the room.

The lights dimmed and a heavy beat began playing. “Welcome to the Snooty Fox Club,” came the voice of the nearby DJ over the PA system. “I’m Mark and our first lady is ready to go. Say hello to Peaches!”

The applause broke out as a black woman, about 6′ 3″ even without the 7-inch heels she wore, bounced onto the stage and quickly wrapped a leg around the pole, twirling around it. Her legs were long, her buttocks full and round. Her breasts were amazingly huge and gravity-defying, yet they didn’t look enhanced. She was an Amazon. She smiled and waved at the crowd, then blew a kiss to Dr. Herman Newhart, who stood up and held out what appeared to be a single dollar bill. Peaches smiled and crouched down on the stage. She let the little man slip it into her g-string before standing up and continuing her dance. Their hands lingered a little longer than a dancer and her casual patron.

Newhart, for his part, seemed almost normal after that. With the music playing and the dancer on the stage, it was as if he was a junkie who had just gotten his fix. “She left me,” he said over the roar of the music.

“I beg your pardon?” I shouted back.

“My wife,” Newhart said. “She left me and took my son. He was five. That was two years ago. I haven’t seen either one of them since.”

“Why did they leave?” I asked, not unsympathetically.

“I’m here, every night,” he explained. “I have to be.” The music ended and Peaches scurried off the stage, carrying her tips.

“What do mean ‘you have to be’?”

“Because she’s here,” he said, indicating the retreating Peaches. “I can’t help myself.”

Peaches walked out into the bar and stooped down to give Newhart a deep, tongue-filled kiss. “Thank ya’ll, sugah,” she drawled with a Tennessee twang. She looked over at me and smiled the most beautiful, pearly smile. “Who’s yo’ friend?”

“He’s with Kali,” Herman said simply.

Peaches’ eyes widened. If it was possible for a black woman to turn white as a sheet, she would have done so now. She backed away slightly. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, suh. Please. I was just bein’ polite is all. I ain’t trying to hit on you, unnerstan’?”

I was bewildered but nodded at her. “It’s cool, Peaches.”

“I gotta get back on stage,” she said as the music started again. As quickly as she came out, she was back on the cat-walk, minus her bra.

“What was that all about?” I asked my newfound friend.

“There was this guy that Kali liked,” Herman explained. “Peaches made a play for him. That’s when Kali introduced us.”

“You mean you and Peaches?” I asked, sipping my drink.

Herman nodded and resumed jacking off under the table as he watched Peaches perform. “About the same time that I said... that word. So Kali had a talk with both of us and suggested that we were in love.”

He looked at me with pain in his eyes. “I didn’t want to love her. I love my wife. I love my son! But I can only think of Peaches until I can see her again. We live together. I shut down my practice because I couldn’t say... certain words anymore. Because we can’t bear to be away from each other for more than a few minutes at a time. She supports me because this is the only job where we can still see each other all the time. She says she doesn’t mind paying for everything, but it’s eating me alive. Oh God, I wish I’d never seen Kali Martin. Never talked to her mother. Never took her case!

“And that guy she liked. The one Peaches... fucked... " He stopped. “I... I’m not allowed to say, but I thank God every day that I’m not Elton Wilson.”

Peaches came out the backstage door at that time. She gave Herman a soulful kiss and then sat on the other side of him. She avoided eye contact with me. Like him, she was shaking but when they held hands, they both seemed to immediately calm down. They really did seem to love each other, if that’s indeed what it was. If you could be commanded to feel that way about someone you don’t even know.

That’s when Dana came out on stage. I watched her intently. She had on next to nothing, very high heels, and more makeup than I thought it was possible for one girl to wear. She was twisting and parading around the stage like the cheap slut she was fast becoming. She didn’t appear to be enjoying herself, though. She seemed to be embarrassed on stage, maybe more so with her father there.

Something clicked in my head. “Show Daddy what you got, slut!” I hollered at her. I wanted to embarrass her. I needed to embarrass her! Dana needed it too. She blushed and smiled and tossed her bra off the stage and at me. I held it over my head and hollered. “She threw me her bra. What a fucking whore!” I thought Dana would cum on the spot when I said that. She was whimpering under the bright lights, obviously on the edge of orgasm, looking only at me.

“Stripping for your own father like some kind of indiscriminate slut,” I yelled loud enough for the people in back to hear. “I wish all your friends could see you now!” That made her gasp and jerk for a few seconds. She looked at me pleadingly, her eyes begging for release. Even from the stage edge I could see that her gold lamé g-string was soaked in her juices. She slipped her hands under her bikini bottom and frigged herself, not really caring who saw her.

“You disgusting little pig!” I continued yelling at the stage. “No wonder your mother left us!”

That was it, the most degrading thing I could think to say. With a shriek, Dana came, right there on the stage. She collapsed and crawled to the edge, toward me. “Please” she mouthed under the music. “Say it again, Daddy!”

“Your mother left us,” I screamed, “because you wanted to suck your Daddy’s cock!”

“Oh god, yes!” Dana writhed on the stage like a slut under a donkey in a Tijuana stage act. She played with herself through her flimsy g-string while the bar exploded in hoots and cheers. She rubbed furiously, intent on bringing herself off one more time. The music stopped suddenly, before the song ended, and she was taken offstage by two bouncers.

“Next up,” the apparently shaken DJ said, looking at his list, “is, um... Kali!”

Kali ran onto the stage and leaped high onto the pole. She wrapped both legs around it and used them to hold herself in place while she arched downward and touched her hands to the floor. Aerosmith’s Ragdoll pounded from the huge speakers as she did a cartwheel and came up expertly on her high heels. She smiled at me and winked, then pointed at Dr. Newhart and Peaches and laughed. Even covered by the music, I could tell it wasn’t a pleasant laugh.