The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mifa stared at her assistant. The pounding in her head had reduced over the day, but she was still seeing the occasional after-images in her vision, and hearing things that didn’t seem to be real, so she decided to confirm what Lati was apparently planning. “You want to build and operate a Terran social establishment?”

“I understand your scepticism,” Lati itted, “but, hear me out. If we’re going to steal—borrow—humans for a few hours at a time, before wiping their memories, where better to do it than a meeting place where humans apparently fully expect to have large gaps in their recollection?”

“I’m not sure if this is brilliant, you’ve gone insane, or I have gone insane.” Mifa twisted her face, trying to address an itch which had just surfaced, but with little success. “Can’t you get these damn things off me?” She shook her thin arms, now anchored to the clinic bed by ceramic cuffs.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I had to promise not to touch you. They seem ready to release you tomorrow, as long as you don’t have a relapse.” Lati tried to sound positive.

Mifa grunted, acknowledging the point. “You’re going to have to operate this in a busy human habitat in order for it to work. How are you going to avoid detection?”

“Well, you are aware that humans do seem to have a fascination for fictional aliens, judging by their entertainment broadcasts? We give the establishment an alien theme, make animatronic models that look like us and place them around the interior, and play background noise that sounds like our speech. That way, any accidental discovery of our people there can easily be explained away.”

Mifa considered this, and a smile crept onto her face. “If you can make this work, Lati, you’ll have my full for the next adjunct professorial position.” She looked herself over. “When they eventually let me out...”

Keeper Faso had found the study expedition fascinating, and her note taking device was stuffed to the edges with holos, multi spectral images, and copious amounts of her own notes. Nevertheless, she had missed her regular work, and was keen to see how her specimens were doing.

She arrived at the facility at visiting time, and peered over the heads of the crowd to see two of her charges in the living space, sharing the sauna—the third wasn’t visible at that time. Somewhat reassured, she walked around to her office to bring up the logs covering the days she had been away.

As she scrolled through the data, her already thin lips became much thinner, and her fingers started to tap a complex rhythm on her desk. Eventually, she pulled out a communicator, and selected a channel. “Lati?”

“Hello, Keeper,” Lati said, cheerily. “How was your trip?”

“Well enough,” Faso growled, “until I got back, and found out that somebody—naming no names—had been playing around with my humans.”

“Your humans?” Lati made a click of disapproval. “The zoological establishment acquired them, housed them, and s their care and feeding.“

The alien race had long since lost the habit of grinding teeth in frustration, but Faso wasn’t far from rediscovering it. “You know what I mean, Lati. Kindly convey to the Professor my polite request for her to notify me in advance the next time she wants to molest the humans. Unless she wants to go into their enclosure directly, in which case I want a front row seat.” She paused. “Where is the Professor? Her comm channel is apparently temporarily blocked.“

“I’ll be sure to on your concerns,” said Lati, a little too hasty in her response. “Welcome back.” The channel clicked closed.

Liam Olafson, the new lead partner of Olafson Law after his father had taken a well-earned early retirement, re-read the short cover letter in front of him, then raised his bright blue eyes to stare at Tove, his most recent graduate hire from UiT.

“Tove, this seems a little too good to be true. And, while I stipulate that many things in your generation are beyond my generation’s understanding, the concept is...” He shrugged. “Weird, honestly.”

“I would agree, Liam, but the organization checks out.” Tove, a child of the Internet age, placed her iPad on the desk and dexterously flicked through legal agreements, bank statements, credit enquiries, and even a couple of business magazine articles. “This company structure is solid, and has been well established for more than five years.” Little did she know that it had appeared only five days previously, simultaneously in over a hundred different electronic systems, correctly backdated.

“I confirmed the retainer deposit with Magnus,” Liam agreed. “Since he stands behind it, and he owns the bank, I really can’t dispute the financial commitment.” He pinched his nose. “But... an American company wants to run a nightclub in Tromsø? An alien-themed nightclub? And, as local representatives of the owners, we get guaranteed rates, plus a profit share?“

“Don’t look a gift moose in the snout,” Tove suggested, wryly. “The worst case: we do our due diligence, the client changes their mind and drops out, and we still get full rates for the work that we’ve done. Who knows? It might actually be a fun club. I’ve heard things about the Americans... Let’s not forget, this group can even write grammatical English, which puts them head and shoulders beyond our other international clients. Including the English.”

Liam threw up his hands. “Go ahead, Tove. I still don’t understand this, but at least I’m satisfied that it’s not a business risk, so I’ll take any upside you can find.”

It would be fair to say that the normal nightlife in Tromsø was not exactly hopping, but tonight the line for the opening of “Alien Encounters” was already halfway down the street, and it was still fifteen minutes to the scheduled start. It was a “warm” summer evening with no real wind, and of course the Arctic sun was still bathing the crowd in gentle light, but everyone still had the basic wisdom to wear warm clothing over their glad rags. A couple of entrepreneurs worked the line, serving warm snacks from their insulated heated trays.

The VIP guests had been discreetly escorted to the quieter side entrance. Secure in the anteroom, they were conversing in platitudes over Kir Royales and hors d’oeuvres. They were mostly local government and business magnates, though there were several tech startup execs in the crowd—generally identifiable by having made an effort to dress in a tastefully “alien” theme. Astrid, the platinum blonde CTO of an energy price optimization website, was drawing a lot of attention in her custom gray-green dress with artificial scales that wasn’t far off being a leotard. She had added a headband with three alien-looking eyes (painted ping pong balls) on springs, confirming that she was being tastefully ironic.

The nuances of fashion were not a priority for Martha and Furie, just completing their walk-through of the venue. Furie—pronounced “Fury!” but originally, plain Ms Anja Charaus—was a highly successful nightclub operator in . She had been lured to this apparent social backwater by a fascinating artistic proposal, coupled with an expensive and equally imaginative pay structure.

While she privately thought that her USA backers were completely—what was the American word?—‘Nuts!’, she was being paid very well, and her discussions with Tove from Olafson and Partners had convinced her that such largess was simply stupid at worst, not criminal. That said, actual success over the next few years would mean a payout that made her get wet just considering it.

Martha was also on an incentive payment structure. Furie had co-signed her contract as hiring manager, so knew the contents. It was much smaller than her own, of course, but even the base was still three times what Martha was worth. She was from Oslo, originally a computing system for one of the oil exploration firms, but that was the least important part of her background.

She had distinguished herself, at least in the eyes of the backers, with a near-decade of amateur costume and model creation for her favorite sci-fi shows, exhibiting and winning prizes at international conventions. Furie thought the whole thing absurd, but was sufficiently professional to bring the girl on board, and work with her to produce a visual extravaganza for opening night.

Right now, they were following a discretely marked, gently rising path around the edge of the main dance floor, with the lights strobing to the previously approved pattern, and critically evaluating each exhibit.

“I’m very proud of the animatronic aliens,” Martha commented, indicating the three gray-green forms smoothly dancing to the current beat.

“They’re pretty cool,” itted Furie, “though I do worry that someone is going to get drunk and try to make out with one of them...” She signaled to Åsa, spectacular in a glittering green vest and trunks but very little else, who was staffing the floor bar. “Anyone shows signs of getting fresh with the aliens, they’re cut off. Got it?”

“Yes, Boss.” Åsa moved on to check the last row of her bottles. “I’ll get Henrik to beam them outta here.” Henrik, a sergeant recently retired from the Norwegian Army Narvik Battalion, was a perfect gentleman, and the lead for the club’s security staff. He was also perfectly capable of removing a troublemaker from a room, through a wall if the door was inconvenient. If he were to play any role in an alien-themed movie, it would be the Final Boss for the space faring hero to defeat—and he would make them work for it.

The women moved up a wide, curving corridor. “I’m still not sure about these—what do you call them?” Furie gestured at three transparent tubes, each about a meter wide, embedded in the corridor walls.

“Transporter tubes,” Martha reminded her. “It was one of the mandatory design items, though I’ve added my own frills. It’s a really cool oscillating up-light through a lenticular floor, and you get to pick your own dance music to groove to.”

“As long as no-one gets claustrophobic,” Furie said dryly. “Or, heaven forbid, throws up...” She checked her smart watch. “Five minutes to open. Shall we head over to Control?”

The building was two-storey, with the club space itself taking up nearly the whole downstairs, plus about a third of the next level. ‘Control’ was a small centrally placed upper room that looked over both levels of the club via carefully angled one-way glass—there were, of course, security cameras everywhere, but Furie knew the value of being able to take the visual pulse of the club, and adjust the vibe.

Furie took the central Control swivel chair which, Martha had informed her, was modeled on the Captain’s chair in a sci-fi series she’d never seen, or even heard of. She slipped her headset over her tight black bun hair, artificially streaked with white, which reminded Martha of a badger. “Comms check in, all stations.”

“Front door, check.” Henrik sounded as if he were chewing gravel. “VIP check.” “DJ check...” The staff smoothly acknowledged in their turn, just as they had practiced during the dry run yesterday. Åsa was last to report, with a cheery “Top bar check; let’s get this party started! Woo!”

Furie couldn’t help but smile. “Music and lights up, VIPs in, front door open. We’re in business, people!”

The beat pounded, vibrating Furie’s chair, and the lights burst into life.

The transport craft, sitting invisible on top of a flat section of the building’s roof, waited patiently to be called into action. Its occupants, by contrast, were not so patient.

“Remind me again how we got this assignment,” Dore grumbled. “I seem to someone, naming no names, who was so bad at aiming last time that their next target has to be confined in a one meter wide tube.” The “transporter tubes” were, of course, directly beneath the craft.

Remi glared at her, but had no comeback.

“I’m glad we figured out the bird problem, though,” Dore itted. On their positioning trial run, a hooded crow had flown at full speed into the side of the invisible craft with a sickening “thud!", and dropped to the roof, neck broken. Fortunately, nobody on the street had noticed. Remi had figured out that the birds were sensitive to distortions in the local magnetic field, and re-tuned their emitters to create a local anomaly that caused birds to instinctively avoid it.

“ ‘We’?” Remi said, sarcastically.

Several sensor displays lit up, and the whole craft vibrated as powerful low frequency oscillations started to pulse through it.

“We’ve been detected!” Dore’s nimble fingers played her console at a speed that human eyes would struggle to follow. “Coming from below! Broad-spectrum detection and ranging on ULF!”

Remi laughed. “Looks like someone didn’t do their homework on the background to this assignment. That’s not an attack; that’s Terran entertainment, and it’s coming from our ‘club’.” She flicked a finger, and the security camera footage from the club appeared in a ring around them. Humans could be seen pouring into the spaces, and gyrating in a manner reminiscent of a wolverine feeding frenzy. A parallel frequency display pulsed with the—thankfully muted—audio.

“That’s terrifying,” Dore said, staring in horrified fascination at the displays. “They’d trample us into a puddle, and not even notice.”

“Give it some time for the club to fill,” advised Remi, “then we can go looking for some specimens.”

“Make sure you don’t pick ones that look fat,” Dore snarked. She dodged a snack that Remi threw at her. “Mind you, if your aim is like that, they have nothing to worry about.”

Keeper Faso slipped into the living space in her usual silent way. The viewing glass had recently darkened, and the blonde and dark haired specimens—Soeea and Maia? she decided to stick with those labels in her notes—were at the table, evening meal finished, quietly growling at each other.

Faso gently tapped the glass, not wanting to scare her charges. She was impressed at the speed of their physical reflexes—the humans might not think quickly, but their heads whipped around in a fraction of a second, and their strange eyes immediately locked on her.

Suddenly, she knew what prey felt like, and swallowed nervously.

Soeea seemed pleased to see her, though; a clear smile appeared on her face, and she slowly waved her hand as she growled something. Maia seemed more wary.

Faso slowly walked towards the pair, then carefully reached out to grasp one of Soeea’s fingers. She gave what was for her a fairly firm tug, which barely moved the human’s hand, and deliberately looked over at the drawing frames on the wall. She unconsciously held her breath as she waited for Soeea to react.

“What does it want?” asked Maja, puzzled.

“I’m fairly sure she wants to take me to the drawing frames.” Sofia stood up, careful not to bump the little alien next to her, and followed the small form as it trotted over to the frames.

The alien was clearly used to using the device. Her small arms and dexterous fingers moved quickly, drawing lines and filling in colors in a small space in front of her. Sofia tried to peer around the alien, but with limited success since she didn’t want to alarm her.

Finally, the alien made a gesture, and the small image expanded to nearly fill the frame. She stood to the side, and stared at the two girls with her strange all-blue eyes.

“It’s that damn laboratory,” growled Maja, and Sofia had to agree. The sketch was very good, albeit with an alien form of expression, and clearly showed the two lab tables along with various equipment around it. “Why’s it showing us this? We’ve already been there.”

“We have... But she wasn’t there, was she? I think she’s asking a question.” Sofia paused for a moment, then moved to the frame. With reasonable skill, she drew quite decent representations of herself and Maja, bound to the tables, and sketched to the side a chair with a representation of Frida sitting in it with small colored blobs on her to represent the buttons. Around her own head she drew a green circle with some protrusions, then she sketched several small alien figures and put a similar green frame on one of them.

The alien examined the augmented picture, turning her head to look at Sofia and Maja from time to time. Finally, she made the in-frame gestures which the girls recognized as saving the drawing.

She slowly walked over to Sofia, and looked up at the girl—more than twice her own height—waiting. In reply, Sofia eased herself to her knees and sat back.

The alien stepped forward and placed one small hand on each of Sofia’s cheeks. She stared into Sofia’s eyes for a few seconds, then stepped back.

“I think she’s saying that she’s sorry,” Sofia said, quietly.

“Oh come on, you’re just guessing,” protested Maja.

The alien moved back to the drawing and tapped on the representation of Frida, then looked at Sofia.

“Frida? She’s in the bedroom, on her period...” Sofia’s voice tailed off, belatedly realizing the communications barrier.

“Do you want to see her?” Maja walked over to the doorway leading to the private area, then made a “follow me” gesture, paused, and walked down the ageway.

The small alien watched her go, looked up at Sofia, then trotted after Maja.

Sofia followed behind her. “You might be tiny and weird,” she murmured, “but damn, you’re brave.”

Keeper Faso had had little difficulty interpreting Soeea’s augmentation of her sketch. While she was unfamiliar with much of Professor Mifa’s research, the drawing had made the brain connector devices obvious. She wasn’t sure exactly what inhibitors had been put on the bald human, but that was quite irrelevant to her growing anger. Direct brain connection to a human! What was Mifa thinking? She must have known the damage she could have caused to a human brain...

She followed Maia to the sleeping space. There on the bed was the bald one—though now with the start of brown fur coming through her scalp. She was curled up on the bed, hugging one of the cushions, and didn’t look happy.

When she noticed Faso standing in the room, she gave the Keeper what was an unmistakable glare, and growled something. However, Maia and Soeea growled back, then Maia walked to the bald one, gently touched her lower stomach, then turned to look at Faso.

Faso’s sensitive nose wrinkled as she picked up the metallic scent of alien blood. Of course—the periodic menstrual shedding. Faso’s race had overcome that a long time ago. She hadn’t seen a human this badly affected by it, however.

She slipped the hand-sized scanner from a pouch, took one step towards the bed, then held up the scanner as she looked up at Soeea.

More growling, then the brown one slowly rolled onto her back, discarding the cushion. She was watching Faso carefully, but not moving.

Faso realized how much she was trusting to her own interpretation of the alien actions. The final few steps towards an obviously unhappy, and wary, alien that could flatten her without breaking a sweat were very slow ones.

She lifted her scanner and held it above the human’s brown-furred mound, noting that at least Mifa and her team hadn’t needed to go in here—yet. It took less than a second for the scanner to identify the chemical anomalies.

“Menstrual cramps,” she announced to the human, re-holstering the scanner. “You poor thing! No need to worry; I can fix this.” The human stared blankly at her.

Faso rummaged in another pouch, and retrieved the heart-shaped neuromuscular stimulator.

Frida’s time of the month was seldom fun, which is why she’d made sure the hike with her friends was due to end before it. Unfortunately, trapped as she was in the zoo without even a hot water bottle on hand, when she’d felt the first cramps this morning, she’d known that it was going to be a tough couple of days.

The day hadn’t improved when the girls had come back from the living area accompanied by the alien.

“What does it want?” she growled, giving the small figure the stink eye. She had had quite enough of being a guinea pig, and now they were even invading her bedroom.

“I think she wants to help,” said Sofia, looking hopeful. “She didn’t seem happy about our... treatment earlier.”

“Give her a chance,” urged Maja.

Frida groaned. “Okay, I doubt it’ll be able to make things worse.” She discarded her pillow and rolled onto her back, though she kept an eye on the creature as it approached.

She didn’t feel anything from the scanning process, but as soon as she saw the heart-shaped metallic item come out of the creature’s pouch, she immediately scooted back in alarm.

“Hell no! Get that thing away from me!”

“Frida, what’s wrong?” The girls were baffled.

“Do you know what that thing does? It...” Frida decided that now was not a good time for a full recounting. “Well, you won’t forget it in a hurry if it happens to you, let me tell you.”

The small alien was looking between Frida and Sofia, clearly unsure how to proceed.

Sofia decided to take charge. She lay on the bed, between Frida and the alien, and gestured to the alien to come forward.

The brown one’s sudden dart to the side had alarmed Faso, and she froze in her tracks. While generally trusting in her relationship with the humans, she was still unwilling to risk getting close to one that was clearly on edge and giving her what looked like a very dirty look.

She was relieved when Soeea took charge, lying between her and the brown one. Her gesture was a very clear request, and Faso slowly approached, carefully placed the stimulator on Soeea’s abdomen, and started its cycle. Soeea lay there for a few moments, growled something to the brown one, and then gestured again for Faso to remove the device.

The brown one reluctantly took Soeea’s place, and Faso approached again, seeing the human’s tense muscles. She was exaggeratedly slow with her placement, seeing the human twitch as she felt the device fasten on, then she delicately reset the program and started it.

To her relief, the brown one’s expression changed, and she saw the tense muscles start to relax. The stimulator would slowly ease the cramps, and after about thirty minutes the brown one should be as good as new.

She started to wonder about its reaction to seeing the device—and then it clicked. She knew exactly why it had engendered that reaction. Her lips narrowed. Professor Mifa was going to answer for this.