The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Welcome to Soaring Phoenix Records.” The talent scout is already waiting for us in the lobby when we arrive. I’m thankful beyond words. Even with the receptionist’s desk in plain view from the entrance, the building is so big that just walking in made me afraid I was going to get lost. The entrance is a glass double door, just like the exterior walls.

I could spend an hour trying to take it all in and not be any closer than I am now. New York is a big city with big buildings. Midas isn’t exactly a road stop, but it’s entirely different. Midas feels younger. Maybe that’s the best way to describe the difference. We got here yesterday, but I haven’t felt like exploring to pin it all down.

“Thanks! I’m really glad you could take the time to see us on such short notice. I know you expected me to call from Midas but something came up and—“

“And now you’re here, and that works out best for both of us. They’ll love you upstairs, and then they’ll love me for finding you.” Miss Strand’s words are almost as gorgeous as she is. Short blonde hair, glasses, and a figure that makes her short-skirted power suit look both powerful and sexy. I’m only half glad Aurora’s impulses aren’t affecting me anymore. “I’m thrilled to see you here, and glad to meet your . . . Mother? Sister? Friend? Lover?”

Mom blushes and I can’t hold back the laughter. “Mother . . . Valerie Raine. I don’t think that Sylvia actually told me your name. No wait, Miss Strand, right?”

“My boss calls me Miss Strand. You, Valerie, please, call me Shannon. Now, if you’ll follow me, I can get us up to the people we need to see.” I can’t nod fast enough. My cheeks are starting to feel sore from smiling so wide. Mom is smiling just as much. “Basically, we go up. I introduce you. We take you into a sound booth, and you show them what you’ve got. Between you and me? You already have the job. This is really just a formality. It wont hurt that you have an adorable smile.”

Somehow she can make a compliment flattering, flirtatious, and professional all at the same time. I guess that’s a skill you’d need in a job like hers. Flattery gets you everywhere, the libido is a powerful motivator, and she is a professional. All three and you have a winning combination.

Going after a nice professional woman might be a good change from being with a stubborn waitress. Damn it, Aurora snuck into my head again. I should probably be paying attention to Shannon and Valerie’s conversation but I’m too distracted.

If only she’d just stayed in the car with me, maybe that would have made it better. Waking up with her fingers inside me would have been new. It would have been so deviant, so delicious, so decadent.

Why couldn’t she have just tried a little harder to convince me we needed one last rendezvous? She knows me. She knows how bad I am at holding back when I really want something. Why would that have changed when what I wanted was her? I would have left either way, but not so quickly. She could have come with me. We could have shared a room, fucked right under Valerie’s nose . . .

Hell, if she showed up in my room I don’t know if I’d be frightened or thrilled. Probably both, but that only makes it better. So much better.

“Neby, see if you can stay here in reality.” Mom’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts and makes my cheeks burn. This is my dream. I’m only eighteen and I’m going to be a singer paid to sing. I never dreamed I would get such a chance so young.

Shannon, if she wants me calling her that, smiles with the faintest edge of curious warmth. “Neby? Middle name I’m not aware of?”

“No, just a shortening of a very old nickname. Sylvia takes after both of her parents, and neither of us are exactly normal. The combination wound up with her looking like a glittering nebula, and well . . . show her.” Sarah is famous – but not that famous. I’d sort of hoped I could get away with not flaunting my powers. Oh well. Smiling a little less, I hold up my hand and let the sparkling mist flow from my fingertips. “A nebula.”

“Wow. The women upstairs are going to love that. You don’t need it, but you know how many famous musicians there are with powers?” Shannon’s voice still has the professional edge tempering a flirtatious undercurrent, and while she seems impressed by my power she doesn’t seem . . . too impressed? I don’t know why that makes me happy, but it does.

I lean back against the wall of the elevator while I try to think. Damn, it’s slow. Only thirty stories, but that’s still pretty tall for this slow pace. “I can’t think of any . . .”

“None. Sure, there’re a couple here and there with sonic abilities – but not sonic abilities that sound good. I’m sure the marketing department is going to love this. I can see it now, Sylvia ‘Nebula’ LaSilvas. Super. Singer. Role Model. You’ll help teach a generation of young women that they can do more than save the world, funny as that sounds . . .” Shannon grins, and I can feel dollar signs in her eyes when she looks at me. It’s a hungry look and precisely the one I want her to have.

Not that there’s any hungry look she could have in my direction that I wouldn’t appreciate even if a rebound with her probably wouldn’t be the best of ideas. It wouldn’t end well, but it would start amazingly.

Valerie is smiling a little more. She’s a better role model than I am. She’s a doctor. She saves lives and she’s been out there on the rooftops. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live up to what she’s accomplished even if I work at it for the rest of my life. Still, I could make a good role model. I know I grew up wishing there were more famous girls with purple and silver hair.

Finally the elevator dings and Shannon lights up even brighter. She might be more excited than I am. “Don’t stop smiling, and you’ll do fine. Remember, these women want you to be what they’re looking for.”

As if to reinforce Miss Strand’s words, Valerie softly holds my hand and squeezes tight. Her eyes are swirling with that little bit of mist they always do when she’s feeling good and that makes me feel better. Not only does she feel safe holding my hand, she’s really proud of me. She could fake the words, but she can’t fake that look in her eyes.

The walk down the hall is short. It doesn’t even feel long. I’m walking on cloud ten, bare minimum. Don’t stop smiling? I don’t think I could if I tried.

Through the door three women sit at the end of a long, rectangular table. They’re dressed in business suits a little more professional (a little less sexy) and all eyeing me like a paycheck. That look seems to be going around. I just hope it doesn’t stop, or I might have to find some way to go back to Midas without broken dreams. I’m not sure how smart the idea of staying here is if they turn me down.

“Ladies, I present Sylvia LaSilvas, and her mother Valerie. You heard the demo, but that wasn’t even half of what Sylvia is capable of.” Miss Strand slides her arm around my shoulder, pulling me close in a very familiar gesture. It feels nice. It feels better than nice.

At the end of the table the three women speak to each other in quick, hushed voices. If Shannon had mentioned that my bosses would be a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, I might have thought it was a joke. Something about that detail, the way their looks oddly complement each other strikes me as something I should probably find suspicious. But this is a record company and I’m not my sister, or my mother – the doctor or the super villain.

I can have a life that isn’t full of suspicion about every group of people that has even the slightest look going for them. Style doesn’t have to mean someone to keep my eye on.

Well, it can, but eyes can be on someone in a lot of different ways . . .

Of the three, the brunette seems to be the powerful one. She sits between the other two, her long, dark, almost glistening hair falling in elegant ringlets, her bright green eyes look so intense. Something about her screams she’s the woman in charge wherever she goes. I want to be like that. I want to command the attention of everyone in every room, admired, voice sought after with tickets sold out.

My lips curl into a bigger smile. The brunette’s lips mirror mine. And . . . wait a minute . . . demo? I don’t remember recording a demo. Shannon must have recorded what she heard me sing, but it couldn’t have been one of my songs!

I must sound a lot more impressive than I realize if I sounded good enough for them to invite me here after hearing that.

“Pleased to meet you, Sylvia. I was very impressed with what I heard. You certainly look the part. Your hair and eyes, they’re natural? That alone ought to draw a crowd.” She stands, and her smile slowly turns warm as her eyes ever so faintly hood. “I’m eager to hear how you sound in person.”

Neither the blonde nor the redhead say a word, but they nod in almost perfect unison. People who work together must become more and more similar, like how it is when you live with someone.

“Oh, and I’m sorry, I forgot . . . how rude of me . . . Sylvia, this is Miss Corvi, Nina Corvi to be precise. To her left is Rachel Leighton, and to her right is Joan Tanzi. Sorry for seeming in a bit of a rush everyone, I’m just the faintest bit excited.” Miss Strand looks far more than excited. Her eyes look a little glazed, and she’s pulling me a little closer. She looks almost turned on with her pupils widening like that.

Am I that attractive? I’m not misting any so that isn’t why. Huh. She definitely looks yummy enough like this. Her lips keep parting subtly.

Something about that makes me feel a little flush.

Nina slowly steps closer, smiling a little more as she looks to my mother and holds out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. It’s always nice to see a mother take an interest in her daughter’s wellbeing. Always makes me a little worried when a girl shows up here on her own, since we always try to grab them up young. There’s always the lingering worry of what’ll happen once their mother or father pulls themselves out of the bottle long enough to get a local news station’s microphone in their face.”

Rachel and Joan say similar things before shaking Valerie’s and then my hand in turn, but for some reason I just can’t bare to pay attention to them. It just seems like it would be a waste of effort. They blend perfectly into the background in an entirely forgettable way.

I’m sure that makes them useful assistants.

Of course, my mom blushes at each handshake. I don’t think she’s used to so much admiring attention from people she’s never met. Doctors are important people, but this is her as a mother. “You’re too kind. I’m just here to make sure everything goes well, and for moral support.”

“Don’t sell yourself short! Now, I don’t want you to feel like we’re rushing through this, but we are. It’s important that we don’t stay still too long in an industry like ours, so if you would all follow me to the demo booth, we’ll see just how bright your future with Soaring Phoenix looks.” Shannon pulls away, her fingers almost seeming to linger across my shoulder, and starts to lead us out of the room. It feels strange to be walking in front of the head of a company, or at least a branch of it, but this is obviously their routine. I could get used to this sort of treatment.

This walk feels even quicker, even if it’s longer. Maybe I’m just floating too much to notice my legs moving. Here it is: everything I’ve waited for.

Inside the room is a switchboard, a microphone, and a door to the actual booth. A woman is already sitting at the switchboard with a big pair of noise-canceling headphones over her ears. As soon as she sees Miss Strand she gives her a thumbs-up and starts fiddling with the setup. I have no clue how it all works, I just know that it does.

Nina and her entourage stand on the side of the room opposite the door to the booth as Shannon gestures towards it. “Now Sylvia, if you’d just go on back, you’ll find a pair of headphones, and a page of lyrics. This is a little unusual, I know, since you’ve never read them before, but that’s all part of the experience. Just go back, get comfortable, and give us a sign when you’re all ready to start singing.”

“You’ll do great, Sylvia.” Valerie smiles down at me and softly squeezes my hand. “I’ll be waiting here, ready to congratulate you.”

“Thanks Mom. Won’t let you down.” I squeeze her hand back before letting go and making my way through the door. The silence is almost overwhelming, but I imagine that’ll change once I slide on the headphones. Being tested by the first sing-through of a song I’ve never read before? That is a little nerve-wracking, but they have to know that. Shannon said as much. All I need to do is show that I can still do great even under trying circumstances.

I slide on the headphones and, sure enough, there’s music playing through them. It’s a dreamy melody, almost like a noir-ish lounge song fused electronically with a haremesque tune. It’s the sort of song you’d imagine hearing in a dimly lit room, likely by candlelight.

My voice sung on the sultry side should fit. Quickly I skim over the lyrics and grin. They’re just suggestive enough while somehow staying innocent. Everything is innuendo, a double entendre that can be taken as lightly, or darkly, as the listener wants. Perfect. Sex appeal in spades while not being too over-the-top. I wouldn’t have requested it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t delight in it.

I sort of wish I could have sung one of my own songs, but if this is how they do things . . .

Once I’m sure how to make the lyrics flow with the song, I hold up my thumb and the music stops before slowly starting again from the beginning.

Something about the music feels like it pulls the words right out of my mind. They’re simple lyrics about desire, wanting, a craving, a need to be closer, and they feel like I’ve sung them a thousand times. There’s a faint edge of subservience to the lyrics, and feeling it slide past my lips makes me tingle.

I can hear my own voice singing back to me in my ears, singing those decadent words of veiled lust, but my voice sounds so much better than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the equipment, but I’ve never heard myself sound so . . . breathy.

Somehow I manage to keep signing, even if . . . mmm, the sound of my own voice keeps tempting me to relax and listen. I can feel the desire in the song, and hearing it sung back to me makes it stronger. It’s almost like the song itself is begging for me, craving me, wanting me . . . needing to possess me. Possessed by a song . . . mmm. a song so strong it can even magnetize me to myself. Trapped in a cycle of possession and yielding, it makes my voice go deeper.

Deeper . . . something about that word in this context . . . it either does, or should, mean something, but I just can’t follow it. I want to follow the lyrics, and the song . . .

“Drifting into you, needing only you, releasing everything to be just what you need . . .”

Pretty words flowing from my own lips, from my neck, from a place much deeper, almost feeling like it rises higher before it escapes. My eyes feel heavy; warm, sleepy . . . My scalp almost feels like it’s tingling. I’m moving with the beat of the song, but I’m not sure all of it is voluntary, and something about that makes me tingle in places no song has ever made me tingle.

The song ends with the chorus being melted out of me three times in a row, and something about that makes me quiver. There’s something so special about it, about being trapped singing the same five lines again, and again, and again . . .

There’s something so special about feeling those same lines slide past my lips only to slide back into my ears and melt down along my spine. My knees feel so weak, and my eyelids . . . I’m glad I already know the chorus. My eyes are having the worst time focusing.

Second time through the chorus, feeling like the fourth, and my lips are starting to feel heavier. It’s strange; they move with the song, but I don’t think I could move them any more on my own. My breathing feels deeper, more even, but I feel like I should be panting.

How could something that feels this hot, this good, feel so peaceful?

Third time, the last time, the end . . . and I don’t even know how I’m keeping my eyes open anymore. I look up through the glass, singing, lost in the words coming from my own mouth, and all I can think of is how perfect the song feels. I can see through the glass, but why I would want to escapes me. What I would be looking for, what I could be thinking, what . . . so many whats, and no answers worth disturbing the song to seek.

After the song finishes, I don’t even feel like I’m standing under my own power. On the other side of the glass I can see Mom now, and Nina, and Shannon. They’re all smiling, but not like I’m smiling. My smile feels lopsided, fuzzy, taped on over lips that are too limp to move into a complex shape.

The music is all gone, but I can still feel it . . . feel it inside me, pulsing, the beat still beating inside me, the melody glowing through me, through my scalp, through my eyes, between my thighs . . . Nina leans close to the switchboard and I can hear her voice through the headphones. She sounds so authoritative, so strong, so in control. It’s the kind of feeling the song craved, and I’ve become the song.

“Would you like to hear how it sounded out here? It was amazing. You did a wonderful job. We can definitely find a place for you, here.” Her voice sounds just like it did before, but I can feel other meanings to her words. Maybe it’s that, or maybe the faint sound in the headphones behind her voice is more than just white noise . . . I can almost make out what it says if I try to focus, the white noise of the intensified silence of the headphones inside the booth, but it’s always too distant.

But I do know one thing: it wants me to listen to her. It wants me to want what she wants of me. That’s how I can get what I want.

“Yes . . . I do . . .” I want to slur the ‘s’ and beg for more ways to show she has a place for me, even if it’s only at her feet, but that feels like it would be too much. It wouldn’t be professional. It would embarrass my mother. I don’t think it would embarrass me.

Nina grins at me through the glass. “Then here, have a listen, my newest songstress.” My ears feel opened wider than they ever have before in my life. I need to listen. I need to listen and feel my own words refracted and pushed deeply into my own ears.

My thighs quiver, and I’m glad I decided to wear pants. I think if I were wearing a skirt my legs might be noticeably slick.

The song plays again. Just as it starts, I can see Valerie being given the

headphones on the other side of the booth. She smiles at me through the glass, giving me her thumb and smiling so supportively. I don’t need it anymore, though. I have the song humming into my ears, and so many other places.

I watch Valerie as I listen, as she listens . . . the song is so much more clear this time. The meaning is so much clearer. I need to listen to the song. I need to feel the desire from the song wash over me, twine with me, embrace me. I need to surrender everything until the only thing left is my song, and then I need to give it to Nina. She has to be the one to guide my voice. She has to be the one I’m really singing to.

In the back of my mind a part of me misses who all of my songs used to be for, who I hoped was always listening, who I always wanted to reach . . . but she’s not as important anymore. She’s gone. I’m gone. I’m here, with Nina, with Valerie, with my destiny.

Singing it, the song seemed to go by so fast, but listening to it the song feels like it goes on forever. That’s not a bad thing. It just feels like the song is on repeat, pounding my brain with these delicious notes, my own begging, yearning voice, my own dripping desire, the heat I can feel begging from my chest and between my legs. I need to be satisfied. I need to be satiated. I need . . . I need . . .

Valerie’s eyes look so glazed, so glassy, so far away. I don’t think she’s hearing the same things I am, though, because her nipples aren’t screaming out through her top like I know mine are. It’s hard to resist reaching up to give them the attention they’re craving, but they don’t want it from me. They want it from Nina. They want to obey her touch. They want to have a place here at Soaring Phoenix. They need to, just like my aching lips. I want to be Nina’s voice, moaning and singing in ecstasy with her, for her.

And I want it forever . . .

Imagining a thousand women with the same glazed expression as my mother, listening, losing themselves to my voice, to my song, needing the CD, needing a ticket to my show, fingers buried between their legs as they prayed to their libidos that I wanted, needed them like they need me . . . like I need Nina . . .

This time at the end of the song, Nina leans past my nearly comatose mother, and her voice rings out through the headphones deep into my mind. “Sleep, Sylvia. Contract negotiations will begin when you wake up.”

Contract negotiations . . . she wants me . . . she wants to keep me . . .

My release finally comes, and I leave with it.