The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first thing I notice about Dolores is the welcome to Dolores sign. After that, I notice the buildings. Plenty of fire escapes, old fashioned brick style architecture, and a homey feel that makes a part of me feel welcome. Midas doesn’t have a lot of brick, but the style of the buildings and the copious amounts of ways to climb up to the top of the city makes me feel comfortable.

Every city I enter, I enter as Patina. In a way, I guess that might be something easily tracked. Eventually people might notice that Lucia Colloten always follows behind any Patina sightings—but if anyone ever asked her she would just say she’s a fan.

A part of me was really worrying that Dolores was going to be a dump with trash cans kicked over on every street corner and a multitude of broken windows. I’m sure if I went looking for them I could find them, but at a first glance, it’s just another city. The first order of business is to find out if Patina is needed. There’s still plenty of moonlight left before the sun rises—if I can’t find something to take care of I’ll just need to find a place to stash my bike so I can dress up as Lucia and get settled.

It feels so strange, but when I’m like this, suited up with a mask surrounding my eyes and a leotard clinging to me tighter than it should be, I feel far more myself than when I’m Lucia. Hopefully, that is a good thing. If it’s not, then it’s probably already too late to do anything about it.

The further I drive the more I get the strangest feeling. It’s a city, but things are just a touch too quiet. Things feel a bit too muted, but there’s an undercurrent that feels like lightning is just waiting to strike. The hair on the back of my neck isn’t rising up but that’s the only thing that doesn’t have that feeling. Something is going on around me, just in the shadows, just out of the corner of my vision, and I get the feeling it shouldn’t be happening at all.

My headlight shines down an alleyway as I take a purposefully slow turn, and I finally spot something. I tighten up the breaks and stare down the woman my headlight in shining on, and she stares back at me like a thief caught in the headlights.

It’s impossible not to twist the cliché that way—she’s even wearing a cliché bandana with two eyeholes cut out for a mask!

Her skin is dark—that sweetly dark color that looks like a fine coat of cocoa rubbed over it and then tempered with a gentle bit of cherry juice—just a little. Just enough to add that sweet redness. I’d use the word Latina, but I’m never sure when that’s offensive and when it’s not—and they’re not Latin—I am far closer to being Latin.

The only sounds are soft scurrying in the shadows and the subtle purr of my engine. She doesn’t dare move, and I don’t either. If she moves, I’ll chase. If I move, she’ll run. Neither of us knows who the other is. Should I chase her? Should I let her go?

Taking a deep slow breath, I stretch up and lean over the front of the bike and rev her engine just once. “Who are you? Tell me who you are, and we won’t have any problems. Maybe I’ll just let you go, huh? I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t even know who you are, ya know? So just tell me who you are, and if everything sounds okay, we can both go our separate ways . . .”

I don’t have the most experience talking like this, talking from an intimidating role, but I can get used to it if I need to. It’s a nice rush. Maybe I should just . . .

“No habl—”

“No, no, see, I’m a little bit smarter than that hun. I know the trick of ‘let’s use enough Spanish to say I don’t know English to scare away the suit.’ Really. I think that you could use a little bit of education, just a little bit of gentle education.” My voice might be just a little bit firm, but she does look dreadfully scared. Maybe I need to tone the trash talk down just a little, but I just get a little bit carried away with things that give me a rush.

Her deep dark eyes just stare back into mine, and I wonder just how far I should chance this. I could trance her right here and now. I know I could pull it off. At my belt are a thousand (at least twelve) different ways that I could entrance her without having to rely on conventional means. It would be a good idea. I need some information on this city after all . . .

No sooner do I reach for my belt than does something fall from far too high above me, and I don’t know exactly how it happens, but my head smacks down against the bike, and my eyes cross in that painful way as the sharp pain obscures my vision.

As soon as I look up I can see a shadowy figure with long dark hair wrapping its arms around the girl, and then . . . jumping up onto the top of one of the nearby buildings.

I can’t explain what I just saw as anything besides superhuman abilities. No human can move like that. Something moved out of the shadows and slammed me right into my own bike, and saved that girl. Did it think I was going to hurt her? Is the girl it’s latest victim?

I don’t have much time to think about it when the sirens start going off and a car stops just behind me with blue and red lights flashing like strobes. How the police ever expect anyone not to be enraged by loud sounds and bright light after nine pm is beyond me.

“Freeze!”

Slowly I raise my hands up over my head, though I really want to rub the pulsing bruise on my forehead. Ow. That is going to leave one hell of a mark. Plus, the officer is a woman, and being agreeable now might help me make her agreeable later. “No problem, officer. No problem at all.”

The light shining off of my bike with its pure silver coloration must be a pain on the officer’s eyes, so I can feel just a little bit better about that. Of course, the tight darkly silver and rust leotard, gloves, and boots likely add a nice soothing edge to that. I’d like to think my skin would be alluring, but not every woman is going to be thinking like that—at first.

Footsteps move closer and closer, but I don’t dare turn to look. Police have more than enough reason to be suspicious of a gal in a mask on an overly expensive bike. Sure, it can’t shoot out oil slicks or bullets but do they know that?

Standard side arms don’t have enough shots to last through a fire fight, but have enough for at least one lucky shot to take down a girl not wearing Kevlar. On the inverse end, it only takes a single bolt of deadly energy to take out a fully armored police officer. Being that we’re on the same side when all semantics are thrown away, I’ll have to say I feel better having allies who are smart enough to risk being rude to protect themselves.

“Who are you? You don’t look like one of Oscura’s, but your mask is close. You here from an out of town gang to stir up trouble? We have enough problems in old town Dolores without any outside intervention.” She’s a pretty sounding cop, the kind of pretty cop where you just crave to handcuff to her own desk and peel off her clothes, and I have to try hard to hold back the playful remarks.

“My name’s Patina. I’m from out of town, but I’m not in a gang and I don’t want to stir up any trouble. I just go from city to city, cleaning up a little bit of this, a little of that . . .” Shrugging, I look down and see my reflection in the glass of my dash. That bruise is going to need a lot of makeup to make Lucia pretty. I might have to stay suited for my whole stay to avoid suspicion. “I’ve got no ulterior motives officer, just trying to lend a sparkle of justice to the thin blue line.”

The foot steps get closer, and for a moment I worry that maybe she’s one of the cops sick of the vigilantes she’s had to deal with. Maybe she hasn’t dealt with them, but if Dolores really has a problem, then she’s had to have had people drop in before who did it for fame or glory.

Saying that you want cities saved added to your crime fighting resume isn’t the same as wanting it on the twelve o’clock news.

Just a moment before I’m tempted to turn around and pull something from one of my pouches in the same move, I hear the officer holster her gun. It’s hard to describe the sound—a shuffling of material against metal—but once you hear it enough its discernable from any similar sound. The only real trick to it is that burying or pulling out a gun always sounds the same. If it doesn’t sound the same to everyone else, it does at least to me.

The footsteps go away for a moment, and the lights on the car dim and then go out. “Sorry about that, Patina. We’ve just been having a bit of a problem lately. Our own resident super Pyralis has been preoccupied lately, and just between you and me, she’s not the most reliable woman in the world even if she is powerful”

“Well, if you can’t be princess valiant . . . at least be useful huh? Normally I try and take care of things on my own, but this seems like a knot where if I just start tugging strings I’m going to wind up with a revolver in my ribcage. Is there anyone who knows more about this ‘Oscura’ who might be willing to let me help? I’m not much for court orders, but I am expendable.”

She takes a moment to consider it, and frankly, I don’t blame her. Letting an outsider help with an internal problem is always a risk. What if I’m reinforcements? What if I’m bluffing? If she was too quick to say yes, I would be sure she was crooked or naive. Neither is a benefit to the force.

“Sure. Follow me down to the station, and I’ll introduce you to Deputy Amezquita. She’d be more than happy to get some help in the dirty part of town. Things might look good on this side, but what’s the point trying to revitalize an area that just tears itself down?” Her voice is playful in that way all cops with a sense of humor get when they banter, but the words make me worry about Chronos’s neighborhood. Someone should be looking over it, but with me gone, I can’t know for sure if they are.

“Sounds great, officer. Lead the way. Always happy to help, but I don’t stay too long after I’m done with a case.” It really is more than just showing up at the right time, being a heroine. It means finding the people that are left behind with ruined lives. It means helping the survivors to thrive. You can’t just be a heroine and only deal with what’s shoved into your lap. That’s a selfish brand of justice.

The woman laughs as she steps away and I turn to face her. Her body matches her voice, and I regret that I have to be on her side. “Well if you see this through to the end, you might never leave. That was what Amezquita said when she was just a rookie.”

Whether she’s joking or that’s the truth I can’t tell, which does make me wince just a little. In the name of all that’s shiny, what in the hell have I gotten myself into?

“So, you’re for real huh?” The pretty officer’s voice is half taunting, half actually curious as she leads me into the station. Her car is parked out front, and I actually had my request fulfilled of having my bike locked away for me while I was in town. I’m not in the badge wielding supers program, but I guess when you offer to help clean up some crime it’s the least they can do.

And to think, I haven’t even pulled out my pendant in this town.

Nodding, I look around and take in the feeling of being inside of a police station again. It’s more or less like the one in Midas—a lot less high tech and full of criminals screaming at the top of their lungs as they’re carted off, but it might just be a bit late. “Mmhmm. One hundred percent real.”

“Then the Deputy will be very happy to talk to you. Old town, the bad side of the tracks, whatever you want to call it, is pretty much her territory. Most of us don’t feel comfortable going in that part of town. The gang wars are just getting out of hand. Sure, there’s normally not a lot of casualties, but you never know when La Oscuridad is going to be facing off with another gang, and it’s better to just stay away from that. Oscura is definitely not a woman I’d want to meet in a dark alley.”

She shudders, and a part of me just wants to run my hands all along her back, grab her ass and tell her that I’ll be meeting her in a dark alley tonight . . . but I manage to resist. Hooray—bonus points for me!

“Well, I’m not a miracle worker, and I don’t really have any abilities that are super human, but I want to do my best.” She nods, and I smile. “It’s nice to be actually greeted by the police for once. I’ve been on a little road trip, and most places aren’t too happy to see me.”

The lovely, yummy, officer just laughs and shrugs. “Didn’t you ever read comic books? Sure they’re fiction, but whenever a hero shows up a villain is sure to follow. Or vice versa. If a place doesn’t have a villain, why would they want a hero to show up? That’s just asking for trouble, and I think we could all do with a little less of that in our lives.”

Oh, if only she knew the half of it.

“We’re here.” The hallways colored that off tan color bulletin boards here and there have finally lead us in front of a wooden door with a portion of that glass that looks textured to obscure all but silhouettes. It clearly reads “Deputy Amezquita” in black lettering. “Deputy, I got the chica here with me!”

A slight blush raises to my cheeks, but I shake my head to melt it away and as the door opens and the officers hand waves for me to step in. The office is nice enough, it’s small, but her wooden desk cluttered with paperwork and knick knacks reminds me of my old police contact back in Midas. The law may be constraining from time to time, but it’s on the same side I am and frankly I would miss it horrendously if it were gone.

When my hot little strawberry the other morning mentioned there were a lot of Spanish speaking people in Dolores, I think she was underestimating that. Granted, I haven’t heard her talk, but with a gorgeous face like that and that sweet just-too-curly-to-not be-called-wavy thick black hair screams that she knows at least a word or two that isn’t colloquial. I could stand to learn a bit myself with such gorgeous women around.

“Welcome to Dolores. Patina, right? Have a seat.” The Deputy gestures across her desk, and I slowly step over and take a seat. “Officer, go see if my informant has gotten back to me yet? She was going to drop a note off in her usual place.”

The hot officer just waves her fingers, reminding me of someone I used to know, and leaves. It’s a shame to see her go, but it’s nice to be alone with the Deputy. Even if it’s not true, it makes me feel more in her confidence to be alone with her. Considering that half of the women in suits are out to get poor innocent deputies like herself, I would frankly understand a little more caution.

However, I am very thankful to be alone with such a gorgeous woman. Women in uniform just have that hot appeal of tearing that uniform off all the more. Bonus points for her being in a position of authority, right?

“Yup, Patina. Defender of virtue, rider of a gorgeous silver motorcycle, you know how it goes.” I smile just a little and lean back in the wooden chair, looking to the Deputies eyes.

The Deputy smirks just a little but it’s not a rude smirk. “So you want to help out down in Old Town? It’s pretty standard really. Poverty leads to crime. In addition, there’s La Oscuridad, a gang almost entirely formed out of orphans. We try our best to keep the gang wars in check and remove anyone from the situation we can, but frankly, there’s a little bit of a problem with that.”

“Oscura?” I raise my eyebrow slowly and lean forward. “Is it true that they only steal from other thieves? I’ve heard they’re like a bunch of robin hoods.”

“That’s what they say, but really, theft is theft, even if it’s stolen property. In a way stealing from thieves is worse than stealing from just Jose Smith. Jose will, at worst, report you to the police. A thief will retaliate. In a gang, that means an endless cycle of retaliation.” She pauses, and then pulls back to pull a manila folder out of her desk and drops it in front of me. “But yes, that problem is Oscura.”

Glancing down I trail my fingertips along the edges of the folder before opening it up. On the very top is a Polaroid photo tilted at an angle. The picture is very clear, in perfect focus. A girl with purple hair, some of it so dark it must be black, and skin much like the officer I met before though more washed out.

She’s dressed in worn jeans, not ratty but obviously well used boots and a top that shows off her stomach while tightly clinging to a very well formed chest. Her proportions are absolutely delicious. She’s that perfect size where a rather well endowed chest looks neither oversized nor attached to a heavier frame. Frankly, if it wasn’t for that mask tied around her eyes that looks so much like the girl I saw in the alleyway, I would want to ask the deputy if this Oscura had a phone number.

“She looks more like she’d be causing traffic accidents than leading a gang. She’s obviously very well toned, and from her M.O. I would bet she’s agile as a cat . . . but even still. Why would one woman be causing you so much of a problem and yet you were able to get such a clear photo? Is she super powered? Though I know taking down a metahuman is nearly impossible, I heard you’ve got a resident one of your own.”

The Deputy sits back in her chair and audibly sighs. “If only. Pyralis is more concerned with herself. She might help out now and then, but she’s no match for Oscura. I can’t be sure if she has any powers—reports vary. Some people say she can jump up onto a building from a crouch, and others say she protects her familia with a rage that literally can turn into flames. For awhile I thought that was just Pyralis turning against us and enjoying a little super powered crime spree, but she was across the world schmoozing with her lover.”

That description of her supposed jumping abilities can’t help but remind me of my own shadowy encounter. The girl she saved even had that same mask. I can’t be sure if I’m going against a flame flinging femme fatal or not, but I can nearly guarantee her dexterity is true as the rumors. “Even still, that doesn’t explain why Oscura is such a thorn in your side.”

“Very true.” The Deputy stands up and I start to slowly thumb through the files. Most of them are just reports of sightings and various pieces of evidence. There’s a photo of a man from I can only assume a rival gang with third degree burns. Attached is a police report, and this is enough evidence for me that I’m not just dealing with a small town punk with a habit for lighting her enemies on fire. She has tact and strategy.

That should not make her all the more attractive and the idea of hunting her down all the more arousing. I will help them ease up on her disruptions of the peace, and I think I’ll help her ease up on some of her clothes too. After all, she might need a little deeper help then most of the common criminals I give a helping hand.

“Oscura is of course the ‘madre’ of La Oscuridad. It’s not clear whether they existed before she joined them or not, but she is their madre, their leader, and they would follow her anywhere she lead them. As I said, a lot of her pack is made up of orphans, and they deserve real homes and chances to make real lives for themselves. As long as she leads them and as long as their gang insists on siphoning off of the others . . .”

So there is good evidence that her gang really is as altruistic as the rumors say. It’s a shame that the altruism is what’s leading to all of this chaos. “Well, I can’t promise to stop Oscura. I can’t promise to stop La Oscuridad, but if you let me read over these files . . .”

The Deputy leans closer, raising an eyebrow curiously. “What do you intend to do, Patina if you don’t intend to do either of those things?”

I actually manage a gentle smile as I scan over some of the information. This Oscura is actually much more pale than I’d originally thought, and only the front of her bangs are fully purple. Her personality seems like a woman I would respect, it almost makes me wish I didn’t need to go up against her. “I intend to help make things better Deputy. That’s all I ever do.”

Reading over her usual haunts, her usual style, her trademarks . . . I close the folder with a grin and slowly stand as I push it towards her. “Make things better? That’s very vague. I’m not really sure I like the sound of that.”

“You might not like the sound of it . . .” I wink and slowly move for the door, pausing as my hand grabs the knob. “But the results will be undeniable. I will help make Dolores a better place.”

With another wink I open the door, exit, and close the door behind me. The last thing a woman like Oscura needs is to be locked away in jail. All she needs is a little bit of gentle persuasion.

Leaving the bike with the police, I head out to Old Town on foot. Dolores is a decent enough sized city, but I know the only place that I need to go. The Deputy’s informant knows where La Oscuridad’s territory begins and ends, and where they can be usually found.

If I’m right, all I need to do is just find one of them, and I can find Oscura. After that, well, I have an idea or two.

The best plan is one not set in stone.

The closer I get to Old Town Dolores, the more that I begin to feel surrounded by that sad desolate feeling of . . . ruin. People can call it whatever they want, but when part of a city feels so desperately poor in comparison to another, something has gone terribly wrong. The sidewalk looks dilapidated and cigarette buts quickly rise in population right along with liquor bottles.

Those broken windows I was afraid of seeing before become more and more common. I never liked the term barrio, but it sadly seems to fit. It’s damaged, crumbling, and from the amount of store fronts that seem abandoned, there isn’t a large desire to open up new enterprises.

My destination though, is a small diner called The Nightwalkers. Oscura is often seen with several of her Oscuridad brethren enjoying a relaxing afternoon. If I have it my way, it will be a very, very relaxing night.

Not surprisingly enough, it doesn’t take me very long to find it. It’s just at the beginning of Old Town really, right after the likely protective barrier of abandoned buildings right where the border lies. The sign is neon and gaudy, but I can appreciate that. Before it fell apart this area was probably the beginning of the rest of the city. What rises first, falls first.

Right after I open up the door I scan around the inside. Right out in the open there’s a waitress sitting at a table with another two women. The waitress looks like common white trash with frizzy dried out blonde hair and too pale of skin, but the other two women look a lot more fitting with what I’ve seen of Dolores.

They both have dark hair—hard to tell the color in the dim lighting of the restaurant—and lovely dark creamy skin to match. Both are dressed in jeans, raggedy T-shirts, and have those darling masks wrapped around their eyes.

Cute.

“Hey, puta, we’re closed, eh? Go get your oddly dressed ass the hell out of here.” The waitress looks a bit worried and takes a few steps back, but the La Oscuridad member that spoke looks very, very determined. Frankly, though I appreciate her resolve, I just don’t have the time to reward it or deal with it. It’s not my place to be her mother—it’s my place to make her world a little safer.

“No, sorry dear. I’m afraid that I’m just not going to be doing that. You, however, are more than free to stay.” I reach down into my belt, and reach for the third compartment to the left from the middle, and pop it open. Reaching in, I pull out a small ball and toss it carefully under their table.

The Oscuridad members stand up, and the Waitress stands behind them, clutching them fearfully. Suits that drop by most of the time are probably not half as nice as I am so I can understand that easily enough. “Heh, you missed puta!”

“No, I didn’t. You really should be sleeping—it’s a school night.” With a smirk, I snap my fingers, and grin at the loud popping sound as the visibly blue smoke slowly spreads out. Of course, from it’s positioning, it builds up unseen underneath the table, enough of it escaping before it starts to rise up.

The two girls look worried and back up away from the table, but it really is already far too late. Enough of the smoke has escaped, and their frantic breathing along with the distribution system functions—waiting for all of the gas to be released before warming it enough to help it rise to an average nose level—it’s really a slanted playing field.

The waitress is the first to be effected by it, and the sight is lovely as she is. Unlike the bandit girls, she’s dressed in a short skirt and a lovely tube top. The only thing that really makes her look like a waitress is the nametag hanging off of her overly generous chest.

At first, her legs begin to slowly tremble, and her frantic breathing begins to tenderly slow as her eyes hood. Her fingertips twitch as she tries to move her hands only to have them fall helplessly to her sides. Her blonde hair shakes as she lets out a long slow moan and falls to her knees, nuzzling her face up against the legs of her friends. The process of falling against them makes her press far too close to them, and her top slides up and over her chest in the process. It’s a shame I can just barely see.

“Hey . . . What the hell did that chica do . . .?” The other two women seem to be unaffected, but I can tell the signs. Their waitress friend was shorter, and lighter. It took less to effect her. All that means is that I get to watch the signs progress much more subtly in them.

To think that I was worried about finding anyone at all seems silly now. Instead of one piece of pretty bait, I get two.

Blue vapor slowly melts across their lips, and the taste of it is enough to stimulate them apart. It’s a slow parting, and their tender gasps are beyond delightful. Every small part of their bodies twitch. As far as drugs go, this one isn’t all that bad and has no hangover to it whatsoever. It’s all natural too, just like their breasts as I can see their nipples start to harden under their tops.

Blue Dreams, as the drug is called, is above all other things a stimulant. It doesn’t make a woman hyper, oh no, but it does raise their self awareness of a sort. This nifty little drug dulls the senses by making a body feel hypersensitive and while the feelings of stimulation don’t feel physical—it doesn’t matter to the woman’s nerves.

Their lips twitch more, and as it curls up and moves through their jeans their legs start to slowly sway and shake as that sweet toxin curls and plays about with each and every delicate little nerve. Apparently the one to the left, with shorter hair and brighter eyes, is the more sensitive one because it’s not long before I can see the crotch of her jeans starting to dampen as she rubs her legs together. I can only imagine the feeling—every single sensitive spot between her thighs is being stimulated at the most primal level there is.

Her long slow groan is in no way surprising, and even less so is when her chest arches with a slow whine. Her eyes flutter and then open wide as her own arms fall at her sides. There’s no need for them now, no need to do anything while she’s feeling so good, and then falling slowly to her knees, and then onto her side.

Behind her, the waitress grinds her body subtly down against the fallen woman, and the creamy skin looks delicious as it melts against her.

The other woman, surprisingly, is actually managing to fight. Her body is no less stimulated and I can tell. She’s still twitching, swaying, and letting out small little whines . . . but she’s not falling and her hands are turning to fists. Her long hair shakes every other moment as she tries so hard to stiffen up and move, but even if she could, she wouldn’t be moving very well by this point.

Her legs clench hard, and her jeans are tight enough that I can easily tell as I get closer. If she has a strong resistance to the drug or just a strong enough will I can’t take the risk of her resisting. Grabbing a small blue pill out of that same compartment on my belt, I pop it into my mouth and move right up to her after swallowing it.

A little bit of immunity never hurt anyone after all, did it?

Smiling, I slowly stroke my hand along the curve of her cheek. She arches towards me, and I slowly draw my other hand around her waist to grind in close. My lips slowly rub against the lovely thief’s ear, and I whisper into it as softly as I can. “Blue dreams tear reality apart at the seams . . . Melt against me and feel everything but bliss pool away . . .”

My pretty prisoner shudders against me and murmurs something in Spanish but I have no clue what. She grinds against me, pressing herself against my leg, and I grind back. She moans, and after a single nip to her ear I can feel her body go limp, and it’s a very satisfying feeling when her body slowly slumps to the floor and rubs against the other two dreaming women trapped in the Blue haze.

“Enjoy your dreams, you three . . . Now it’s just time to wait for mommy Oscura to show herself . . .” Grinning to myself I nod, and start to plot just what to try to use on my latest opponent. So many options, but so few seem to capture the right feeling.

A mere moment later, I can hear the door open again, and the sound of footsteps before the door slams shut. “Don’t need to wait any more, puta!”

Slowly I turn to get a look at the woman, but I already know what I’ll see. Her top is even just as tight and revealing yet teasing as the one in her photo. Purple hair, sweetly dark brown eyes, and gorgeous curves that beg to be felt. Educating her on how to make Dolores a better place will be a pleasure.

“Thanks, I’ve always loved punctuality.” Turning fully to face her I let my hand rest on my belt. “I also have a thing for gorgeous women on the wrong side of the law. You’re just pressing all of my buttons.”