tagMind ControlHeart Strings Ch. 01

Heart Strings Ch. 01

byMissLisaJones©

Once again, I've had problems with the Literotica categories. This tale could equally have fallen into the Erotic Horror or Lesbian Sex categories but, in the end, it's about Mind Control, so that's the one I've chosen.

Having said that, most 'mind control' stories are told from the viewpoint of the controller. Whilst there are many variations, and I don't want to detract from the many good stories out there, the most common plot seems to be 'now that I have all these mind control powers, I can make my sexual dreams come true'. They focus entirely on the one doing the controlling.

But what about the person being controlled? How do they feel? What must it be like to find that your actions, your desires, your appetites are not your own but are shaped by another person's wishes...?

As ever, I have to express my gratitude to Estragon and OneWhoAdores without whom this story would be far less than it is.





It was the most extraordinary feeling. I had a strange compulsion that I just had to raise my right arm up in the air. I sat there just like when I was back in school and wanted to ask the teacher a question. For a moment or two I held it there and then, as quick as it had started, I was free again. I looked around the office. It was late and the only person left, apart from me of course, was Sandra. She sits a few cubicles away but she had her head down and was busy working away so I hoped she hadn't seen my strange behaviour.

She and I were two out of maybe twenty employees, all of us women, who work in the same office processing insurance claims. It's the usual sort of thing, one big room with 'pods' of desks, each desk with its computer terminal, its photo of the loved ones, a spider plant that needs TLC and a soft toy parading as a lucky mascot. At one end there's the tea point and the water cooler, right next to the supervisor's desk so she can keep an eye on us. We work flexible hours, and Sandra and I were two who preferred to arrive late and finish late so, as was quite common, we were all alone.

I was just beginning to relax when I could feel it happening again. This time I tried to fight it but to no avail. It was as if my arm belonged to someone else. I tried using all my willpower but I simply couldn't stop it. My arm went so far up in the air it was as if it wanted to lift me out of my seat. It stayed there for maybe thirty seconds before falling back down again. Once more I glanced anxiously at Sandra but, as with last time, she had her head down and was busy on her computer.

I'm not ashamed to admit that, at this point, I was pretty scared. I mean, it was as if a part of my body had developed a mind of its own, as if I no longer had complete control over my right arm. I needed a drink, preferably something strong, but, failing that, a glass of water would have to suffice. I got up out of my chair and went on over to the cooler and filled one of the plastic cups. I swallowed the lot in one gulp and was in the process of refilling when, once again, I got this strange sensation. This time, however, it wasn't physical, it was mental. It was a compulsion, there's no other word, I just had to fetch some water for Sandra. I took another cup from the dispenser, filled it up and went on over to her desk. She looked up and, with a shy smile, took it from me.

It's odd, you can work in the same office as someone for weeks and hardly notice them and then, suddenly, there I was standing beside her offering her a glass of water. At first glance there's nothing to notice, she's just so... ordinary but, now that I was really looking, I could see that she was quite pretty in a 'girl next door' sort of way. Her dress sense left a lot to be desired and, with her shoulder length hair half covering her face, it was hard to see her properly but now, for the first time, I was really noticing her.

"It looks like we're the only ones working late," I said in an attempt to cover my confusion over delivering her a glass of water without being asked.

"I like it this way," Sandra replied. "You don't get so many distractions."

She gave me an odd look, as if she were checking me out, looking me over. Added to the rest of my unease this was really freaking me out.

"I'd better go," I stuttered, "I've... I've still got lots to do."

"OK, maybe we'll chat later," Sandra replied, and I got this feeling of being dismissed.

And, for a day or two, that was it. My arm stopped going up in the air. I went back to being the life and soul of the office and Sandra went back to being the quiet little mouse that nobody noticed. There were only two things that bothered me. I started getting these dreams. In them I was a puppet, a marionette, forced to dance as someone else pulled my strings. The crisis of the dream was always the same thing, I would look up, up and up, following the strings into the darkness above me and there, staring down, was the face of Sandra. At this point I would wake us sweating, just as I would from any nightmare but, worse than that, and strangest of all, I would wake up aroused.

The second thing that bothered me was that I had this feeling that I was being watched, and watched by Sandra. I could never catch her at it; every time I looked she had her head down and was hard at work but I still couldn't shake the feeling. Without really knowing why I stopped working late; anything to make sure we weren't alone in the office again. I told myself I was being stupid but I couldn't help how I felt.

And then, one day, I was walking past her desk and I noticed the marionette. It was nothing special, just a cheap toy, maybe nine inches high. It looked a bit like one of those jointed figures artists use except that it was made out of blue plastic rather than wood. It hung by threads from the control bar, which was hooked over the top of her computer screen. Whilst the pear shaped head was completely devoid of features somehow it looked sad and forlorn. I couldn't help but stop and stare.

"Hello," Sandra looked up at me. "Can I help?"

"I was just..." I tailed off. How could I explain what I was looking at and why?

"Were you admiring my marionette?" she asked with a smile. "Silly little thing, isn't it? Still, I picked it up at the market and rather fell in love with it." She gave a light laugh and unhooked it from her screen holding it so that it lay across the palm of her hand. As she did so I felt a warm glow all down my back, as if it were me, not it, that was in her hand. She stroked the belly of the marionette with her forefinger and I nearly vomited, the sensations were so intense.

"I haven't seen you around for a while," she said. "You used to work late all the time and now...."

"I've been busy," I blustered.

"Why don't you work late tonight?" she asked, "or are you 'busy' again?"

Her finger moved lower, stroking the groin of the marionette and, as she did so, my own groin was reacting in a way that was completely inappropriate for the office. With the tip of her fingernail she stroked the plastic between the marionette's legs and the sweetest sensations coursed through me. I had to clamp my knees together and put my hand on her desk to steady myself.

"You will stay late, won't you?" Sandra asked sweetly.

"Yes, yes, of course," I said breathlessly. Right then I would have agreed to anything.

If she didn't stop stroking that damn marionette I was going to lose control and climax, right there in front of everybody. As it was I had to bite my lower lip.

"Well, I'll see you later then," she said and, as she did so, she replaced the marionette so it once again hung forlornly from the side of her screen.

It was like flicking a switch. One moment I'm struggling to control myself, struggling to stop myself from plunging my hand down my pants, frigging myself stupid and exploding in ecstasy, right there in front of everyone. The next, as soon as she stopped playing with the marionette, it was as if it had never happened. Oh, sure, I still felt breathless and confused but I wasn't turned on in the slightest. The tingles from down below were nothing but a vague memory.

That afternoon I sat at my desk, hardly able to concentrate on work. Sandra, innocent, shy little Sandra, had almost been mocking me, playing with me. There was some sort of connection, some link between that damn marionette and myself and she had found the key to unlock it. Ceding that level of control to another person was really scary, especially someone I knew so little about.

Come five o'clock and the office was fast emptying. One by one the rest of the girls powered down their terminals, packed up their things and left for the night. I kept glancing across at Sandra but she seemed to be ignoring me. The tension was really getting intense. I couldn't help but wonder what she had in store, what strings she was going to pull but, like the marionette hanging from her terminal, all I could do was wait until she decided it was time for play.

Come six o'clock Jessie, the only other one of us left, finally packed up her stuff and, with a cheery 'goodnight girls', she was off. Now it was just the two of us. The tension was unbearable. I knew that, at any minute, she would turn her attentions to me. The minutes ticked by, although maybe not as many as it seemed. Every time I glanced at my watch it hardly seemed to have moved at all. One thing was for certain, I wasn't doing any work. There was only one thing I could concentrate on and that wasn't the figures on my computer screen.

Eventually I could take it no longer. Although it took an extraordinary effort of will I shut down my computer and stood up from my desk. As soon as I did so the office seemed to expand, the walls disappearing into the distance. In a dreamlike state I fought the illusion and tried to head for the door. Far away or not, I had to get there, I had to, I had to....

"But you promised," Sandra called from her desk. "You promised you'd stay."

As if on a swivel I turned towards her. She had taken the marionette from her terminal and was, once again, holding it. She held it so it knelt on her desk and, as she did so, I fell to my knees and, matching its movements, shuffled across the floor towards her. I wanted to cry out, to protest, but my lips felt as if they were glued together and I was unable to make anything more than mild mewing noises.

"That's better," Sandra said once I was next to her. "Now you wait there a moment, I'm almost finished."

She hooked the marionette back over the edge of her screen and went back to work. I wasn't freed. Unable to move, unable to speak, all I could so was kneel beside her and watch. At this point the weirdness was ratcheted up yet another level. Whilst most of me was screaming inside with impotent rage, there was another emotion steadily gaining ground. Part of me actually wanted to be there on my knees silently worshipping. It was as if, as well as the physical control she had over my limbs, she was also gaining control over my emotions. From where I knelt I could just see her knees poking out from under the hem of her skirt and I had an urgent desire to kiss them. The fact that I couldn't, as I was unable to move, just made it worse. The more she made me wait the more fixated I became and, to top it all, the hornier I became. Without having any control over it I was getting turned on by fantasising about kissing another woman's knees.

Now, I'm straight, straight as an arrow, always have been, always will be. Although I was 'between boyfriends' at the time I was definitely not bi-curious. If I was looking, I was looking for a man, a real man, a hunk, someone with a penis, preferably a nice big fat one. And yet, there I was finding Sandra's knees unbearably sexy. Worse still, I was beginning to hate her skirt for obscuring her thighs. I wanted to gaze on them as well, all of them, from her knees all the way to her waist. Given the chance I would only start by kissing her knees, after that I'd want to kiss everywhere else as well.

At last Sandra logged off from her terminal and packed up for the night. I was too fixated on her knees to see exactly what she was doing but I heard a faint murmur and then, suddenly, I was able to move again. However, all my rage, all my frustration, seemed to have vanished and, to my own amazement I looked up at her and said, "Please, Sandra, would you do me the honour of coming out to dine with me?"

"Why, Julie, how sweet of you," she gushed. "I just need to use the little girl's room and I'll be right back. Will you wait for me?"

"Of course," I said. Not that I had any choice. I might have been able to move from the knees up but my knees were still stuck to the carpet and I was going to be staying there until she freed me. I couldn't help but admire her backside as I watched her walk off toward the washrooms.

"All done," she said when she returned. "Now, where shall we go?"

I was now able to stand up but I was far from free. This time the control was more subtle. I felt as if I were an actor in a film of Sandra's devising and the plot was simple; Julie takes Sandra out for a date and woos her. I was firmly cast in the 'gentleman' role. I fetched her coat for her, I held doors open for her, I called the taxi and, together, we went to Jack's Bistro, one of my favourite haunts.

I was captivated. Well, of course I was, and in a very real sense, but, as well as that, to my continued amazement, I was actually having a good time. I guess that, this too, was part of the script. I have no idea what we talked about but I felt as if I were at my witty best and in the presence of the most charming of dinner companions. Being a true 'gentleman' I made sure that I was attentive and didn't dominate the conversation. I was even genuinely amused by her tales of the crazy antics of the cat she had had as a child. The voice at the back of my head that was screaming about how I was being used and controlled was increasingly being drowned out by the simple fact that I was enjoying myself so much.

We were there for hours, lingering over the coffee and brandies until, eventually, I just knew that it was time to go. I asked Manuel, the Maître D' at Jack's, to call us a taxi and, fifteen minutes later, we were pulling up outside the block of flats where Sandra lives. We got out, I paid off the taxi, and, still the perfect gentleman, I escorted her all the way to her front door on the thirteenth floor. She was reaching for her key from her handbag when, under the spell of the evening, I swept her into my arms and kissed her.

Oh bliss! Never before had a kiss been so sweet, so right, so proper. I wanted it to go on forever. I wanted... I wanted... I wanted her and in a very animal way. The need to kiss her, and 'need' is the only way to describe it, was echoed by other powerful needs, not least the one from my groin. I pinned her against the door jamb and forced myself against her.

"Please, Julie!" Sandra pushed me away from her. "I'm not that sort of girl."

"Excuse me, I'm so ashamed, I don't know what came over me," I replied. Goddam the minx, she was putting me through hell, making me want her uncontrollably and then making me apologise for acting on it.

"Seeing as how you've been so good otherwise, I'll forgive you," she said sweetly and, before I knew it, she had pecked me on the cheek, unlocked her front door and disappeared inside.

Dazed and confused, I staggered back to the street and went to find a taxi to take me home. Now that we were apart normality had returned. Now that her control was gone I could assess what she had made me do, how out of character she had made me act. Let me say it again. I'm straight, straight as an arrow. I don't fancy other women. The very thought turns me off except... except all evening the thought uppermost in my mind had been that I wanted to explore the inside of Sandra's knickers. I wanted to get down and dirty in a ways I'd never done before. And that kiss! So electric, so wild! I had wanted it to go on forever. Now, with only a fleeting echo left, I felt hollow and alone.

It took a while to find a taxi but I was home before too long and I made myself a nightcap before heading for my bed. The answer-phone was flashing and, when I pressed play, I found I had a message from Ben, a guy I had been after for a while. I'd met him down at the gym and he had a six-pack to die for. I was hoping to find that the bulge in his shorts was equally impressive. Under other circumstances this would have been manna from heaven but the thought of trying to date Ben while Sandra was messing with my head, well, it wasn't really a runner. I would have to let him down.

That night I had the marionette dream again but this time, instead of just hanging from the strings, she had me on my knees. This time, using the strange logic of dreams, she was not only towering over me but sitting before me. She held out her foot in front of my face. I strained forward to kiss it but the strings held me back.

"You want to kiss it, don't you?" the dream Sandra laughed. "Well, you're going to have to try much harder than that."

And, with that, I woke up sweating.

The next morning, after a restless night, I was making my way to the office when, as with every other day, I passed the florist on the corner by the bus station. One of those tugs, one which I was now beginning to recognise all too well, pulled me inside and, before I knew it, I had purchased a dozen red roses. With a sense of trepidation I took them into the office and, inevitably, over to Sandra's desk.

"Oh, are those for me!" Sandra exclaimed. "You angel, you are good to me. Thank you."

Blushing red at the knowledge that the rest of the office must be staring at my strange behaviour, I made my way to my cubicle and sat down.

"What was that all about?" Maureen from the next cubicle asked.

"Don't ask, just don't ask," I replied, nearly in tears. I knew, I just knew, that I was going to be the main topic of conversation at the water cooler and I simply hadn't got an answer to Maureen's question, not one that would satisfy. So now there wasn't one bit of my life this curse hadn't now taken over. In my work life I had been embarrassed in front of the whole office, in my private life I had turned down the man I was most interested in and, even when alone, I could barely sleep, kept awake by the marionette dreams that haunted me.

Sandra, of course, had found a vase from somewhere and the roses were proudly displayed on her desk. From being the quiet mouse that everyone ignored, this had made her the centre of attention. Several of our co-workers had gone over to 'admire' them and I caught the occasional not so discreet glance in my direction.

And then the bitch just ignored me. Oh, sure, the marionette still hung from her terminal but she never paid it or me one iota of attention and I felt as if, I too, were just left hanging until she was ready to play again. I knew, I knew in my bones, I knew with a rock hard certainty that this game was far from over, that this was just another ploy, but there was nothing I could do about it.

As the week wore on she seemed to go out of her way to make sure we were never alone together. Night after night I would stay late but she always left early and, each evening, I was left with this empty feeling.

And then, on Friday night, I tried going out with the gang. We met up in Yates's as ever and I tried my hardest to join in. The drinks were flowing and the music was loud and I was finally starting to have a good time when I saw her watching me, over by the bar, except, when I looked again, it was someone completely different. Somehow Sandra had managed to infiltrate my evening out. I tried putting this down as a one-off but time after time this pattern repeated itself and each time I 'saw' her I was getting jumpier and jumpier. Finally I could take it no more and, pleading a sick headache, I made my way home.

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