Wet 51

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know if there are such things as loving, positive Mind Control stories in this category, but, even if there are, this is definitely not one of those. There is also a strong water sports theme throughout.

Tamara is a class act, just as her profile promised. She's come to this beach date dressed in a long flowing red dress, one clearly chosen to show off her assets. At the age of 26, she says she's not averse to settling down and that plays into my natural strength as a solid, dependable, career-focused man.

She's also susceptible.

I haven't tried anything too complex yet, but she's responded in good time to each of my cues. It's all subtle stuff - get her in the right position looking at my face with the ocean sun behind me and with the right combinations of audio and visual stimuli, I'm quickly able to get her to blink at my command -- two gentle taps against my thigh. She doesn't even realize she's doing it.

She accepted the smartwatch without question at the start of the drive. For a prototype, it's still pretty classy. I've told her its special function is all about sweat and salt levels and that's what her display shows. It's feeding a whole lot more blood chemistry directly to my phone though. I managed to get a good look when we stopped for petrol. Everything points to her being a healthy, well-rested, and well-fed organism. She's a little earlier in her cycle than I'd have liked, but that'll balance out over the coming weeks, even if today needs bigger doses.

So test number two is the lavatory break. Simple enough, and again the beach is the perfect environment. It's hot and it's in no way suspicious that I'm plying her with water. She should stay hydrated, after all. The sea is lapping at the sand. She'd need to go naturally anyway by and by, but it's only when my ringtone goes -- an ambient mix of ocean sounds with some very particular harmonics - that she gets up, excuses herself, and makes her way to the facilities.

"Sorry," she says as she returns. "That took ages and they were filthy."

"Yeah," I reply with a shrug. "It's a lovely beach but..."

This particular stretch of beach was a deliberate choice on my part. She won't want to make that hike again. During the wait, I had a chance to monitor her further and made some important notes on my pad. I know what I'm doing now.

We put our towels down and lie in the sand. After a pause, I offer her the contents of the hamper. She takes a jam sandwich and some of the biscuits. Again, she's nicely malleable. She's chosen exactly what I was suggesting to her just with my tone and body language. The biscuits will make her thirsty again and jam is an excellent transmission medium.

The chemistry of love can be divided into three parts -- lust, attraction, and attachment. Tamara is a long-term project which means today will be a nice balancing act between all three.

I'm starting with attraction. We'll lie here for a while in the sun all relaxed while her dopamine and serotonin levels start to kick in. Perfect. With just the two of us here, there's only me to latch onto.

It's a pity that we can't move straight to attachment because she immediately offers to rub sun-cream on my back and I return the favour. Without having had the opportunity to elevate her oxytocin levels though, she's not getting the full benefit of all this physical contact

I make small talk as we lie there. All this lab voodoo is good, but I still need to reach a minimal level of charm. She tells me about her hometown and starts to ask about my work as a biochemist. I overcomplicate it as a way to deflect without lying and she doesn't ask any follow-up questions.

After an hour I offer her a laced Coke and she accepts another layer of sunscreen from me. This time we do get a significant bonding effect - a quick glance at my phone's screen confirms it. It also gives me a great opportunity to look her over again as I apply the lotion. She really is magnificent -- not an inch of fat on her, except possibly around those lovely breasts, which are superb even when she's lying on her back. I hope this works. The next specimen might not be so fine. Still, the next phase is going to be a bit tricky.

"You want to go for a swim?" I ask.

"Sure," she replies.

"Great," I say. "Just a second." I go into my back, pull out a small speaker, and make a Bluetooth connection with my phone. I then set a timer for five minutes. A quick glance at my own waterproof watch and I'm synchronized.

She looks at me in askance.

"Sorry," I tell her. "It's my day off, but the lab relies on me. If I don't answer questions fairly promptly, it can waste the whole team's day. They probably won't call, but..."

"It's okay," she says.

It's a lie. I work alone. But serves two purposes. Firstly, it just helps me navigate the technical issues. She needs to be able to hear my phone from the water. Secondly, and as a bonus, I've managed to subtly elevate my own status just as her cortex has become more primed to care about such things.

I offer her water from a new bottle. This one stimulates testosterone production -- people think it's just a male chemical, but it actually helps with horniness in both sexes. We strip out of our beach clothes to reveal the costumes we were wearing underneath. As we head into the sea she's holding my hand for the first time on this date and once we are in up to our shoulders, she's positively frisky, splashing me with water and laughing. I splash back and there's some horseplay. She starts to wrestle with me, jumping on my back at one point.

I have to watch the time and make sure she's positioned properly at the just right moment. With thirty seconds to go, I wait until she's in front of me and slow things down for a tender moment.

"I'm really enjoying our time together," I tell her.

"Me too," she replies. "I've been on a few dates recently, but none of them have felt so...I don't know...so right, so quickly. You're very easy to be around."

"Thank you," I say. "I feel the same way."

Just as I'm about to lean in for a kiss, my phone goes off. Perfect. Her face screws up for a second and then it's back to normal.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, nothing," she replies, suddenly flustered. "Just a bit of cramp."

The water is already warm, so the slight increase in temperature that comes wafting around my thighs is nearly imperceptible -- if you don't know to expect it. This process should be Pavlovian. The more times I trigger her, the more automatic it should get.

We swim, properly this time. I demonstrate my physical prowess, much improved after I read some papers on next-generation steroids earlier this year. As the sun starts to set, we come out, towel off and I invite her to dinner.

"I know a great seafood place just five minutes drive along the coast."

It's a given that she agrees at this stage. The numbers are way past 'crush' and heading nicely toward full-on 'love'.

The restaurant is high class for all that it's on the seafront and can't enforce a dress code. I ask for a table on the second-floor balcony. The toilets are on the ground floor.

I order for her. Not in a direct way, just everything I recommend she immediately accepts. She's smiling constantly now, anything little thing I do or say and she flashes her teeth at me. I'll need to bring her body chemistry to a crescendo, but she's ideally primed right now.

After the wine comes and we toast, she goes off to the ladies. She's probably checking out her looks after the swim, making sure nothing stops her landing the big catch. She's horny. She must be, the amount I've dosed her.

But it's attachment I want to boost. I make sure the waiter is looking and then add the last of today's pills to the white. I set another timer for fifty minutes. Until then, i just need to be a gentleman.

When she comes back, the food is just arriving. She's sitting forward, listening intently to everything I say, touching her hair. She has no idea how to eat lobster, and I help her break into it. We're both having a great time.

The dessert has just been cleared away when my phone goes. To the human ear, it's exactly the same as before, but I've doubled the intensity of the key subconscious frequencies.

It has immediate effect. I see her suddenly grasp the table, four seconds into the tune. A second later she looks mortified.

"Are you okay?" I ask, refusing a non-existent call.

"Yes," she says. Then there's a pause. "No...I don't know how to say this. God."

"What is it?" I press. "Are you not well somehow?"

She looks around the restaurant. Everyone is engaged in their own conversation. She tries to lean forward and then stops, realizing she's risking exposing the lower half of her dress.

"I've had an accident. Down there. Jesus. This is so embarrassing. Honestly, nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

"There, there," I say. I'm out of my seat and touching her cheek. "It's okay. Are you...do you feel bad still?"

"No, it was just for a second. I'm fine," she says, then laughs sardonically. "I mean, I'm fine except I'm sitting in a pool of...oh, and tonight was going so well. Christ. Whatever must you think of me?"

"Don't worry about it," I tell her. "I've had such a great day today, I don't think anything will truly spoil it."

She looks relieved. I move my hand to meet hers. She looks up at me like an infant at a mother. Scanning my face for signs of anger. That's exactly the neurological response, I've worked so hard for. I signal concern instead. She's reassured, but keeps eye-contact.

Then panic catches up with her agian. "How am I going to get out of here?" she asks.

"It's okay," I say. "Let me take care of it. Wait right here and obviously don't move. Two minutes."

I head to the car quickly and get the coat from the back seat. It's long and dark blue, clearly for a man but as the evening starts to chill, it won't raise questions wrapped lovingly around a partner. I go back up and drape it around her shoulders. She stands up and covers herself in one rushed movement. As she steps away from the table, I backhand the glass and tip the remains of her wine onto the seat.

"Waiter!" I call, "I'm so sorry."

He comes over. The heady smell of the wine serves to cover the worst of the smell. "I'll get this cleaned up for you right away."

"It's okay," I say. "We're going now. Can I settle up at the bar downstairs?"

The waiter nods and wishes us a good evening. My feeling is that he didn't notice. Tamara seems to have come to the same conclusion, as she's visibly more relaxed. She's nearly home free.

"You can go and wait in the car, darling," I tell her, passing her my keys. "I'll settle up here."

She gratefully scurries off.

I pay and take a mint. I'm in no hurry, so I take one last look at her readings by the entrance and then stroll across the car park.

I could sleep with her tonight. It's tempting, so very, very tempting. But that would be jumping the gun. Today, I've laid the groundwork for her new fetish, but she still needs time to process it. When she thinks of me, she'll think of how vulnerable and exposed she was in that instant and how I took it in my stride and took care of her needs. The next few dates will be about reinforcement and diminishing the shame, but the seed is well planted. The first time she asks to pee in front of me, she'll think it's her idea. In a very real way, it will be. I'll prevaricate and then tell her I'll do anything for her, even that.

And she'll love it, she really will.

No sooner have I sat down in the car than she reaches over and kisses me.

"Thank you," she says when we separate.

"You never need to be embarrassed around me," I tell her.

"I know," she replies.

Give it another two weeks and she never will be.