The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Kimberly Smith looked up from her patient charts as the entrance chimed. In the security monitors, she saw a woman looking straight into the hidden camera. It was eerie—there was no way the woman could know where the camera was, but it was as if she was looking right at Kimberly’s face. With eyes long since trained for detail, she saw that the visitor was dressed in what appeared to be a black silk jumpsuit, with long brunette hair and a sinewy frame that looked like it could do serious damage. This was a woman with attitude.

Warning bells began to go off in her mind. This might not be dangerous, but she had learned to be wary, over time.

She keyed the microphone that sat beside her in the main nursing station. “May I help you?” she asked, her voice full of the cold professionalism that she employed to chase away visitors who were trying to sell something, or were just plain curious. She hoped it would be enough for this intruder. She rolled a bit closer to the security console, becoming more wary as the woman didn’t move.

She took a deep breath and let it back out. This sort of thing happened on occasion. Enemies of the Agency had sometimes managed to find out about this place.

The Warrenton Mental Hospital was hidden in plain sight, located in the heart of one of the many ethnic neighborhoods that were scattered around Pittsburgh. Behind its masquerade as a simple facility for treating depression, it hid a highly secret and secure asylum for use by the Agency. Usually visitors were simply lost, or looking for a public bathroom. But once in awhile, it was someone trying to break in.

Someone just like this woman.

She hadn’t even acknowledged Kimberly’s question. After perhaps forty-five seconds of silence, her voice came through the console speaker, which laced it with static. “Sexual deviance is the touchstone of illumination.”

Kimberly sat for a moment, taking in the odd phrase. Without otherwise moving, she reached over, pressed the electronic door lock, and heard its buzzing through the speaker. She keyed the overhead paging console and spoke into it as if she were talking to a close friend. “Code Violet. Dr. Anigav to the foyer, stat. Code Violet. Dr. Anigav to the foyer, stat.”

She relaxed as she felt her crotch moisten. One hand crept up and began to massage her left breast. She mewled as the pleasure of it crawled outward through her body—much more intense than the stimulation alone warranted. She didn’t notice.

She didn’t care.

She was obedient to Mistress. She couldn’t even remember not remembering why and for whom she breathed every breath. There was only now, and now was telling her what she must do. And as she obeyed, the pleasure soaked in further, until her submission was more than something to accept. She longed for it, to bathe in it, to drown in the relentless arousal and lust and pleasure it gave.

There was a flurry of motion as armed security guards ran past, outside to a waiting van, and began to load large boxes onto a dolly. When this was done, they brought them in and began to place them around different areas of the hospital. Areas that contained personal computers.

She didn’t see any of it. Her eyes were filled with a dancing image of erotic, evolving beauty, an image she had come to know very well. It was the image of her purpose—of surrender to ever increasing pleasure. Ever increasing devotion and loyalty. It was the gift of Mistress Tamara. She licked her lips in anticipation of her coming climax. It was always better. Always.

She wasn’t disappointed. Wave after wave rocked her, sending her legs flying and body bucking beyond her control as her sun-heated cunt drooled more juices into her soaked panties. Her head rocked as nonsense words babbled out of her mouth, mixed with screams and mewls of animalistic abandon... she rode it up and over and down and up again, flying and diving, soaring for Mistress...

When her vision cleared, she looked to her left and saw that the black-silken woman had entered and was standing on the other side of the counter. Completely unashamed, she stood up, picked up her set of keys, and walked out of the nursing station, turning to face the bold intruder.

Her sister. The realization nearly made her come again and a hot, desperate mewl hissed out of her lips.

Filled with the grace of Mistress, she dipped to her knees, head bowed. Although she had never seen the woman before, she knew her for who she was. “Mentor, this slave awaits the commands of Mistress.”

Natalie looked down at the beautiful, kneeling woman. She had the barest moment of regret that she couldn’t take her now. Her cumming had been a beautiful and almost painfully arousing thing to see, and she wouldn’t mind seeing it again from a closer vantage. But Mistress had other priorities, which held their own intense pleasures. Later, there would surely be opportunity. For the time being, there were more pressing matters. “Take me to the patient, sister. You have done very well.”

Shuddering in deep, silent pleasure, Kimberly stood and guided her trainer through the maze of hallways, unlocking doors and holding them open in mute respect as they passed through.

Finally, they reached the plain white door of room 348. The nurse unlocked it and pushed it open. Natalie walked past her and into the room. She looked at the disheveled woman who was busy rubbing her cunt against an iron bedpost, facing the opposite direction. She appeared to be completely oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. “Is she like this all the time?” asked Natalie, glancing back.

“Yes. If she isn’t masturbating, she’s sitting and staring, or begging us to fuck her, or eating, or sleeping. Lately, it’s been driving us crazy,” answered Kimberly, as a giggle escaped her. Natalie heard the underlying, very real hunger in the words. It brought a wistful smile to her lips as she thought again of ravaging the young nurse. She trembled as the image added itself to the unrelenting euphoria of doing Tamara’s will.

“I can imagine. Such a pitiful life, though. No one to fuck, and dying to do so all the time,” Natalie walked over and placed her hand on the young woman’s sweaty shoulder.

“Ms. Geoghegan,” she said. There was no immediate response. She tried again. “Mary, I’ve come to take you home.”

The woman stopped her lewd gyrations. She turned and looked Natalie directly in the eyes. “Fuck me. Now,” she hissed, tossing her hair back like a horny harem girl.

Natalie added that to her list of things to do.

The drive back to the Agency was uneventful, save her call to Mistress.

“Yes, precious?”

“Mistress, all went as planned. Rhonda’s hack into the asylum systems worked perfectly. By the time I left, the entire staff was preparing itself for the implantation of the Ceramic Intra-Cerebral Matrices. There is no sign of rebellion or resistance of any kind. All of them have reached initial obedience to the Sapphic Front.”

“Mmm, pet. You’ve done so well. I’m pleased. Is there any reward you would care for in particular? Some pet with whom you can play?”

Natalie’s legs jerked in spasm at her Owner’s words. She accepted as wholly natural the fact that Tamara always seemed to know her most secret thoughts. Her love for Mistress grew again. A stray thought wandered through, asking why in the fucking world she had ever tried to resist this. “Yes, Mistress. I would love to be charged with the final training of one of the nurses there. Kimberly Smith.”

“That should be no problem at all,” said Mistress Tamara, laughing. Natalie could hear the smile through the phone. She pulled over just in time to be wracked by a gale force torrent of orgasmic bliss.

As she quaked and bucked, she began to laugh at the delicious and wholly depraved thoughts wandering through her pliant mind. “Poor Kimberly is in for quite an awakening,” she thought, before cumming again, and then again, orgasms piling up on top of each other like a wall of eternal cuntlust.

Director Reynolds looked at his watch and scowled. McClanahan and Koranski were almost a half-hour late. It was going to put a crimp in his work for the rest of the day. He didn’t have the time to spend waiting. But they had said it was important, and they were the best agents he had. He really had no choice.

At least the rest of the Agency seemed to be getting things accomplished. It had been eerily quiet as he walked through that morning. Everyone had their noses to the proverbial grindstone, completely absorbed in their work at their computers. It would mean more reports for him, but maybe the backlog of reports would finally get caught up. It was odd, yes, but he was not about to question efficiency on such a grand scale.

Even his secretary had been so busy that she barely acknowledged him. He looked at the large box beside her desk as she typed, and wondered about it for a moment until he saw the Agency seal on it. It had no doubt been brought up from the file room. Like everyone else, she seemed almost obsessed with whatever she was typing.

“Good morning, Dorinda,” he had said.

She had barely looked up. She just let out a tiny half of a humph, almost as if he wasn’t there.

“Must be some kind of contest,” he thought. “Probably that Dalton fellow—it seems like something he’d cook up...”

Whatever this fire was that had been lit, it was certainly welcome. He made a note to find out who had been so motivated, and make sure they were recognized.

He grimaced as he was brought back to the present by the sound of the doorknob turning. Christ, Dorinda had been too absorbed to even notify him. The grimace turned to a scowl as Patsy and Natalie walked into the spacious office, out of breath and red-faced. He stood and motioned each to a chair with a dismissive flourish. He began to pace back and forth.

“You two may be my best agents, but I can’t abide tardiness. There are things I have to...”

“We’ve cracked the Sapphic Front, sir,” interrupted Patsy.

“... and I expect my agents to be examples to... say what?“ He was taken completely off guard.

“We cracked the Sapphic Front case. And it’s not good news.”

“They’ve infiltrated further than we thought?” Reynolds looked even more severe.

“They’ve infiltrated the Agency,” said Natalie.

“Christ,” said Reynolds. “How did they even find out about us?”

“Hard to say, but we think it was through a clerk, Tabi Mallory. She’s been compromised, at any rate. Total lesbian Sapphic Front mole. And whether it was really her doing or not, they’ve managed to make inroads. If you can come to the security room, we have something important to show you. It’s the worst of what’s happened,” said Patsy. Her statement wasn’t a request. It didn’t need to be. “The employees and agents we’ve verified as viable are waiting there.”

“If I can come to the security room? Jesus, sometimes... never mind. Let’s go.” Reynolds scowl was replaced with a look of grim determination.

They walked quickly down the hall and waited, impatient and fidgeting at the speed of the retinal scanner. The door hissed open and they entered.

The room was dark except for the projected blue screen of an idle VCR. Reynolds couldn’t make out any faces, but there were perhaps twenty people whose silhouettes he could see.

“This is everyone, Rhonda,” said Patsy. “You can start the tape.”

There was no answer, but the screen came to life. The director watched as the camera came into focus. He choked as he saw what came into view.

It was his living room.

As he recovered, he leaned forward and put his hands over his mouth, pulling downward on his jaw. Through his disbelieving outrage, his need to observe had won the first battle.

His horror intensified as he watched his wife, Joyce, enter the room. The view changed and he watched her kneel in the negligee he’d given her for their twentieth anniversary.

He could see the legs of another woman. Joyce’s eyes, wide and unblinking, looked up, as if listening. He wished he could hear what was being said. He pulled further down on his face, the red of his lower eyelids showing as he watched, helpless as his wife—his fucking wife—began to shake.

He heartened for a moment. She was fighting. She looked as if something inside were going to break out, break her free. Surely all his work with her over the years wouldn’t fail. He had conditioned her to be able to resist. She hadn’t known... but it was the only safe thing to do.

Because of this. This terrible, obscene display of someone trying to break her mind. But she would win. She was strong. She had to win.

And then her mouth opened. This was it. The moment she would finally break free from the mental hold of whoever had her.

“The slave begs a taste of her sister’s hot, steaming cunt in honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress Tamara.” Her words broke the silence like a scythe, burning in his brain.

“Tamara? Why is that name so familiar?” he thought, his mind fighting to find the information he should know but had somehow misplaced.

“Oh, Joyce, that was pretty good, but you just didn’t have your heart in it. Again, with feeling. Try to make me cum with your words.”

The voice had been altered. Still, the inflections sounded familiar. He fought harder to connect his whirling thoughts. And why was his dick getting hard?

“The slave begs a taste of her sister’s hot, steaming cunt in honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress Tamara...”

Reynolds felt his mind breaking apart, piece by piece. Joyce had lost. Her words carried... conviction. He wanted desperately to wake up, but there was no relief and the scene played on, burning into his soul like a red-hot needle.

His cock felt like there were tongues licking it all over. This was insane. The more horror he felt, the more it was stimulating his cock. Sparks of heat flew up his spine at the realization.

The electronic voice tortured him again as he let out a small sob. It was impossible to tell if it was from pain or pleasure.

“ Much better, Joyce. But I think I’d like your hot little tongue on my asshole. Wouldn’t that be better?”

He couldn’t pull his eyes away as his wife’s eyes filled with obscene relish and depravity. He watched as she stretched out her tongue and leaned forward, body begging to for a taste. The reality of the scene surged through him. He thought he was going to vomit. He knew he was going to cum.

His own thoughts were drowning out her words now, but his eyes saw everything as her body language sent out waves of newfound enthusiasm.

Reynolds put his fist in his mouth, fending off the scream that was trying to explode out of his throat. Then, without warning, his wife turned and looked into the camera, her face distorted into the countenance of a demon of lust. The sound of his name woke him from his inner rambling. “Marvin, honey,” she sang to him, in her familiar way, “I do this in honor of the love of my life, my purpose for living, my Owner and Mistress, Tamara Morgan, in order to show you her infinite power. And it’s much better for me than it is for you...”

This time, he did scream, as his penis spilled hot, boiling jism into his pants. He tired to push back his chair, but his hips were quaking from the intense pleasure still licking at his loins.

Rage and guilt, hatred and confusion rang through the mind. Why was everyone silent? Why weren’t they as outraged as he at the mind-rape of his wife, his beloved? He looked back to the screen, eyes wide with panic and ashamed arousal. The camera was slowly pulling back. He clutched himself, doubling over as he saw what and who it revealed.

Patsy.

The lights came up. He looked around the conference table. Agent after agent was looking at him, with the vague indifference of a scientist towards a laboratory animal. Through the fog of his failing sanity, he realized that the infiltration was much bigger than he could have dreamed.

He realized that he’d been had.

“Welcome to your new post, Director.“

He looked up at Patsy who was standing beside him, holding out a black leather collar. He screamed and broke for the door, as agents crowded around him. Just as he felt a set of hands gain purchase and start to pull him back, the door slid open and he fell outward and under the heap of bodies that followed him out the door. By instinct more than skill, he managed to break free and run down the hall.

Without thinking, he turned into his office, sped past Dorinda’s desk, and slammed the door open and then shut as he entered, pressing the security button that secured the doorway with armor plate. His eyes closed as he heard the steel armor slide quickly downward outside. He fell back against the door, eyes still closed, panting.

“Glad to see you could make it, Marvin.”

He stopped cold, unwilling even to breathe. He opened his eyes and looked at his chair, which was facing away from him. He began to giggle as he looked on either side of his desk.

To the right was Joyce, beaming, eyes wide and sightless, lost in rapture built in the crevices of her own mind. Her hand played at her naked crotch while tremors passed through her otherwise immobile form.

And to the left, in an identical pose, was Mary Geoghegan, the daughter of the Senator—the girl who had been locked away from sight for so many years.

The chair spun around in a slow arc. Reynolds felt panic and defeat clawing for the domination of his mind. In this nightmare, he thought he was beyond surprise. He was wrong,

Sitting in the chair now facing him, was former Senator Alfred Geoghegan, himself.

Marvin Reynolds, Director of the Department of Psychological Research, collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

“There you are. Good. Glad to see you’re awake, now.”

Reynolds felt groggy. He was confused. Where was he?

The memory took a moment to flood back in. He tried to struggle, but he was too weak to move, not to mention the fact that he was strapped to a gurney that had been tilted upward.

“Alfred, this is all wrong,” he said.

“No, it’s extremely right,” answered the Senator. “Let me tell you a story, my boy. It’s one with which you should be intimately familiar.

“Several years ago, as you know, my daughter was abducted for a high political ransom which I was unable to pay, though I would have done so gladly. It was, sadly, not within my power. I was sent tapes much like the one you just saw, showing her progressive brainwashing. No, it was more like programming.

“I, of course, came to you for help. As one of the few politicians aware of your existence, I knew your agency was the only one that could help. And, as you will also recall, I was able to increase the Agency’s clandestine funding. It was difficult, but it’s amazing what grief and desperation will do.

“And then came the word from you that she was dead. That she had been burned, her ashes buried and then recovered. I wonder whose ashes those were you gave me? Well, it’s likely of no importance, even if you could remember.

“I left the Senate due to my grief—certainly understandable. My Mary was my life. She was my sense of rightness, of goodness. With her gone, I could go on no longer. I was able to leave my post with dignity, barely. But the grief killed my wife, Mary’s mother.

“And I had no idea about the truth. It wasn’t until nearly a year later that I was given the initial facts. Facts that gave me hope. But your plan nearly worked.”

“Plan?” asked Reynolds.

“The plan to kidnap and turn my daughter into a raving, nymphomaniacal lunatic. You sentenced her to a hellish life of merciless arousal and desire that could never be sated. And you used her, you demonic pile of maggot slime, for your research, not to mention your own pleasure. All for increased funding. Funding you would have received anyway. You are beyond loathsome, my friend. Although ‘friend’ isn’t quite the word to use, is it?”

Reynolds flushed despite the sedative. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve been had. The Sapphic Front has loaded your mind with...”

“I CREATED THE SAPPHIC FRONT, YOU IDIOT!” shouted the Senator, rising from the chair. His face was red with years of unspent rage. “Don’t play stupid or innocent. I know what you did, you bastard.

“You see, you failed to check up on Mary’s own secret life. She had a lover. A female lover. She was afraid to tell me, but also afraid to be found out, because of what it might do to my political career. Mary was misguided about what my reaction would have been, but she was giving and kind and beautiful. And you turned her into a gibbering sexual monster.

“Her lover, Dr. Tamara Morgan, was very careful to respect Mary’s wish for secrecy and privacy. There was never any evidence that they shared their hearts and beds. Eventually, Tamara placed hidden cameras around Mary’s apartment, unbeknownst to Mary. She loved my daughter, and feared the private investigators and scandal magazines that would drive them apart if their love was discovered.

“The cameras caught several of just those kinds of people. They also caught a young, rising Assistant Director on tape as he was unmasked by my daughter as she fought against her abduction.

“And that Assistant Director, my... friend... was you.”

The Senator paused as the ramifications of his words sank in.

“Tamara came to me. I didn’t believe any of it, not at first. But I had the tapes analyzed for authenticity. The next time we met, it was me who visited her.

“So Tamara and I hatched a plan. I poured every last resource of my sizeable estate into my own clandestine research and development, under the guise of the mysterious and misleading ‘Sapphic Front’. A front, yes, but not of the kind you imagined. The name of the organization didn’t exist before that.

“Imagine how amusing it was for me the day you called, nearly two years after you recovered her “ashes”, to tell me that you had found out who had abducted her. Ironic, isn’t it? You could have named any threatening organization, but you chose inadvertently to prove Tamara’s story. Worst of all, is that under different circumstances I might have believed you.

“In any case, it took years to develop technology and contacts that would allow us to penetrate the Agency. While you looked for a group of women interested in world domination, we were slowly leading your agents into a web from which there was no escape. It took nearly five years. But once we had Patsy, and then Natalie, the game was already won. You were so predictable, Marvin. Not a speck of insight or talent of your own.”

“Tell me, do you think your agents ever suspected that your ‘Mind Mapper’, the one you used for testing them for mental tampering, was actually a brainwashing device used to assure their loyalty? It doesn’t matter. They know now. And they’re free of its effects.”

The room was spinning around Reynolds. He felt the walls closing in on him. He tried to play for time, if only enough time to think. “So, you are the leader of the Sapphic Front?”

“Odd you should ask. No, we had to test the technology on men as well as women. In those early days, there were few people involved. So I was the obvious candidate. I love and obey Mistress Tamara with every molecule of my being. She alone has given my life purpose again. I obey without question or hesitation. And it’s so damned good. Unlike you, her rewards are quite...”—the Senator closed his eyes in a moment of bliss—“g-gratifying. I’ll never serve the way her female pets do, but that is exactly as it should be. You’ll understand, soon enough.”

Reynolds, thinking as fast as he could, said, “You’ll never prove your story, you know. The records were all destroyed. Eventually, you’ll be uncovered and labeled a lunatic, Alfred. Give this up, now. It was a useless fight then. It’s a useless fight now, too.”

“Oh, my. You really are as thick as I’ve been told. Do you remember your backlog of files? You’d be surprised what’s been misplaced and put in the wrong boxes over the years. Luckily, we had Patsy to pull all the pieces together.” As if to punctuate is point, he reached behind the desk and dropped a large, sealed envelope on the desk.

“I just wanted you to know why this was done. I don’t give a fuck if you know how. I have Mary back, and she will soon be rejoined with Tamara in a way they could never dream before. And as for you, dear Director... I wish that I could say that it has been a pleasure knowing you. It has certainly been a pleasure destroying you.

“Which reminds me. I’ve been instructed to show you just how far the Agency has become compromised. In five seconds from when I say ‘start’, you will cum, Marvin, by order of my Mistress and yours, Mistress Tamara Morgan, MD. Start.”

Reynolds could feel it building impossibly fast as his cock grew rigid and painful. He screamed as his orgasm slammed through him, shredding his defiance into tiny bits of pleasure-confetti that fell across his body, causing it to jerk and quake in shame and pleasure.

Senator Geoghegan, stepping with the distinguished grace born of years and generations of tradition, held out his hands to Joyce and Mary, who came to life and rose to take them. He allowed them a moment for a brief kiss with each other, and escorted them from the office.

From just outside Reynolds heard him say, “Patsy, Natalie, he’s all yours. Please try to come up with something creative, yes?”

He closed is eyes as he heard their approaching footsteps.

“Oh, shit,” was all he could think to say.

WASHINGTON, D.C.—Today, Marvin Reynolds resigned his post as Director of the powerful but little-known Department of Agricultural Integrity, amid charges of misappropriation of resources. Mr. Reynolds could not be reached for comment. However, longtime associate and friend, retired Sen. Alfred Geoghegan said that, “...this is an internal affair with internal solutions. No permanent damage was done, and no money taken, but Marvin obviously feels obligated to leave, despite the fact that many of us believe that he has done nothing wrong.”

Federal law enforcement officials acknowledged that there is no continuing investigation, nor any plan for one. “This is a closed case. It’s been resolved. And it’s somewhere that no one really wants to go,” said one official, on condition of anonymity.

Rumors around the Capitol are saying that the DAI might move from the public to private sector, a move that would put the agency in the hands of private investors. Dr. Tamara Morgan, the newly named Director, said in an interview yesterday that such a move would prove “...beneficial to all interested parties, and free up federal dollars for more urgent causes.” When asked what causes those might be, she responded, “That’s not really up to me to decide.”

The Department of Agricultural Integrity has been a target of conspiracy theory fringe groups for years, who have charged it with being involved in activities ranging from food supply manipulation to alien contact cover-ups. From time to time, despite no evidence, these rumors surface again, but close scrutiny and inspection over the years has yielded nothing to indicate such activities, leaving the public public to speculate what function this demi- classified organization actually performs...

Marsha Collier didn’t like visits from the Home Office. They were more than a nuisance—they were interruptions that took days of useless preparation time, followed by a day of guided tours where nothing got accomplished, and that ended with little more than a pat on the back and admonishments to improve efficiency. It was frustrating that they were supposed to look efficient during an exercise in inefficiency.

On the other hand, the new Director was not what she had expected. She was friendly, open, and didn’t walk around with the usual air of self-importance that accompanied her position. Best of all, she seemed genuinely concerned about the issues facing their small staff of agents.

After only a few hours of looking through records and asking about the operation, Director Morgan looked up from a folder and said, “Is this what all your past directors have done on these inspection visits? Looked at files and talked about nothing of real importance?”

“Pretty much,” said Marsha, shrugging. “Can I take that to mean you’re interested in something else?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, yes.”

“You know, Director, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in longer than I can remember.”

“I’m glad you think so. But let’s stop with the ‘Director’ stuff, right now. I’d much prefer that you call me... well, ‘Tamara’ might be too informal. Chief is too masculine... how about...” said the Director, trailing off as she thought about it.

Marsha waited patiently, without expression—but inside, she was smiling. She liked this woman. It was such a change from the gruff machismo she’d come to expect in law enforcement.

“Mistress,” finished Tamara.

Marsha felt something inside ...shift... and looked at Tamara more closely. Something was itching inside her skull. It was something serpentine, something... delicious. Morphing. Something familiar. Yes. Delicious. “Yes, Mistress, that does sound more— appropriate,” she said.

She heard her words and comprehended their meaning, but she felt somehow disconnected, as if she were observing herself. Tamara—”Mistress“, her mind reminded her, was some kind of... of... ”Goddess.“

But that wasn’t right. Tamara was the Director, and she was the Senior Field Agent for (Mistress) the reformed Agency. She stood still while her thoughts whirled and reality shifted again.

“Oh, I’m so glad you watched the Agency Restructuring CD I sent, Marsha. Of course, as it is so often said, the Agency is the sum total of its employees, so I had to restructure everyone. You know, I never planned on this. But in my fight against Reynolds and his corruption, I developed a certain... taste for being in control. I don’t think I want to give it up just yet. There’s so much pleasure in seduction, don’t you agree?” purred Tamara.

Marsha could feel her face turning red. She knew that this was wrong, that it was perverted. She knew that she should be fighting the consumption of her will. But her lips disobeyed her. “Pleasure... yess...”

The utterance sent a shiver of delight from the base of her brain down her back and legs. She was breathing faster. She began to fight harder, but what was left of her control could not break the grip on her body. She felt her pussy becoming damp as her legs spread without her permission. It felt like there was a sea of tongues under her, licking, licking, licking endlessly, trapping her, changing her, making her bend more and more... She knew it was just in her mind. Her mind. A hallucination. It was oh fuck it was just in her mind and she didn’t fucking care. It was so damned perfect. She let out a guttural moan.

“Oh, poor dear, it must be embarrassing to be acting the slut. If only your mother could see you now. But you have no mother do you? You have no father. You have no past. You have Mistress. Mistress Tamara. Say it.”

“N-nno. I have a motherrr. Her n-name... is...”

It had been right there on the tip of her tongue. The name of her—her what? Her Mistress. Yes. Mistress Tamara.

Tamara walked over and looked into the tear-filled eyes of her newest awakened slave as she placed her hand under her chin. God, she wanted to cum just from watching the shame and desire fight for possession of the agent’s mind. “Say it!” she hissed.

“I... have Mistress Tamara,” said Marsha, suddenly relaxing as the tension in her released. A gigantic spasm rocked her body forward as the assault continued.

“Mistress Tamara owns me. Say it, Marsha.”

“No!” Her resistance broke through and gained a foothold.

“Mistress Tamara owns me. You can feel it winding through, can’t you? Every word I speak. Choking off your mistaken sense of self, of purpose. Be a good girl. Mistress Tamara owns me.”

Good girl. She had to be good. She had to be...

She let out a horrified sob as the words forced themselves out of her in an unexpected blast of surrender. “Mistress Tamara owns me!”

“I am the loving property of Mistress Tamara. Speak.”

“I am the loving property of Mistress Tamara...” she was crying now, but it was so hard to remember why. She felt love blossom and take root, sending her up to another plateau of lust and desire.

“I obey her in everything.”

“I obey her in everything.” It was as if she were being reborn. It was so clear. It was so terrible. Wonderful. It was everything it should be.

“I am her slave. She is my purpose. Speak.”

“I am her slave. She is my... purpose.”

“I am a slut. I am a princess. I am whatever she desires, whenever she desires it. I have no limits. I have no dignity. I have Mistress Tamara. Speak.”

“I am a slut. I am a princess. I am whatever she desires, whenever she desires it. I have no limits. I have no dignity. I have Mistress Tamara.”

“I have no name, no identity other than those she gives.”

“I... have...”

The swaying, entranced agent knew something was wrong. She tried to think of what her name was. She realized that she didn’t have one. The pleasure inside her expanded and rose. " I have no name, no identity other than those she gives.”

“Listen carefully. I want you to undress me. Then, undress yourself. You are to take the vibrator I give you and hold it against my pussy while you tongue-fuck my asshole. Everything you do to me, every pleasure you give me, echoes even more strongly in yourself. It is stronger than any pleasure you have ever known. Pleasing me in the slightest task or chore, whether sexual or not, creates irresistible sexual pleasure in you. Each time you obey, the pleasure is stronger. That is the pleasure of obedience. Once felt, all other pleasures are as nothing. They can’t compare to the pleasure of obedience to your Owner. To Mistress Tamara. Do you comprehend?”

“I comprehend, Mistress.”

“Very good. I am pleased. Once you have tasted the pleasure of knowing you have pleased me, you may begin.”

Tamara watched as the slave’s body fell to the floor, writhing and gyrating in obscene pleasure. The CIM was recording and amplifying it all, playing it back so that the slave felt it over and over, deeper and deeper. This one would be an exceptional addition to her collection. She felt herself lubricating as Marsha’s moans became screams, and the screams choked off into pure lust and ecstasy as her body tensed in climax.

It went on for a very long time.

Tamara thought back while she waited. Poor Reynolds, doomed to a fate of only being able to get off when he was alone and looking into a mirror, and only wanting one thing in his life: to get off again. She grinned as she thought of Natalie’s and Patsy’s torture for their ex-leader. Their minds were almost as nasty as her own.

And now, with the last Field Office “restructured”, she indulged in the luxury of congratulating herself on her ingenuity. Once she had Senator Geoghegan under her control, making Reynolds out to be the perpetrator of Mary’s kidnapping had been easy. Implanting the false memories in the ex-Director had proved challenging, but not nearly as difficult as she had imagined. And now, the Sapphic Front had all the resources of the Agency at its disposal, and without the watchful eye of the government to stop her from playing. She even had male agents to do actual casework, if needed.

World domination wasn’t the idea. It was seduction, over and over and over and over. She savored the taste of it.

Tamara cooed as her newest vassal rose and began to undress. She looked at the beauty of the woman before her. She would make a wonderful playmate along with Patsy, Natalie, and her other top slaves. She would have to see what would happen with all the CIM’s synched together for an orgy. She might even tie in her own.

Yes, it would be quite interesting.

Absolutely.