The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When Eve Shawbank returned to her flat in Washington, D.C., it was an hour later, and she was still thinking about the conversation with Davenham.

She did not understand him. Now less than ever. He had always been secretive, but he had been so a lot more recently. She did her best to ignore all the rumors floating about the company, that Davenham was losing it, that he was driving the company into the ground, that he was preventing expansion, and she always ardently defended him whenever she decided to involve herself, but perhaps they had a point.

He had seemed tired, more tired than she had ever remembered seeing him. He had looked as ill as he was.

Perhaps he was losing it.

She shook her head as she unlocked her front door. She could not afford to think that way. It was dangerous, dangerous for her job, dangerous for her mental equilibrium. If Davenham was not who he had always been, she did not know how she could cope.

It would be her father all over again. Except worse.

She stayed with the thought for a while longer, her hand on the lock of her door, taking it all in.

A dog barked in the background, jerking her out of her funk. She unlocked the door and entered.

She owned the top two floors of the small Victorian house in this residential section of D.C. that was fast gentrifying—the lower floor’s owner was an artist that spent most of her time on the West Coast aside from three months in the summer, the only time when she said she could stomach the weather.

That meant that most of the time, Shawbank was alone in the big house, a situation she most enjoyed. She did not mind her neighbor at all—she was actually quite friendly, delicious looking to boot, and liked to talk about art and did not seem to care that Shawbank never contributed much to the conversation. Shawbank was often on the road herself, policing ADCorp’s other agents and employees, sometimes enforcing ADCorp contracts with customers and preventing or punishing abuse of privileges. Of course, she grunted at the thought, these days she was not only back to chasing Freaks, but also babysitting Malcolm, for reasons that Davenham did not want to reveal.

Her good mood was threatening to evaporate, and she pushed those thoughts away. Davenham had given his orders, and she was nothing but obedient, at least in that context. She trusted him. She had to.

The house was shrouded in darkness, the air still. She smiled at the buzzing she could hear in the background, only sound marring the perfect silence. She took her time to take off her leather duster and hang it on its hook against the wall. She pulled off her boots, savoring the anticipation.

She debated putting on some water to boil and make tea, but the temptation was too strong. She had waited long enough.

She went up the stairs, her feet barely making a sound on the steps. The top floor had three rooms, mostly unused except for the master bedroom at the back. Its door was open, the light off, and the buzzing sound was getting louder. Now that she was closer, she could hear the low moans.

She stepped forward into the room, and found the room as she had left it several hours ago for Bognár’s restaurant.

On the bed, Elizabeth Parkinson—Betty, she liked to be called—was naked, her wonderful body exposed and covered in a film of sweat, tied up with ropes at the four posts of Shawbank’s queen-sized bed. She was rocking slightly, her eyes closed, a ball gag out of which a large rubber dildo stuck out pressed tightly into her mouth and preventing any sound but indistinct moans to escape.

The source of the buzzing was immediately clear: a vibrator was pressed deep inside Betty’s ass. Shawbank had slipped in there before leaving, and set it low enough to be maddening but high enough that Betty could not ignore it.

The whole room smelled of Betty’s pussy—a smell that Shawbank knew well. Betty had drenched the towel that Shawbank had slipped beneath her on the bed for exactly that eventuality, and there was no doubt that she was riding high right at the edge of orgasm but unable to crest it.

Shawbank knew all of that, because it was the adjustment she had chosen to activate. One of the favorite adjustments for a certain class of dominant customers, one of those adjustments that had started as a custom request but had proved so popular that it was added to the default adjustments programmed into every woman adjusted through the ADCorp process: sexually reluctant, easily aroused, and unable to achieve orgasm unless verbally allowed.

Shawbank looked at Betty, writhing on the bed as much as the tight ropes allowed her to, her hips helplessly fucking upward seeking something that would let her get herself off, unable to find release, the moans and groans escaping the tight gag a testament to how aroused she was, the trembling of her limbs to how exhausted she must have been. She was blindfolded, and it was not clear at all she knew that she was not alone in the room any longer. Shawbank had put earplugs in Betty’s ears to increase the sensory depravation.

Shawbank looked at Betty, and felt herself get wet in response. It was exactly as she had hoped when she had dropped by Betty’s home earlier that day.

Shawbank knew Betty’s husband was away—a business trip to Portland, Oregon, three days gone, she had confirmed with the hotel there. She had used her connections to learn about the man’s schedule, and knew of his trips, and she took advantage of that information whenever convenient. This was one of those times.

Betty answered the door when Shawbank rang, and if she was surprised by the presence of the Investigation and Enforcement Division agent, that surprise dissipated when Shawbank uttered the well-worn “Betty, adjustment code C018, override authorization 9010787.” Betty blinked out of existence, or at least her consciousness did—at the same time conveniently whipping away any memory of Shawbank’s appearance since an activation scrambled a subject’s short-term memory—and after her customary shiver and low moan she looked at Shawbank with disbelief as the agent took a decisive step into her home.

Closing the door behind her, Shawbank slammed Betty against the wall and kissed her, hard, pressing her body into the blonde’s, pinning her arms to the wall above her head, and Betty resisted, while at the same time moaning into Shawbank’s mouth even as her tongue responded to the agent’s.

“Hello my little slut,” Shawbank said, practically purring.

Betty stiffened against her, and ineffectually tried to push Shawbank away. “Get off me,” she said, trying to pull back only to bang her head against the wall behind her. “I’m not a slut.”

Shawbank grinned, and pressed her hand between the blonde’s legs, cupping her crotch through the thin sweat pants she usually wore around the house. Betty could not help but close her eyes and let out a little groan, her hips shifting of their own volition into the hand cupping her pussy. Shawbank could feel the heat through the material. “Is that so?” she said softly.

Betty tried to squirm away. “I’m… I’m not… Leave me alone…”

Shawbank knew that there was no real fight in Betty—she was adjusted so that she would be reluctant, but not actually able to escape her fate, aroused despite her wishes, craving Shawbank’s touch despite everything in her head screaming “no.”

It was exhilarating.

“You feel good, you little slut.” Shawbank’s hand was more forceful, pressing and rubbing hard between Betty’s thighs. The blonde was almost unwillingly spreading her legs wider, offering better access, while at the same time pushing Shawbank away.

“Please don’t,” she said, and Shawbank could so easily imagine her crying. “Please go… leave me alone… leave me ALONE!”

Shawbank took a step back only to slap the blonde with a lightning fast strike that made the younger girl’s legs wobble. She stared at Shawbank with a shocked look on her face, the imprint of Shawbank’s palm on her cheek outlined faintly against her pale skin.

There was no movement and no sound for several seconds before Shawbank, all of her senses awash with lust, took a step forward and grabbed Betty by her short hair—the bob haircut gave her a mischievous look that Shawbank found simply precious. She pulled Betty’s hair back.

As Betty groaned in surprise and pain, Shawbank dove in and kissed her again, more insistently this time, pressing her whole body into Betty’s, feeling the other woman’s breasts and belly against her, savoring the warmth, the softness. Betty pressed back against Shawbank and their tongues dueled, Betty unable to control her arousal.

When Shawbank let her go, Betty was shaky and out of breath and the look in her eyes was a delicious mixture of fear and lust.

“You’re coming with me,” Shawbank said, her voice allowing no argument. Betty cast her a glance, unsure what to do, and Shawbank knew her enough—she had played this same game with the blonde often enough—to guess what she was thinking. “No need to change. You’re fine as is. Beside, you’re not going to keep those clothes on for very long, my little slut.”

There was a flash of rebellion in Betty’s eyes, but Shawbank merely added. “The more you linger, the more you get punished.” And she stared at her the way she typically reserved for the Specials she ran across, and it was just as effective with Betty.

And so Shawbank had driven Betty back to her place, and told her to strip for her and to get on the bed and fuck herself with the dildo now in her ass, and she had needed only the merest hint of violence.

And now, four hours later, Betty was broken on the bed, having been roused to the heights of desire with no chance of release, a shivering maddened ball of lust ready to surrender to anyone willing to give her a chance to come.

Shawbank stripped out of her clothes slowly, savoring the moment, the anticipation, enjoying the sounds and smells and the heat of the room. Her body was lean and tight, a testament to the many hours she spent in the gym training, working out, making sure she was in the best shape possible in her role as enforcer for Davenham and ADCorp. She worked on her body not to be attractive, but to turn it into a machine that would do her bidding.

She knew she was attractive, of course, and she used that fact whenever it suited her purpose. Let men ogle her and fantasize about her. She cared about them not one bit. None had ever had her, and none ever would. She had had lovers over the years: when she was younger, there had been Adira, of course—and she worked hard to push her image away as soon as it arose lest the pain and rage come back with it—and later one-night stands and prostitutes here in the States once Davenham had brought her back with him.

And then she started partaking in the subjects at ADCorp—those perks of the job as he called them—once Control had understood exactly where her proclivities lay.

As far as Shawbank was concerned, this was so much simpler: no muss, no fuss, and especially no pain. At least not for her.

Betty was the perfect example. Here she was, on Shawbank’s bed, ready to be used and abused, the perfect partner, playing her role to a T because as far as she was concerned it was not a role but her life, and no matter how rough Shawbank might get, no matter how mean, no matter how terrifying, after Betty was restored and was sent back to her normal life, she would remember none of it. And the next time Shawbank came calling, it would be as if nothing had ever happened, as if every experience was new and fresh, an endless repetition of new feelings.

Shawbank ran a hand between her legs, delighting in the dripping wetness there, the shock of excitement when she touched herself.

She was a live wire, her body tense from lack of action, from lack of focus. Now that Davenham had given her something to do, she could move forward, although she still had Malcolm to babysit, and he could not share in her assignment. He may have been personally sponsored by Davenham himself for reasons unknown, but she had no intention of bucking protocol—if Davenham wanted her to involve Malcolm, he would have to tell her explicitly.

Betty groaned on the bed, perhaps finally sensing that there was another presence in the room with her, that she was no longer alone, that someone was there to possibly—hopefully—take care of her and snatch her away from her ordeal, and perhaps finally get her to come.

It was dangerous to have her here, Shawbank knew, but she also needed release, or she would do something even more dangerous. One did whatever one could to assuage those dark thoughts that penetrated the mind in the wee hours of the morning.

Moving lightly, she walked to the side of the bed, and after one long last look at Betty’s sweaty and tied-up body, she placed a hand on Betty’s thigh, feeling it tense underneath her palm, the moan of pleasure escaping from Betty’s lips arousing all of its own. Shawbank appreciated how Betty tilted her hips in a vain attempt to get some sort of more intimate contact with her hand.

Shawbank ran that hand upward, up Betty’s thigh, steering clear of her drenched pussy—to Betty’s disappointed groan of frustration)—up her abdomen and onto her heaving breasts. She grasped one of the hard swollen nipples between her fingers and turned and twisted it until Betty started shaking uncontrollably. Part of Shawbank wanted to just rip out those small nubs.

But she did not. She climbed on the bed and straddled the blonde, loving the heat of that body between her legs, rubbing her own trimmed pussy against the scorching skin of the Human Resources manager.

She reached down to take off Betty’s blindfold off. Betty’s eyes were crazed with desire and frustration. She had difficulty focusing on anything, her pupils distended, her eyes darting back and forth.

Shawbank leaned over, and licked the side of the pretty blonde’s face, who moaned in response.

“Did you miss me?” Shawbank whispered harshly into Betty’s ear. The blonde might have tried to say something, but the sound was muffled by the gag in her mouth.

Shawbank pulled back, taking an appraising look at the body of the blonde squirming beneath her, a body she knew well, with her generous breast that she hid away at work beneath a flattering blouse and a pretty bra chosen by her husband now given free reign.

She loved to abuse those breasts—watch them jiggle and bounce as she slapped them around, knowing how sensitive they were, how the nipples grew taut and eminently graspable.

She slapped them, once, twice, and enjoyed the whimper of pain—or was it arousal?—from Betty, the way she shut her eyes and shivered, the way drool dripped from the corners of her mouth. The dildo sticking out of the her gag wobbled with her movements.

Shawbank wondered for a second whether any of the men who played with Betty—she was popular, for all the obvious reasons—liked to slap her breasts too. She had never noticed bruises on them, and she herself tried never to leave marks, however much it cost her to repress her instincts, but that meant nothing.

She rubbed her pussy against the warm yet shivering body, feeling the gently buzzing of the vibrator through Betty’s abdomen, grasping the girl’s tits as she slipped up and down, leaving a trail of her own juices on the light skin.

When the time was right, she scooted up Betty’s body, and the blonde finally focused on her with her eyes open wide, unsure what Shawbank was about to do, having forgotten all the other times before this one where a similar scenario had been enacted, her mind fuzzy from having spent so long being edged.

Shawbank grabbed the headboard—wooden with intricate carvings that came from a place near where she grew up and that she had found on eBay for a laughably low price—and pulled up to straddle Betty’s head, the rubber cock sticking out of the end of Betty’s gag lined up perfectly with her pussy.

Betty seemed to realize what Shawbank was about to do, for she tried to twist her head away and protest, but Shawbank disregarded all those feeble attempts at escaping her and grabbed the blonde’s head roughly by the hair, and as Betty stiffened under the pain Shawbank sank down onto the rubber cock, slowly, savoring the sensations of getting opened up by this artificial shaft, the only kind to breach her pussy.

She sank down to the hilt until the cock was fully shoved inside her, her crotch pressing down on Betty’s face, earning a smothered groan this time. Betty could not move out of the way. Shawbank sat there, impaled on the cock gag, loving how it filled her, something she had looked forward to the whole day, that desire burning in the back of her mind like a constant murmur, blissful at the thought of Betty powerless with Shawbank’s crotch right on top of her mouth, pussy juices leaking all over her face, drenching her in fragrant sticky perfume.

Shawbank rose, holding on to the headboard, and sank back down, fucking herself on the cock gag, up and down, slowly, her eyes closed, her thighs straining under the strain of her position. She loved every second of it, strain and all. She felt good, she felt in power.

Up and down she went, her juices running down the rubber cock, pooling on Betty’s face, who had stopped fighting—she always did, always accepted the inevitable, her eyes closed, trying to endure the ordeal even as part of her craved it, craved the humiliation, craved the constant reminder that she was but a sex toy with a vibrator stuck deep in her ass, craved for someone—something, anything—to invade her cunt and fuck her within an inch of her life and make her come harder than ever.

Something in Betty’s face triggered a memory in Shawbank, a memory of Adira that she did not fight back because she was too distracted by riding Betty’s face. And that memory of Adira, that lovely mulatto girl from her father’s stock back home, her first love, merged with memories of another girl, more recent those, and undoubtedly prompted by both her nostalgia of the past and her recent conversation with Davenham.

As the rubber cock pushed into her with controlled regularity, she thought back to that girl she had seen during her long stakeouts at Darnell University on her hunt for Thaddeus Cargyle, as she kept eyes on all the subjects that Cargyle and the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity had programmed, who had been a friend of Daniel Malcolm. Serena Banks was her name—beautiful, with big breasts, long legs, and dark chocolate skin.

She had reminded her of Adira even then, and not just because of her dark skin. The Banks girl had an attitude that just called for someone to bring her down, the same thing that had attracted her to Adira in the first place, that had made Shawbank hungry to take down her prey and devour it.

Back in North Alexandria, on assignment, Shawbank had not acted on her impulses. It would not have been professional, and Shawbank was nothing but a professional, through and through. But the girl had clearly stuck in her mind, and the conversation with Davenham had reminded her that Serena Banks had been taken by ADCorp and dispatched somewhere.

It did not take long for Shawbank, her mind filled with images of Serena Banks and memories of Adira, her eyes filled with the vision of Betty beneath her drowned in her juices, to build toward a loud climax, and she came hard with a long wail, pressing herself down as hard as she could onto the rubber cock and squeezing her thighs together, completely smothering the blonde girl underneath her, body shaking wildly by the strength of her orgasm.

A full minute later, when she had recovered, happy to have gotten her first orgasm out of the way, she pulled up and let the cock gag slip out of her pussy—the sensation sending pleasure aftershocks up her spine—and slid down to rest her head onto Betty’s breasts.

Betty still had her eyes closed, and her lower face was shiny with Shawbank’s juices. She was breathing hard herself.

Shawbank stared for long seconds, catching her own breath, savoring the moment, waiting for the inevitable swell of arousal to come back once more—she was rarely satisfied with only a single round, not when she felt the way she did, not these days.

She reached down behind Betty’s head, and unclipped the cock gag, which made the blonde open her eyes and look at Shawbank with wild hope.

Shawbank pulled off the cock gag, which had a smaller cock pushing into Betty’s mouth to complement the larger cock sticking out. Betty coughed as her throat was liberated, and Shawbank smirked as she watched the blonde try to swallow the saliva and snot that had accumulated.

She gave Betty a moment, and then Shawbank slapped the blonde, hard. Betty was still tied up and could not defend herself.

“You’re going to lick me,” Shawbank said, her voice stern.

Betty opened her mouth as if to say something, her eyes flashing with anger mixed with lust, a mixture reflecting the confusion that must have reigned in the poor girl’s mind. Shawbank drank it up like fine wine.

And just before Shawbank felt that Betty was gathering up the courage to say something, she said, “Lick me and I’ll let you come.” And reveled in the way Betty looked at her, the desire to send Shawbank to hell fighting it out with the overwhelming desire to quench that thirst that was making her body move without her even noticing.

Without waiting for a response, Shawbank straddled Betty’s head once again and pressed her crotch back down on the blonde’s face, rubbing it up and down on nose and lips, smearing the juices that were already present and copiously more. The contact revived her arousal, and she pressed her pussy lips over Betty’s mouth, and waited. She could feel the blonde’s breath inside her.

The first lick was tentative—it always was—the tongue carefully pressing against her slit, the reward of release battling it out with the repulsion that undoubtedly she was feeling. Betty scored low on the homosexual scale, Shawbank knew—she had seen the file—and that was one reason why she liked the Human Resource manager so much.

Shawbank wondered where Serena Banks scored on that same scale, whether she would happily lap at her pussy or do so reluctantly, a victory won by force.

The mental image of Serena, tied up underneath her, perhaps squirming to try to get free, her body betraying her with screams of rapture, made Shawbank twitch, and she pressed her body down on Betty’s tongue harder.

Betty had no choice but to lick, and even though she was not doing a good job, Shawbank did not care. She alternately pressed down and rubbed her crotch on Betty’s face, holding on sometimes to the headboard sometimes to the blonde’s head, often pulling her up by the hair to gain more leverage.

Shawbank’s second orgasm came fast and was a continuation of the first one. She smothered Betty as she shook with pleasure, clutching her own breasts in the attempt. She knew that by the end of her session, she would have Betty broken and willing suck on her nipples, slobbering over them to please her mistress, all in the vain hope to earn a release from the raging fire that burned deep in her pussy, courtesy of Adjustment Code C018.

“Not bad,” Shawbank said, catching her breath, watching Betty try to swallow the juices that were overflowing her mouth. She was still wriggling on the bed, her hips twitching, aroused against her will by her actions, her adjustment seeing to that. “We’ll make a carpetmuncher out of you yet.” She made it a point to be crude, to play up whatever intrinsic dislikes Betty might have had.

Shawbank reached down and dipped a hand in the juices covering the blonde’s face and fed it to her. “Time for your reward.”

The light in Betty’s eyes was a pleasure to see, the craving for release, the hope that perhaps her ordeal was over, that she would soon be allowed to come, that perhaps all of this might have been worth it. Shawbank knew all of that, for they had danced this dance before, many times. Just as she knew that Betty would eventually be on the floor, crawling like a slug, begging to be allowed to service her, ready to forego her own pleasure just for a chance to lick Shawbank’s pussy yet again.

Shawbank turned around, going into the classical sixty-nine position, keeping her crotch over Betty’s face and pressing it down, while reaching for the discarded cock gag and lining the largest rubber cock, still damp with her own juices, with the blonde’s drenched pussy.

Without warning, she pushed the dildo inside Betty, her pussy lips parting like the Red Sea before Moses, and Betty let out a long wail that she clearly was trying to contain but could not, and Shawbank pressed her crotch down on Betty’s wide open mouth, smothering her once more, feeling a thrill that rippled over her like a wave.

It was a tight fit, for Betty still had the vibrator humming softly in her ass, yet the large rubber cock went in without any difficulty, and Shawbank wondered how often Betty had been doubly-penetrated, whether it was something she and her husband indulged in, or whether it was something that only happened with ADCorp’s employees or Platinum Plan members that took advantage of her—the wreathed ring tattoo on her finger clearly visible to anyone that cared to look.

In and out went the rubber cock, the straps of the gag dangling and banging against Betty’s thighs, and Shawbank watched from up close, fascinated by how Betty’s pussy lips gripped the hard shaft, as if they were unwilling to let it go on the way out, the wet sounds a horny symphony to be appreciated for what it was, an indication that Betty was loving every second it, or that at least the animal part of her did. Betty must have been going out of her mind with lust, for her tongue attacked Shawbank’s own pussy with a renewed energy.

Shawbank wondered idly whether Serena Banks’s pussy would make similar squishy sounds when a thick rubber cock pumped in and out of her, whether her own tongue would be skilled at pleasuring a women, the image of the black girl begging to be allowed to come as she sucked on Shawbank’s pussy and lapping up all of her juices making the agent squirm and press her crotch down against Betty’s tongue.

Shawbank was getting close again, and she pumped the rubber cock harder and faster, and still Betty’s lust rose and still she could not come.

“Please…!” Betty said in a desperate voice when Shawbank lifted her ass up for a moment, and the begging was music to Shawbank’s ear. How she loved when they begged! She wondered whether Serena would beg with as much desperation, with as much hunger, with as much hate for what she was doing.

Shawbank pushed the rubber cock in as far as it would go and bowed her head and bit down on Betty’s clitoris, and the pain for the blonde mixed with the pleasure and she screamed in Shawbank’s pussy and the ADCorp agent ground her crotch against Betty’s face and came for the third time, this climax a long shattering one that sent waves of heat and cold throughout her body and pulled a choked stretched groan from her lungs.

She collapsed next to the blonde, her face pressed against Betty’s thigh, luxuriating in the softness of her skin, its heat. She could already feel sleep coming over her, and the sweet lullaby of Betty’s pleading moans rocked her to sleep—she would nap for an hour, the way she usually did during these games—and then they would continue playing until Betty was ready to abase herself of her own will in exchange for a moment of pleasure from her mistress.

Eventually, Shawbank might allow her to come, and if she did then Betty would do so by humping her leg like a bitch, all the while screaming out loud that she was nothing but a dirty dike slut good only to wipe one’s feet on, or spat on, or pissed on.

And then late at night Shawbank would bring Betty back to her home, where she would go to sleep and the next day she would wake up as if nothing had happened, as if she had not spend the previous day tortured into unwilling submission, as if she had never been activated. Her adjustment would ensure that she remembered something likely that she might have done that evening, and would also ensure that she would not be too curious about any potential discrepancies that might arise.

Shawbank, meanwhile, would start quietly trying to find out where exactly ADCorp had sent Serena Banks after her abduction from Delta Iota Kappa during the raid at the fraternity house.

Shawbank had no doubt she would find her, and was already fantasizing about what she would get the pretty black girl to do to her.

ADCORP CONFIDENTIAL MEMO to Adonai Davenham.

SUBJECT: Response to Inquiry

MEMO: In response to inquiry about the exact inventory of Serum currently in storage, a careful accounting and review of available reserves indicates a discrepancy of one hundred and twenty-three (123) units of Serum from facilities and HQ, as follows: 61 units unaccounted for at Facility Alpha, 24 units unaccounted for at Facility Bravo, and 26 units unaccounted for at Facility Charlie. The remaining unaccounted 12 units are from HQ (Advanced Research laboratories).

Two visual assessments by independent teams have confirmed the numbers. No explanation have been found for the discrepancies. Centralized inventory tables and backup databases all give same expected numbers, one hundred and twenty-three units above existing counts.

As further requested, and against protocol, Internal Affairs has not been contacted, and non-disclosure has been imposed on relevant employees. All evidence of inventory verification has been erased from the records. Please advise on next steps, as we are out of step with protocol.

We’re very sorry. We don’t know what happened.