The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Previously, on The Adjusters: Daniel Malcolm’s last semester at Darnell University is disastrous: his fiancée, Jennifer Hansen, has been abducted by Biff Cusker, a brother at the local Delta Iota Kappa fraternity, and programmed as his private sex slave using technology provided by one Doctor Cargyle. While looking for her, Daniel Malcolm, helped by his friends Radhu Krishnamurthy and Cindy Caprese, discovers that the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity has been programming girls across campus for use by the fraternity brothers. In an attempt to recover his fiancée and snatch her back from the clutches of the sadistic Biff, Daniel Malcolm sneaks into the most important party thrown by the fraternity, the yearly DIK-Bash, and confronts Biff. Unfortunately, a commando team headed by the mysterious Eve Shawbank of ADCorp chooses that same night to attack the fraternity house, and after a fight that sees the fraternity destroyed and everyone inside killed, Daniel finds himself alive, and alone. Sam O’Neill, a private investigator, tells him that his fiancée is still alive, and he offers to help him track her down. In exchange, he asks Daniel to accept the job he has been offered by ADCorp.

The Adjusters III: Do You Take This Woman?

A Wedding and an Orientation (1)

(Beckley, West Virginia. Twelve months ago.)

He walks in the back of the church when he knows no one is looking. Not that anyone would notice him, really—he was always good at fading into crowds, and there is nothing that distinguishes him from the rest of the guests. He has donned his best suit for the occasion, which helps greatly. He is nevertheless nervous.

He makes his way to the rectory, to the side of the chapel. He tries his best to avoid people on the way, which turns out to be easy because everyone is busy welcoming one another and introducing themselves to those they do not know. There is joy in the air, the joy of two families coming together, and that joy bolsters him, lightens his bones, provides succor.

He hides behind a convenient column when he sees the door of the rectory open. What has to be the Maid of Honor comes out, looking excited and fetching in her long apple red gown. She giggles a “I love you” back into the room she is departing before closing the door behind her and hurrying down the hallway as fast as the heels she clearly is not used to wearing allow her. He feels the pull to follow her. But he resists. He has a mission.

After a last look around, he heads to the door of the rectory, and opens it quietly. A rapid glance confirms that the room is empty but for the woman he expected to find there. Careful not to make any noise, he creeps into the room and closes and locks the door after him.

“You always forget something, Sherry!” quips the bride without turning around, her back to him, too busy looking at herself in the long stand-alone mirror that has been placed in the middle of the room “What is it this time?”

As he takes two steps towards her, he cannot help but be astonished by how stunning the bride is. Her long white dress flares at the hips the way a princess’s dress does in fairy tales, but still managed to cling to her torso like a second skin, working perfectly to emphasize her generous chest and her thin waist. She must have been fasting for the last few days, he thinks. Her long blonde hair cascade down her back in lazy curls. She has clearly elected to not go with the severe bun that brides the world over seem to favor. He approves. He feels the already hard cock in his pants approve as well.

The bride—Natalie, her name is Natalie, he remembers—turns to look, suddenly worried about her friend’s silence. She registers that he is an intruder but shock keeps her still. He can see on her face that she is about to scream, but not quickly enough.

Just as she opens her mouth, he reaches with a hand and touches her shoulder. As soon as his fingers make contact with her naked skin, that odd quasi-electric sensation that he is still not used to travels down his arm and makes the tip of his fingers tingle.

Natalie’s scream seem to die in her throat. While her mouth remains open, frozen in place, her face has gone slack and her eyes have lost focus, as if she was fascinated by some internal show of lights that reminded her of her carefree youth.

He slowly pulls his hand away, keeping it at the ready in case she swoons and loses her balance. But she does not. Her head seems to clear, and her eyes recover their life and their spirit. She looks at him then, her face relaxed, pleasant, receptive.

He realizes he is holding his breath. He had been afraid that it would not work. That the tests he had performed until now had been flukes, coincidences, accidents. He had been afraid that his plans to fulfill his Destiny, to raise his Ministry, to proclaim his Divinity, would die on the crucible of harsh reality.

“Hello, Natalie,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“Hi,” she responds, her voice clear, happy, expectant. She looks at him as if he is the whole world, and indeed, for her, he is. As he should be.

He takes a second to admire her. She is beautiful, the way every bride is beautiful—more beautiful than when he saw her last a couple of weeks ago—her natural beauty enhanced by the excitement of her nuptials and the tireless primping to which she must have subjected herself. Her makeup really brings out her blue eyes, and her white wedding gown suggests purity and innocence and reminds him of childhood mornings around the Christmas tree waiting to open his presents. Simpler times, before life’s uncontrollable complications.

He finally allows himself a smile, and the chance to relax. “Kiss me,” he says.

And she does, as he knows she would.

She steps up to him and wraps her arms around his neck to pull him close. With her heels on, she is just a touch taller than he is, and she tilts her head to press her lips against his and initiate a slow languorous kiss that quickly picks up passion. He pulls her closer, enjoying the feel of satin in his hands, and the tightness of the dress on her back.

As her tongue duels with his, he pulls down the zipper that he finds at the base of her neck. The dress parts, and his hands roam the soft skin of her back, while Natalie responds with a moan that echoes in his mouth. He feels the corset that helps keep her waist as tight as it needs to fit into the dress, and fiddles with it.

After a minute of deep kissing, he gently pushes Natalie back which allows the dress to fall down and pool around her legs, unable to completely collapse because of the crinoline.

He stares in stunned silence as her body is revealed to him. The corset, bright lacy white, pushes her large breasts upward towards him, her deep cleavage beckoning him. Without thinking, he runs a finger over the smooth curve of her breast, resisting the urge to rip the garment off and squeeze the proffered flesh. Time enough for that later, he thinks. First, there is Duty.

“Natalie,” he says, looking the blonde in the eyes, “I am your Lord, your Savior. I am the Light that illuminates your life and reveals the Truth. You are my Servant. You are my Vessel.”

She looks at him, assimilating what he is saying. He can practically see her molding her mental world to the new reality he is foisting on her.

“You are my Lord,” she says, a tinge of excitement in her voice, just a hint of breathlessness. “I am but your servant, my Lord.”

Her statement thrills him to the core. “Natalie, kneel before your Lord," he orders.

There is no hesitation on her part, merely eagerness to obey, to please. Natalie sinks to her knees before him, a sight that arouses him further, a reminder of dreams of days past. She is almost lost in the expansive dress pooled around her, but she does not seem to care. Why would she?

“Natalie, are you ready to worship your Lord?”

Natalie looks up at him, pride and glory and desire battling it out in her deep blue eyes. “Please, my Lord—allow me to worship you like the poor undeserving servant that I am.”

“Proceed,” he says, and almost gasps unbecomingly when she reaches with trembling hands for the buttons on his pants before pulling them down to his ankles along with his boxer shorts to expose a hard cock that wants nothing more than to thump her on the nose.

Natalie wraps one of her dainty hands—she has not put on her gloves yet—around his cock and gently caresses it prior to leaning over and parting her perfect painted lips and slipping the head of the expectant shaft into her damp mouth. She sucks him in, running her tongue all over the flesh as it penetrates her mouth.

He leans back into the blow job she is delivering, enjoying her technique, which is not great, but adequate. What she lacks in skill she makes up for in enthusiasm, as she is genuinely trying to please him to the best of her ability, blowing him the way she believes a man likes to be blown, sucking hard and trying to take him as deep in her mouth on every thrust , making sure she thoroughly bathes his cock with her tongue and slides her lips on the sensitive skin.

He looks down, admiring the way she works on him, unwilling to make her stop her ministrations to take off her corset and bare her breasts.

His cock shivers, the first precursor to impending release. It is time. He puts a hand on Natalie’s shoulder, and lets himself slip out from between her loving lips.

“Stop, my dear. Don’t make me come with your mouth. My Seed has another role to play. Lie back, and spread your legs wide. Offer yourself to your Lord.”

Obediently, Natalie lies back onto the floor, and spreads her stocking-clad legs in a wanton display. “Of course, my Lord,” she replies, an edge of desire creeping into her voice.

“Unsnap your corset, Natalie. Your Lord would like to feast upon your bosom.” He enjoys the high language, as it befits his stature.

“With pleasure, my Lord,” and she arches her back to reach underneath her, and with difficulty she unsnaps her corset which falls free and reveals two perfect orbs of flesh topped with stiffened bright red nipples.

He wants to dive in and just suck on those hard nipples, lock onto them and suckle until they feed him, but he resists the temptation. He has a mission to fulfill, and pleasure is but a side effect, not a goal.

“Pull your panties to the side, Natalie, and welcome me.”

She does, pulling the gusset of her panties to expose a trimmed pussy already damp, ready to receive him. His cock jerks in his hand.

He kneels between her legs, his shaft aimed at the damp crevice between her legs. In a movement that he tries to make smooth, he lies down upon her, guiding the head of his cock to her pussy, into which it slides effortlessly.

Natalie gasps, and her hand clutches his shoulder. She is no virgin, but she is also not very experienced. He may be the largest man she has ever had inside her. The thought pleases him to no end, and he reminds himself to treat her well. She is a deserving Vessel.

He slides in slowly, and pulls out before pushing in again. On every thrust, Natalie moans and opens up more, her pussy parting to greet him, embrace him, smother him. By the time he has settled on a steady rhythm, fucking in and out of her clenching sheath, she is bucking underneath him, her legs pressing against his sides, her hips shifting up to meet his thrusts. Little grunts escape her throat, and her eyes are closed. She is enjoying herself. She likes it. And why would she not? he wonders. She is getting fucked by her Lord. Her God.

He allows himself a moment of selfishness and grasps one of her breasts, kneading it in his hand, appreciating its heft. It feels full in his hand, fleshy and firm, and Natalie groans her approval at the treatment—she opens her mouth and makes to kiss him, but he has other plans for his lips. He leans down and, still rutting inside her, fastens his mouth onto her nipple and sucks, hard, nibbling the stiff nubbin with his teeth.

Natalie arches her back, and comes as he suckles on her breast.

The feeling of her pussy spasming around his cock as Natalie shivers and shakes is enough to bring him closer to orgasm, and he knows that the time is approaching. He straightens up, thrusts into her hard, and looks at her.

“Natalie,” he says, stentorian, “I will now baptize you into your new faith. You will accept my Seed deep into your womb, and carry it to term so that you can bring forth a new generation of worshippers for your Lord. Tell me, do you want my Seed?”

“Oh fuck yes!” moans Natalie, rubbing her body against his, wanting him to resume plowing her. “Come deep inside me, my Lord! Spray me with your juice! Breed me!”

“Are you ready, Natalie?”

“Yes! Please! Come inside—oh!” Natalie gasps as he thrusts into her, hard, then once more, then once more. Her mouth remains open in a grimace of ecstasy as he finally arches his back and tries hard not to grunt as he explodes deep inside her, releasing what feels like gallons after gallons of semen into her womb.

Natalie comes again underneath him.

He collapses onto her, drained, as she shivers the last shreds of her orgasm.

He lies there, enjoying the feel of her body against his, reminded of those times in the past when he pressed against warm female flesh. He chides himself for succumbing to romanticism, and for wasting time. Natalie has, after all, a wedding to attend, and people will be out looking for her soon.

“Natalie,” he says, rising up on an elbow. His whole body aches after the effort. “You are now a Vessel of your Lord.”

She smiles dreamily, and runs a hand over her stomach in a reverent caress. “I am blessed, my Lord.”

“You are. And your soon-to-be husband is to be blessed as well. He shall be rewarded for the role he will play in the upcoming events. Look at me, Natalie.” She does, her light blue eyes fastening on his. He has her full attention. “Your soon-to-be husband—does he have a fantasy, a cherished desire? Is there anything he has asked for, suggested, or hinted at, sexually, that you have not provided him, or are not contemplating providing him?”

Natalie seems to give the question serious consideration. Her brow furrows in her concentration. “Well...” she hesitates.

“Go on, Natalie. You have no secret from your Lord. I shall not judge.”

“He has mentioned threesomes a few times—mostly jokingly, but I could tell that part of him really liked the idea of having two women in bed with him. He stopped saying anything about that when I told him it would never happen."

He nods. “Then he shall be so recompensed for letting his soon-to-be-wife to be my Vessel. Listen to me well, Natalie.” He puts his hand on her shoulder—not that it makes a difference, but it somehow feels right, like his words thereby acquire additional power. “You shall give him a threesome. You shall go and find a woman—someone you honestly believe will please him—and bring her back to your marital bed and fulfill your husband-to-be’s fantasy. You shall be willing to do whatever is needed to make your husband-to-be as satisfied as possible with his experience, including being attracted to and aroused by this woman and making love to her. And from that point forward, you shall be willing and eager to have such threesomes, and share your husband-to-be with another woman in bed. You shall never be jealous of another such woman.”

Natalie looks at him, her eyes wide, her mind wrapping itself with his words. “I understand, my Lord.”

“Good. You shall not remember meeting me today—your Maid of Honor left you alone and you have been admiring yourself and getting ready for your wedding. You shall never speak of any of this to anyone, ever.”

“I understand, my Lord.”

He is satisfied. And he notices that he is still hard, which hardly surprises him.

“Now, worship me again, Natalie. I shall make use of you once more.”

“With pleasure, my Lord.”

And she does, taking his cock—covered with her juices—in her mouth, and sucking it lovingly, like it was indeed the tool of a God.

* * *

(Charleston, West Virginia. Twelve months ago.)

Elizabeth Bowden was exhausted—exhausted but happy. She nodded to the smiling waiter as he guided her to her table. The lunchtime crowd was settling in, conversation buzzing all around her. She was early—Greg had not arrived yet, and so she sat, asked for water, and took a moment to breathe and compose herself.

She had just left a meeting with a new client, a young man who somewhat uncharacteristically took it upon himself to arrange the wedding for his and his new fiancée’s wedding. She thought the gesture achingly romantic, and it renewed her faith in the world. Not that her faith needed much renewing—her best friend Shelley joked that she was the happiest woman in the world, and Elizabeth was not always sure that they meant the joke to be laugh-out-loud funny.

And why would she not be happy? she mused. Here she was, twenty-four years old, doing exactly what she wanted to be doing with her life, living in the town in which she was born and which she still loved, and two years into a relationship with the sweetest most wonderful man in the world.

As if on cue, Greg showed up before her table, holding a rose bouquet and a smile that made her heart melt.

“Greg,” she gushed, feeling herself blush and at once embarrassed and amused by the reaction. “You shouldn’t have!” She took the flowers, inhaled their scent with pleasure, before standing up and hugging her boyfriend.

“I know,” he said, “which is why it felt like just the right idea.” He held her, and she stayed in his arms for as long as possible, letting him go just before she thought the amused glances of the café patrons would turn into frowns of disapproval. Not that she particularly cared what they would think, but she knew Greg did not enjoy the attention.

They sat at the table, and she watched him while he ran his eyes over the menu that they both knew by heart. Two years older than she was, Gregory Hermann was tall and well built, and would have been handsome if not for the acne scars on his forehead and one side of his face, a cruel parting gift from a youth that had not been easy, growing up poor on a farm in rural neighboring Virginia. He was quite self-conscious about them. Elizabeth did not care. His scars where part of him the same way his boyish smile and his rebel curls were part of him. And she loved them all, all of those bits that made him up.

“What?” he asked, when he noticed she was looking at him.

“Nothing. Just thinking how lucky I am.”

“Not half as lucky as I am, Lizzie. How was the wedding yesterday?”

“The Maynard-Grifford wedding—it went perfectly well. A delightful ceremony, a picture-perfect reception, everything happening when it was supposed to happen, how it was supposed to happen.”

The waiter stopped by to take their orders.

“There was just a bit of a scare at the beginning, when Natalie—the bride—didn’t show up, but eventually she appeared, looking beautiful You should have seen her—she was glowing. Actually, on second thought, it was probably a good thing you didn’t see her. I can’t really compete with that...”

“Nonsense, Lizzie—you’re beautiful.”

“You’re sweet.”

“And you can’t take a compliment. You know what? How about I take you out tonight, and I show you just how beautiful I find you?”

“Oh? And what do you have in mind?” she asked coyly, knowing that she would happily go with him wherever he wanted to go.

“Well, really, I was thinking of going back to my place, since Paul is away at his sister’s tonight, where I can show you with my head between your thighs that when you’re coming over and over again you are the most beautiful girl in the world...”

“Greg!” She blushed as she looked around to see if anyone had overheard. She was not a prude, far from it, but she tended not to discuss her sex life out loud in restaurants. The thought of oral sex—Greg was particularly good at pleasing her with his mouth—sent a spike of arousal down to her groin.

“Okay, okay...” He smiled, clearly aware of the effect he had on her. “Well, I guess we can head out to the Stonewall Jackson for dinner first.”

“The Stonewall Jackson? That’s a bit... extravagant, isn’t it? Are we celebrating something?”

Greg shrugged, the movement odd and theatrical. “Maybe. Seems like the place to go celebrate the engagement of the best wedding planner in the State of West Virginia.”

“What... engagement?” She puzzled his words, unable to read the tentative smile on his face, until she looked down and saw the ring he was holding in its case. His hand was shaking. She barely heard his words as he asked her whether she would marry him, so loud was her heart beating in her chest, and later she would not remember what she had answered him—it must have been the right answer, though, for he was happy with it.

Later that evening, oral sex was especially good.