The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I like the airport. It’s a good place to find new talent. That’s what I call them, anyway. The word ‘subject’ sounds terribly clinical and ‘victim’ sounds, well, it’s never good. When you have the ability to control minds, people watching takes on a whole new dimension.

Now, someone else might pick a shopping mall or maybe a restaurant, but they both have major drawbacks. In a restaurant, people are dining as couples or small groups. There are very few good opportunities. The mall is the opposite problem. The people are numerous and in constant motion. I’ve become very elitist lately besides, and I despise the class of mall rats that parade around an urban Mecca. On rare occasion, however, I will go to a bar, a very high class one. It’s the first place I go in a new town. At home I’ve hit them all and I’ve made my way through all the interesting patrons.

Give me the airport anytime. Well, not the redeyes, I have some standards. It really is a nice cross section of society. There are business people, students, vacationers and all manner of interesting types. It doesn’t hurt that women dress in warm weather clothing all year round. I particularly enjoy the boarding area, flyers going to faraway places and no pesky guns allowed.

But I digress. I’m scanning the flights to Florida today. It’s a pretty simple process; look for whoever catches my eye. There’s no specific type, if there was I could just single out the actress, model, pop star or whatever that matches my qualifications the best. Variety is the spice of life.

There are many likely prospects, but my and everyone else’s attentions go toward one sight. A young couple is walking over, pushing a rental luggage cart and holding a leash with a dog attached to it. By the time a person is at the gate it’s pretty much a tedious waiting game. You sit in these plastic chairs and wait. Sometimes you wait for a distraction.

Even I’m distracted beyond the whole mind controlling thing. Not too many people walk animals into the terminal with them. I look at the dog and then at them. That’s when the surprise comes. She’s a hottie! No, not the dog; that’s not really my scene. The girl holding the leash draws my notice like a sign, a ‘pick me for today’s domination’ sign.

I really don’t have a type. However, there are certain features that I like. She might physically be considered fairly average, especially just wearing jeans and a shirt. The casual look is very common among travelers; if you’re cooped up in an airplane for hours, you want to be comfortable. She looks comfortable. Besides the clothes, her hair is tied back with only the bangs free. She’s also wearing glasses. I love that.

That’s the other advantage of airports, at least for me, a greater tendency for eyewear. It could be the comfort factor or the fear of losing contacts during turbulence. This girl has great glasses. She must wear them all the time. The frames are current, wire with smallish oval lenses.

I take a cursory look around, but my mind is very much set. Aside from being cute, there’s something else about her. She and her guy talked while waiting for the boarding announcement. Then the delay came. With more time they start getting touchy, the way that tends to nauseate those in stale or nonexistent relationships. They sit, arms around each other. He and she kept their faces close. Whether they talked, nuzzled or kissed briefly, it seemed like one seamless exchange.

That was the problem. All of us seek out the highest quality mate possible, in theory, anyway. I’m no different. When I first got the ability I went after hard-to-get women. I bagged beautiful women in designer cocktail dresses, club girls who were barely legal and the frosty chicks in bars who get drinks bought for them and then leave alone. It quickly became child’s play, simple misdirection. I plant a subtle suggestion that I’m rich or well connected or hung like a horse. They’re all the same.

The airport girl more than likely has depth. Come to think of it, maybe it is the glasses. I moved on from the bimbos and gravitated toward professional woman, executives, teachers, doctors. They were rarely ‘playing the field’ and didn’t frequent the meat markets. Plus, I could have a conversation with them if I wanted.

She would be a challenge, or at least interesting. Obviously, she’s affectionate. Making someone who isn’t affectionate act that way is really disastrous, especially if that someone is a terrible actress. Alas, it probably isn’t meant to be. Not to go into unnecessary detail, but I’m limited to controlling one person at a time. Those two might not even physically separate. I’m not complaining, though. What could I say, anyway? “It sucks that I can only bend one girl at a time to my will. I don’t have time for a harem. I need a spreadsheet to keep track of them.” I might as well just lament the fact I can’t turn invisible either. Unfortunately, I’m very taken with her. Later, I’ll be so wound up that I’ll have to find a woman who looks just like her and pretend.

The flight announcement finally comes to put me out of my misery. They get up. He picks up a bag. They embrace. Then he starts to leave. She waves. She’s not going with him. That explains the rather grabby behavior earlier. “Thank you, God,” I think to myself. My sarcastic side immediately pipes in with “thank you, God for letting me isolate this woman for my sexual gratification.” The mutt is still there and that worries me. He’ll probably rip out my throat or something. No, he won’t. Some days things just go perfectly. She lays out some pills, sedatives for the dog, I heard her mention to someone. I watch as she opens the mouth and puts each pill individually down its gullet. Although I’ve heard that a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s, I make a mental note to be sure she washes her hands.

The thrill of a public place is unparalleled, particularly with security. I could get out of it with a little work, but not cleanly. Now she’s walking away from the gate and the people who paid attention to her earlier. I wait a few seconds and follow discreetly. When she stops, I launch into a now familiar routine.

“Excuse me, could I ask something?” It was a dumb question, but very inoffensive. She looks at me with those bright blue eyes, the desired reaction.

“Uh, sure,” she says. I barely pay attention to the response. I start the moment I get good eye contact. She stares into my eyes, pupils dilating. Her lips were still parted slightly from the last words she spoke. I feel the link form. While fun, this process mostly serves to paralyze the girl. The control comes from skin to skin contact. I put my hand over hers on the luggage caddy and ask, “What’s your name?”

Still gazing at me, she flinches as I exert my control. “Leslie,” she answers, looking far ahead as if she’s not sure where the voice is coming from.

“Leslie, tell me how much time there is until you have to leave.”

Being somewhat mesmerized, it takes her a few seconds to answer. “Um, maybe an hour.” An hour? This might be a little rushed but I’m going for it.

I move her hand and take the cart from her as I plan. “Okay,” I think. “Dump the dog and the luggage. Get the room. Set it up. Yadda yadda yadda then get everything and go back to the gate.” I tell her to follow me, leaving her with the dog. Nobody runs out of the airport of course, at least without being stopped, so I move casually with my quarry in tow.

After what seems like an eternity, we get to the parking lot and my minivan. Remember, I don’t need to impress girls anymore. As I’m holding her hand I tell Leslie to leave the bags and the pooch inside. Of course, I crack open all the windows, then I get my suitcase and lead her to the convenient on-site motel.

With “Sabre Dance” running through my head I seat Leslie near reception and tell her to fill out the biographical data form. Yes, I actually have them fill out a form. It makes the spreadsheets easier to complete. I take that time to get a room.

Well, I’m sure everyone knows in general what was going on, with the speed at which I take her up the steps. Inside the room, I tell Leslie to wash her hands. I open up my suitcase and put together the video equipment. When she gets back, I make her take off her shoes and kneel in the center of the bed. Now I’ve got the camera aimed, focused and running with 30 minutes of tape. I’ll be lucky to use 20 of it.

This time, I walk to the bed and place my hand on her cheek, guiding her eyes to mine. “Leslie, close your eyes.” They close. “Tell me the name of the man you were with earlier today.”

“Jack,” she says with that genuine affection I prize so much. I look at the form she filled out. All the questions were answered and no problems to speak of.

“Okay. Leslie, when I snap my fingers you will open your eyes. When you do, the man you see before you will be Jack. However, you will be much more agreeable than usual to anything he tells or suggests to you. Do you understand?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she agrees. I check the watch. I’ll cut it close for sure. I snap my fingers. “Jack! What are you doing here?” She looks at her watch. “Jesus! I’m gonna be late.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think we have time for a quickie.”

She responds. “A quickie you say?” Apparently, they do this a lot. I want to marry this girl. She looks pensive, though. “It’s really late, maybe when we get to.”

I stop her. “We’re doing it now and you’ll enjoy every minute of it, trust me.” The agreeability kicks in and she starts to undress, but keeps her top on. “Take it all off.” She looks conflicted but does it anyway. It’s quite a sight. Her shapely legs and firm tits were well hidden under the clothes. I take off my pants and unbutton the shirt, but I won’t have time to put it all back on. She takes off her glasses. I look at her for a second and ask her to put them back on.

She’s on the pill, (according to the form) but I put on a condom anyway. Better safe than sorry. Leslie looks surprised and I make a couple of last minute commands. I look at her, switching into ‘master’ mode. “Don’t notice the rubber and remember, you’re enjoying this already. In fact, you’re on the verge of orgasm.”

It has the desired effect, the desire effect. She seems to be into it now as I grab that wonderful ass and guide her to my now totally stiff cock. I made sure to keep her in the shot by propping her up by her breasts, essentially making her ride me.

She was just about there, thanks to the persuasion, and time was up. The performance anxiety is slowing me down a little and I’m concerned but mostly gratified. Eventually the naughtiness of it catches up to me. I let out a groan and Leslie goes bolt upright. Her moans and muscle contractions send me over and the quick release of semen and sexual energy takes over. Once I gain control of my limbs I check the watch. Damn! I hope there’s a delay. I grab my clothes and give her another command. “Get dressed.” I go into the bathroom and clean up. After getting out, I tell her to wash her hands. I manage pack up the camera in record time. Taking her hand, I hustle her to my car with my final instructions.

“You won’t remember anything that happened since Jack left for his flight and you drugged the dog today. When I snap my fingers in a few minutes, you will hurry to the gate believing you fell asleep in the terminal. You will not acknowledge my presence again unless I speak to you or touch you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she answers. Good, I’m totally winded. We grab her stuff and run like hell. First thing inside I check her flight. Delayed. Yes! “Darn,” I think. That much time and I could have had some real fun.” I leave her, the dog and the bags at an empty row of chairs. Standing behind her, I snap my fingers. She looks around, then at the watch. She gasps and runs to the monitor with flight times. As she breathes a sigh of relief, I slip away quietly. Oh well, I have her address for some quality time later. I love the airport.