The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Saturday night, the loneliest night in the week, right? For me, anyway, ever since Trudy dumped me. She walked out on me four weeks to the day earlier, and I guess I was still shell-shocked enough not to want to go out and get drunk. “You’re too blah,” she had told me. “Too predictable. My God, Bill, get a life!”

So I’m not Mr. Laissez-les-Bon-Temps Rouler. So sue me. Anyway, I didn’t need Trudy, and I didn’t need a night out on the town. All I needed was a good book. And my pipe and slippers and maybe a little shawl for my shoulders, and speak up, dadburn it, or talk into my ear trumpet, sonny.

Twenty-five and feeling seventy-eight, that was me. So anyway, about five P.M. I’m listening to Sinatra on my stereo, sipping a brew, and contemplating what to have for dinner, either the turkey frozen entrée, or be real daring and try the pot roast one instead. Decisions, decisions, you know how it is. The unexpected knock brought me out of my chair and to my door, half wondering if maybe Trudy had found herself lonesome too.

Nope, no Trudy. I opened the door on a more petite and sorry, Tru prettier girl altogether. I took her in for a pleased second: five-six, maybe, and a trim 130 pounds, a girl with just a bit of meat on her bones, blonde hair, wide blue eyes, the cutest tiptilted nose, a full-lipped mouth. The rest was good, too: dopey red t-shirt with a popeyed cartoon character on it (my eyes popped a little too at that healthy chest), narrow waist, low-riding jeans, trim feet in sandals. “Uh, hi,” the stranger said. “I’m your upstairs neighbor? Look, Mrs. Garnet in 2-D said you can repair computers and stuff?”

I blinked. “Uh, sort of. I mean, I’m not a repairman, not really, I work in IT network design, but uh, sometimes I can fix up minor glitches and uh, hi, I’m Bill Dannon.”

“Linda Ash,” she said. Her blue eyes took on a pleading expression. “Would you please, please, please come and take a look at my computer? I have a big project to send in to work, and it keeps crashing.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can do anything, but—” But what did I have on my crowded calendar, right? So I ditched the beer, picked up my toolkit, and followed her to the elevator. Linda had a very, very nice rear view.

Her apartment, 2-A, was directly above mine. She must lead a quiet life, I thought. I’d never been disturbed by music or party noises. She directed me to a table crowded with legal pads and books and said, “There it is.”

Not a bad machine, middle-of-the-line. “What’s happening?” I asked.

She told me the symptoms and I thought I saw the problem right off. “Let me open it up,” I said, and in five minutes I had the computer case open and the crashing case solved. “Uh-huh. Overheating. See, your fan’s not turning here,” I said. “Did you back up your data?”

“No,” she wailed. “Cindy was always after me to do that, but I guess I’m lazy.”

“Cindy?”

“My roommate. Or was, before she moved out a couple of months ago. She’s living with her fiancé now. Is it dead?”

“Hm? Oh, no, just needs a new fan. In fact, you may be in luck. I’ve got a closet full of used computers downstairs that I cannibalize for parts. I may have a fan that will fit. I’ll run down and check.”

“How much will it cost?” she asked anxiously.

I shrugged. “Nothing. Call it a favor.”

She bit that pretty lower lip. “It’s just that with Cindy gone, I have to cover the rent myself, so things are a little tight. But I hate not doing anything for you. How about dinner? Could I at least feed you?”

A white and orange cat materialized at the word “feed” and began to weave in and out between my feet, purring like an electric razor. “You mean a home-cooked meal?” I asked, stooping to skritch Kitty’s head.

“Salad and lasagna?”

“Lady, you got yourself a deal,” I told her.

Twenty minutes later I switched on the computer and the replacement fan made a competent-sounding whirr. “All fixed, I think,” I said.

“Yay!”

“Well, don’t cheer just yet. Let me get everything connected again, and then try to send your files. If that works, let the rejoicing begin.”

Turned out she did word-processing for a couple of law firms, freelance. She had four big, hefty files to email. When the last one went through without a hitch, and the fan was still humming along, I said, “Okay to cheer now.”

“Hooray,” she said with a grin. “Okay, Bill, I’ll prepare dinner. You want to wash up?”

I hadn’t been in a feminine bathroom in a long time. The aromas were tempting, like a bakery shop that you pass on the fourth week of your diet. I dried my hands and came out, asking, “Can I help?”

She was bustling happily at the stove. “Nope, the noodles are almost ready, and then it’s just pop it in the oven and wait. Sit on the sofa and watch TV if you want.”

I went into her living room. Nice entertainment center, better TV than mine. Shelves of DVDs, too. “Okay to put on a movie?” I called.

She yelled back, “Sorry, the player’s broken. Unless you fix those too.”

“I might,” I said. “Never tried before.” So I disconnected the DVD player, got out my screwdrivers again, and just as she came into the room I held up a two-inch long piece of red yarn.

“What’s that?” she asked.

The cat was trying to climb my leg to get it. “It’s what kept your DVD tray from opening. I’m not sure, but it looks like the tail of a catnip mouse.”

“Creamsicle!” she said. She scooped up the cat. “You bad boy! I’m going to put you in your room.” Linda went away and then came back catless just as I finished setting the DVD player back in place. “Honestly, that animal gets into everything. Will it work now?”

“Ought to. Any movie you’d like to see?”

“Pick something,” she said.

Well, of course there were no guy movies but the very bottom shelf had some oldies that I hadn’t seen in a long time. I reached down to get a boxed set of Bogart films and found it was stuck. Feeling around, I discovered the reason: a big flat box was jammed between the top of the DVD boxes and the bottom of the next shelf. I worked it out. “What’s this?”

Linda came to peer over my shoulder. “I don’t know. It probably was Cindy’s those were all her movies, but she didn’t take them when she moved out. A game?”

“Looks like it. I’ve never heard of this one, though: Penalties, the game of knowledge and power. It’s got a DVD in it. Want to try it?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll bet this is the game that Cindy was always playing with Vance. I’m surprised she didn’t remember to take it.”

I popped the DVD in and after a few corporate logos, we saw an animated little guy who bounced around on the screen. “Hi! Welcome to Penalties! Remember, this is a game for consenting adults, so play it with someone you really like!”

I glanced at Linda, and she looked at me. “You game?” I asked.

She smiled. “It’ll be about an hour until dinner’s ready, and I really like you for saving my behind with the computer and for fixing the DVD, so yeah, let’s give it a try.”

The game combined an onscreen trivia competition with a foldout board game. The board had a complex curving path on it made up of lots of segments: you started at one side, and the first one to get to the winner’s circle on the far side won. The rules were pretty convoluted, but the onscreen help looked like it would take care of that. We selected our game pieces. I picked up one of the tiny pewter figurines and did a double take. I had a little guy. A little naked guy. A little naked aroused guy.

“Oh, my!” Linda said, and I swear to God she blushed strawberry-pink. But she held up her own game piece, and I saw hers was a small nude woman, one hand at her side, one hand fondling her left breast. “I wondered why Cindy and Vance got into this game so hot and heavy!” She giggled. “I guess this might be why Vance finally got desperate enough to propose to her!”

“Seems a little racy, maybe. Look, I’m cool with just watching a movie, Linda. We don’t have to ”

“It’s all right,” she said. “We’re grown-ups. I don’t think a silly game’s going to turn me on. No offense, Bill.”

“None taken.”

She frowned. “I don’t mean that to sound nasty, but well, I haven’t been dating for four or five months. I caught my boyfriend sort of cheating on me, and that seemed to spoil things for me, you know? Oh, but hey, if you don’t want to play—”

“No, I’m good. I sort of split with someone not long ago, too. Anyway, if the game makes us uncomfortable, we can always quit playing. So how do we start?”

“Before we do, how about with some wine to go with the game?”

She had a good Merlot, and we sat on the carpet with the game board spread out on her coffee table. I read the instructions. “Okay,” I said. “First we toss the die. The high roller gets first turn. Go ahead and roll.”

She threw a six, great, and my two was no match for it. So Linda got to roll again, a four this time. She put her zaftig little marker on square four: “TV and Movies.” That meant she got to punch a code into her remote, and a second later the DVD served her up a trivia question: “This muttering comic was the first choice to play the Wizard of Oz.”

“I don’t even know the name of the guy who did play the Wizard of Oz,” Linda moaned as four choices showed up on screen. I’m gonna just guess.”

She guessed wrong, which meant I had a chance to steal the question from her if I could pick out the right answer from the three remaining. They were Groucho Marx, Eddie Murphy, and W.C. Fields. Figuring that Eddie was too young and Groucho was too glib to be called a “muttering” comic, I went with Fields, and that was correct. My reward was that Linda had to suffer a penalty. She punched in the code, and after a moment of searching, the DVD flashed up her punishment: “Remove one article of clothing.”

“Oh, so it’s that kind of game,” I said. “Maybe we should just quit.”

Linda gave me a defiant look and finished her glass of wine. “I’m very competitive,” she warned me. “Wait ‘til you miss one and then we’ll think about quitting!” And she kicked off her right sandal.

I rolled a five, got a sports question that I could answer, and so got another turn. This time I rolled a two and wound up on “Legal Eagles.” The damn machine asked me what the doctrine of res ipsa loquitur meant. My guess that it meant an accused person’s testimony was wrong. Linda was practically bouncing. She knew that it meant “the presumption of negligence on the part of the person in control of what causes the damage.” Well, of course she did. I mean, that was practically part of her damn job!

My penalty was harsher than hers, I think.

Allow the other player to remove one article of your clothing.

A grinning Linda started to unbutton my shirt. “Hey,” I said. “You took off a shoe!”

“Big deal. I answered a harder question than you did! Hey, you’ve got nice abs.”

I resettled myself on the floor, the air-conditioning cool on my torso. The question wasn’t the only thing that was getting harder.

We played for a few more minutes, losing no more clothing, but I got to kiss Linda—a chaste peck on the cheek, that was all—and she had to tell me the most unusual place she had ever made love (a canoe in the middle of a lake), and I had to tell her about one time when a woman had slapped me (a secretary who snagged her skirt on a desk corner and thought I had tugged it up). Then Linda hit a super-bonus square but failed to answer the history question. I knew it (Franklin Pierce). However, when she punched in the code to learn her penalty, a screen full of directions popped up.

It said that I was to leave the room until she called me back and that she was to follow the directions on the next screen as soon as I was gone. “I’ll check on the lasagna,” I told her.

It looked fine, not done but smelling tempting already. I stood gazing out her kitchen window at the twilight. The trees were budding out, looked like a good spring. I wondered what Trudy was doing. I wondered what Linda looked like naked. I wondered why I was tormenting myself.

“Bill.” Linda’s voice was husky, and puzzling over what the penalty could have been, I returned to her. Nuts, she was still dressed.

“So what did you get?” I asked.

“Your turn,” she murmured dreamily. She sounded, well, out of it. But happy. Almost as if she had a good buzz on.

“Okay, be that way.”

I managed three rolls and three right answers in succession before hitting a question that stumped both me and Linda. That meant no penalty for either of us.

She rolled again and got a softball question that she easily answered (Santa Claus), and on the next roll she hit another super bonus square. This time she nailed the question, and instead of a penalty, a flashing REWARD sign came up. She punched in the code, and the DVD told her “For the next thirty seconds do whatever you want to your partner but without using your hands.”

With a wicked smile on her face, she crept toward me on all fours, and I thought she looked a lot like that damned cat. “Lie back,” she purred, and when I did—

Oh, my God. She started to lick my nipples with her hot pointed tongue. My cock got hard inside my khakis instantly. I groaned.

“Time’s up,” she whispered, her breath hot on my chest. She sat primly up and rolled the die again. A two, and this time she didn’t get the answer, nor did I.

After a lot of shaking, I rolled a six. Damn, I was one shy of a super-bonus square. But I answered the question (the lightning rod, hah, Ben Franklin had no idea, he should have seen my rod .) and rolled again.

I lost an article of clothing (my left shoe, I got to pick this time), then I had to give Linda a thirty-second neck massage. She missed another super bonus, and I had to leave the room again. This time she called me back sooner, and she seemed even more dreamy than before. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought she’d drunk a good part of the Merlot instead of just one glass.

Finally I hit a super-bonus and even got the question correct. My REWARD: “Try a command on your partner.”

The screen filled with a swirling spiral pattern. “What does that mean? ‘Try a command?’” I asked.

Linda whispered, “Command me.”

“Look, this is—” I glanced at her. She was staring straight ahead, her face peaceful and composed but oddly distant. She wore the faintest little smile. “Linda?”

“Command me.”

She was staring at the screen, at the weaving spirals. Oh, I got it. She was pretending to be hypnotized. This was going to be some big freaking practical joke on old Bill Dannon. Okay, I thought, I’ll call her bluff. “Let me see you naked,” I ordered.

She rose gracefully to her feet, kicked off her remaining sandal, and tugged the red t-shirt over her head. She reached behind her, unfastened her white bra, and two lovely breasts bobbed out, round and pink-tipped, luscious nipples swollen to full erection and begging for attention from my lips and tongue. Without a trace of self-consciousness, she unfastened her jeans, unzipped them, hooked her thumbs in the waistband, and shed jeans and panties all in one smooth movement.

I had to catch my breath. My face felt hot. She was glorious, full-bodied, her pussy pinkly peeking through a mist of blonde curls. Naked, she slowly turned around. Letting me see her, I realized. “Linda—” I muttered, my voice thick.

She stopped when she was facing me again. She waited in absolute docility. The DVD beeped, and I looked over at it. It was asking, “Continue game? Y/N”

I chose N. Then a screen popped up: “Warning; conditioning is temporary. Do you wish to reinforce conditioning and make it permanent? Y/N”

Well, what the hell would you have done? While Linda knelt nude before the screen and watched the swirling patterns, I went into the kitchen. The lasagna was done, and I took it out of the oven and set it on the stove. I remembered to switch off the oven.

This time it was a long, long fifteen minutes before Linda called softly, “Bill.”

The DVD told me I could switch it off, but it also had an odd bit of advice: “The key is wind-up doll.”

Linda knelt like a statue. I turned off the DVD and the TV. “What the hell is that?” I muttered. “Wind-up doll?”

Linda jerked suddenly. “Is it your move, or—oh, my God, I’m naked!”

She grabbed my shirt, clutched it to herself and stared at me with wide, frightened blue eyes. “What happened? What did you do to me?”

“Wind-up doll,” I said hastily.

She sighed, the dreamy smile came back, and she dropped the shirt. In her moment of fright and disorientation, her nipples had shrunk, but they were still perky, still…inviting.

“Linda,” I said, “tell me the absolute truth. Do you understand me?”

“I understand. I will tell you the absolute truth.”

Oh, that body. “Did you plan this? Did you know about this game?”

“No, Bill. I had never seen the game before you found it. It must belong to Cindy or her boyfriend Vance.”

Lucky Vance. Or lucky Cindy. I wondered which one of them had to pay the big penalties. “Do you—would you like to make love?”

“I like to make love,” she said in her dreamy voice. “I would like to make love to you, Bill.”

“Would you regret it later, when you—you know, wake up, come out of it?”

“Not if you command me not to regret it.”

Oh. That was a new wrinkle. What did they call it? Post-hypnotic suggestion. Post-game suggestion. Hmm.

“All right,” I said. “Here are some commands: After I say the key words again, after you’re out of this—this trance, you will be in love with me.”

“I will be in love with you.”

“I mean you will be truly, deeply, fully in love with me.”

“I will be truly, deeply, fully in love with you.”

“And you’ll never think I’m dull or predictable.”

“No. I will always think you are wonderful.”

“You will always want me to be happy. You will do anything I tell you, anything you can think of to make me happy. When I am happy, you will be happy, too. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I will serve you in every way and keep you happy. That will make me happy, too. I understand.”

“And you’ll never leave me.”

“Not ever.”

“And any time I say the words, you’ll go back into this trance. And even after you’re awake, you’ll obey all my commands.”

“Yes, of course. I will always obey your commands.”

“Good. Now I want to play a little. Do you like to play?”

“I love to play.”

“Let me see you fondle your breasts. Make your nipples really hard for me.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said. She began to run her hands over her breasts, to tweak and excite her nipples. They grew erect again, the aureoles puffy around them and more deeply pink, a shade of coral that almost glowed with her need. She sighed and squirmed as she teased herself to a higher state of arousal.

I sat on the sofa. “Come over to me,” I ordered. “Offer your breasts to me.”

She came and rested one round knee on the cushion, cupping her hands beneath her wonderful swelling breasts, presenting me with her pulsating, taut nipples. I pulled her to me and began to nuzzle and nibble. I felt her arch her back and sigh, a long, tremulous sigh. “You like that?” I asked her.

“Yes, I love it! Oh, yes, please, more.”

“I command you, Linda: Tell me what you’d like to do next.”

She pressed against me. “I I’d like for you to to lick my pussy,” she said in a low, naughty, delighted voice. “Make me come with your hot tongue on my aching clit. And then I want to suck your cock until you get nice and hard. Then I’d want you to fuck me and make me come. And then you can command me to do any dirty thing you can imagine. I want to make you come and come and come.”

“That’s a good start,” I said.

The End