The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

At twenty six Janice worked in a huge glass and steel building that enclosed enough space to lay out a small town in. It had been featured on a television programme on modern British architecture and won a lot of awards. Around a huge atrium, filled with trees and other foliage, lined with shops, banks and eateries all for the use of the employees of Barret-Kahn Pharmaceuticals, one of the biggest and richest firms in the world of medicine and bio-tech research. She was a junior manager in the R&D section and though her salary was good and her prospects great she had found her inner tensions and her physical stress growing since she had been head-hunted from her old firm, moved down south to London from Manchester into a flat the Company had found her and started work at Headquarters.

One problem was her boss, Madeleine Alderson, the Blonde Bitch. Ten years older than Janice, she ruled the R&D administrative section with a rod of iron and a whim of steel and regarded her juniors as tools and rivals rather than colleagues. She forced Janice and the others to work endless hours of overtime with little notice and no thanks.

But the bigger problem was the latest Management Technique. Every so often in all big business organisations people who have nothing to do but order other people around get to thinking that they are not obviously justifying their existence and their ludicrously large salaries. When this happens the people lower down the totem pole prepare for the result of the latest idiot ideas being propagated by other worthless drones (these ones were called consultants) to be enforced on them. And the current Idiot Idea at B-K was a doozy!: Hot desking. They had taken away private offices from all but middle and senior management and now they were taking away the stability of a permanent workplace as well.

Oh my! Poor Janice had no place to lay her head (at least at the office) and no fixed place to work from. She was supposed to find a desk to work from, dump her laptop on it and beaver away through her workload. She could never find anyone else when she needed them, so all contact had to be by e-mail and phone. Work piled up and then Madeleine shouted at her and put another black mark on her personnel file. Janice was starting to get headaches, backaches and sleep was getting elusive. She wondered if she ought to get away, turn her back on the path up to Management. She was afraid that she might turn into Madeleine the Bitch.

Her lunch break was sacred to her and the only totally good thing she had found about her new work place was the eateries in the central atrium. They had good, sometimes great food, at very reasonable prices, served swiftly and efficiently to people who had only half an hour (more for senior management) to rest, recuperate and replenish themselves. Janice would wander from one end of the atrium to another, trying out the wares of a different place each day. From time to time an old one would close down and a new one would appear to replace it.

She was feeling particularly stressed that Friday when she hustled from the desk she’d been working at (trying to get a reply from one of the outlying R&D teams about their projected administrative budget) and came out into the open air of the central space. There was a new eatery right across from her Section so she gratefully fell into it. She ordered the special of the day and a salad. She didn’t dare have a glass of wine and she could only peck at her food, her stomach was so knotted up.

“You didn’t like it?”

She looked up at the waiter: a tall, pot-bellied man with a little Hercule Poirot moustache and a comic little Italian accent. He looked so mournful that anyone could not be delighted with the food he served Janice nearly laughed.

“Sorry, it’s been a bit of a day.”

“Ah, I know what you need. Just a moment!”

He bustled away the remains of her meal and came back with a glass coffee mug in a neat little metal holder filled with a frothy light brown mixture topped with cream.

“You have one of my specials, young lady! It will set you right up for the weekend. See if I’m wrong!”

She had to smile. She wasn’t a great coffee drinker and she certainly didn’t need to be any more jittery than she was already but when she sipped it, it was very good. Smooth and warm and sweet. And when she got back to her desk she was relaxed and calm and didn’t even scream when Madeleine came to deliver her ritual piece of Friday afternoon humiliation: the report that had to be finished tonight, no you can’t leave it till Monday or even tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, Janice” no she wasn’t,” if that disrupts your social plans. That’s what being in Management means, my girl. You’ll have to manage.”

Janice smiled and said: “Don’t worry. It’ll be on your desk before I go home.” And smiled sweetly. She’d had no plans for the evening and the look of frustrated rage when as the Bitch stalked away from her desk was well worth the extra hour and a half of work.

When she finally emerged from the office she was weary and ready for the weekend. But there was nothing waiting for her at her flat but a microwave Lean Cuisine dinner and half a bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge so when she saw the new place was still open she found herself a table and ordered a meal that made up for her skipped lunch. At a table on the far side of the restaurant she saw Madeleine laughing at a joke being made by a man in a suit. She lifted a glass of wine in salute when the Bitch looked over at her.

And at the end of the meal the same waiter came over.

“You are better now, yes?” It was impossible to tell if his accent was real or assumed for his profession.

“Yes, thank you. That really was what I needed.”

“Carlo’s special! You need a little something to relax, you ask for Carlo’s special coffee. You like one now?”

“Well, I have to get home and I don’t want to be up all night....”

“Is not a problem. You see. No problem at all. You sleep like a baby!”

And she did. She’d gulped down the sweet, creamy mixture and licked her lips to capture the last taste. It had a strange but pleasant aftertaste as if it had some sort of spice mixed into it. She caught a taxi from the front of headquarters and by the end of the fifteen minute journey she had been barely able to stagger up the steps, through the door and into her flat. She hit her bed like a tree falling and a dark, dreamless sleep claimed her.

It was the next morning in the shower that she noticed the first of the changes in herself. She was soaping her nipples when a wave of pleasure swept over her. They swelled under her hands into hard little acorns and she sagged against the shower stall for a moment as her knees went weak under her. Looking down she could see them sticking out proud and hard: she touched them again, more carefully and felt that wave of pleasure shoot up to her brain and down to her pussy. It had been a while since her last sexual release: an African medical student she had picked up at a bar in Manchester just before her move south. She remembered him as she stood in the shower and masturbated: his deep black skin, his hard young body, his cock filling both her hands as she teased it into erection....

After her shower, her nipples were still erect and sensitive. She looked at them for a while in the bathroom mirror as she dried herself off. Afterwards she put on a silk blouse and left off her bra. Even the touch of the silk proved too provoking to those two little nuggets of pleasure. She was aware of how they stuck out as she went shopping at Tesco: she felt sure every man in the place was staring at her chest. She felt acutely aware of every male in the place, from the oldest pensioner to the spottiest teenager.

When she got back to her flat she stripped out of her street clothes and spent the rest of Saturday pottering about in a kimono her sister the air hostess had brought back from Japan for her. The day seemed unusually hot for September and when she got into bed that night her cotton sheets seemed to burn against her skin. Briefly she thought about getting up and finding the thermometer she kept in a kitchen drawer. Instead she found herself reaching for the drawer beside her bed where she kept her big black vibrator, Arnold. (Named after an earlier pickup, the best built young man she had ever met but not the world’s greatest conversationalist: “It’s nice, this, innit?” had been about the extent of his bedroom chatter.) Arnold brought her to a thrashing orgasm and when she turned over and went to sleep he slipped out of her and into the little pool of moisture her self-loving had created. She dreamt that night of flying over a huge brown ocean and then diving in to discover it was cafe au lait....

On Sunday, the weather outside had turned to rain and she spent most of it in bed. She got up twice to make herself huge, self-indulgent meals of ‘comfort food’ washed down with long glasses of milk and spent the rest of the day watching television from her bed and playing with Arnold. Her ‘magic nipples’ never seemed to tire or go down and when she examined herself in the bathroom mirror, they seemed larger than ever, like little thumbs sticking out. Briefly she worried again if she might be ill and resolved to go and see the doctor if it continued.... But then she hurried back to bed and wore Arnold’s batteries down. When he was exhausted she rocked herself to sleep with her own hands, the room filled with the scent of her day long marathon of self-pleasuring.

Monday morning, the alarm went off and dragged her from a deep and comfortable sleep. She found herself singing in the shower. She carefully dried herself off, patting delicately around her breasts to avoid triggering a session that would undoubtedly have made her late for work. But when it came time to dress she found that none of her bras would fit her. They dug into the flesh of her tits and she had to fling them away. Out came her measuring tape and she found that her cup size had grown from a C to a D over the weekend. She had occasionally experienced swelling and sensitivity during her menstrual cycle but it was the wrong time of the month. She knew from her mother to expect her breasts to swell during pregnancy but that just wasn’t on either..... She resolved to see the company doctor when she got to the office. Meanwhile she found a silk top that would cover her, did up the buttons on her business suit and headed for the Tube.

On the train, her compartment seemed to be full of men. And all of them were looking at her tits. She was absolutely convinced of this. At South Kensington she stood up to let a pregnant woman have her seat and things got even worse. A last minute rush onto the train at Earl’s Court squeezed her between two tall young men and her tits, sticking out much farther than they had any business doing brushed up against the one in front. She nearly fainted at the contact and had to hang on for dear life to the strap overhead until she could fall out at her stop.

At the office, of course, Madeleine was on her case immediately.

“Well done with the Project Twelve report. I was quite impressed. I shall say so on your monthly report. Since you were so successful with them I’ve given you Project Two, Six and Fourteen to cover as well. We need these by Wednesday. I’d get started on them now.” She dumped a stack of printouts and disks onto Janice’s desk and stepped back with an infuriating smugness.

“I uhh...”

“There’s no problem with that is there?”

“No... It’s just I had hoped to pop along to see the doctor this morning....”

“What’s the matter? Been living it up all weekend and now can’t face Monday?”

“No! No, it’s... a personal matter. I’m sure it won’t stop me doing this.” She smiled at the Bitch. Quite firmly.

“See it doesn’t. Make the appointment now and get it over with. And if there’s any trouble let me know. Somebody has to do the work you know.”

No, I don’t know! Janice thought of shouting at her back. Will the country grind to a standstill if we don’t get the expenses sheets for the quarter finished on time? Will World War Three start if Upper Management doesn’t get it’s returns on time? But she let the Bitch walk away and lifted the phone to contact the doctor the company kept on site.

His name, oddly enough, was Morrisey, but he was as unlike ‘Doc Morrisey, the company quack’ from the old Reggie Perrin sitcoms as it is possible to imagine. Short and stout and frighteningly competent, he had been a Harley Street physician before taking the Company’s shilling. Barret-Khan could afford the best. He took her blood pressure, he peered in her eyes, he took blood samples and urine samples and told her (what she already knew) that at least she wasn’t pregnant. He asked her personal questions and wrote down the answers and at the end he told her she had nothing to worry about.

“It happens. Not often. Probably some sort of reaction to your new environment, change of location, change of working routine, change from a soft water to a hard water area....”

“You’re making fun of me!”

“Never been more serious. Don’t worry your head about it. Get yourself a new bra and let me know if there are any more changes. If there’s anything on your blood samples to worry about (and I can’t think why there should be) give me a ring. Otherwise, don’t worry about it.”

“But.....”

“Now listen to me young lady,” and here he stood and towered over her using his full five foot six to do so, “don’t worry your pretty head about this! Clear?”

Looking back on it at her desk she thought that was possibly the most condescending male-chauvinist thing she had ever heard. But at the time her throat went dry and all she could say was “yes, Doctor” and all she could do was slink out of the office blushing a bright red. That wasn’t like her, she usually insisted that doctors explain things to her. But for some reason, not this time.

She took his advice though and went to a little lingerie shop on the atrium and treated herself to four bras in her new size. Back at ‘her’ desk, she piled back into the stack of work and began ringing up and pestering people from one end of the country to another, in corporate labs and universities, wherever people took the Company’s subsidies to do research.

Her next few days were filled with this. She ate her lunches and her suppers at Carlo’s place. Each meal ended with one of his ‘specials’: he soon brought it automatically at the end of the meal and she drank it down. She didn’t notice how she began to look forward to that and how much her mood was altered for the better afterwards. She did notice that the coffee she drank at lunchtime made her alert and ready to work and the coffee she drank in the evenings sent her home ready for bed and deep sleep, pierced only by vivid dreams, always of flying and diving into water. But she simply thought that Carlo was slipping a little brandy into her evening coffee and that was fine with her.

Whatever Carlo did was fine with her. He was so kind and so attentive and when he told her in his funny little accent to ‘eat up, it’s good for you!’ she found herself blushing and nodding and her nipples getting hard again. He soon did not bother to show her a menu but brought her what he thought she needed. And he was always right. Always.

She thought about Carlo, funny, kind man as she ran Arnold the vibrator across her pussy before dropping off to sleep. She pictured herself at the restaurant, him standing attentively at her table, she was unbuttoning her blouse and pulling her nipple out of her bra to hold it up to Carlo’s lips.... He was never in her dreams but often in her thoughts.

On Thursday morning she found her breasts no longer fitted in her new bras. The assistant at the shop on the atrium measured her again and her cup size had grown to a DD. They took the bras she had purchased on Monday back and she brought new ones but she stalked to the Section and angrily rang up Doc Morrisey’s secretary to demand an appointment. He was away until Monday and no, there was nothing to report from her tests. She slammed the phone down and was about to have dig out a directory to find the number of her NHS doctor when a man stalked up.

“Are you Janice Jackson?”

“Yes.” He was a middle aged man in a tweed suit with a red face.

“I’m Horace Bigby and I’m Director of Administration at Casterbridge University and I’d like to know what the devil you think you’re playing at!”

Casterbridge was the site for Project Fourteen, the newest of B-K’s development projects. For some reason, Janice found it hard to speak. She was alone in the Section with the man and she had to swallow and take a deep breath before she could say anything to him. Her mouth was dry and her nipples were hard and felt as long as her thumbs, the way they pushed against her new bra.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Bigby. And I’m sorry I don’t know.....”

“You have tied up my entire administrative staff in knots and dumped the most ridiculous load of forms upon us.....”

She wanted to speak. She wanted to take control of the situation. But she couldn’t. There was a scent coming off the man, a funny little, pompous little man she would never have looked at normally but she found herself focusing on his face and his scent and she knew that her face was turning red and that her nipples were hard and she was sure he could see that and she sagged back down in her chair and she could smell his male scent mingling with a scent from her, from her pussy, her wet pussy that throbbed in time with his voice and she was going to say something, she was but he was talking and she couldn’t interrupt him and....

“What’s going on here?”

It was Madeleine stalking over from where she reigned over the section (no ‘hot desking’ for someone in her position). Madeleine’s face was red too.

“And who are you?”

“I am Ms Jackson’s supervisor. I am in charge of the R&D Administrative Section. She is acting under my orders. Is there a problem?”

Then it was Madeleine’s turn to get the full blast of Mr Bigby’s wrath and as his attention turned from her Janice felt her heart begin to slow again and her head clearing and she could actually hear the words he was saying. He was complaining (as many had before him) that he hadn’t expected the burden of administrative trivia that B-K demanded and wanted someone, anyone to make it go away. After a while he ran down and Madeleine took him off for a word with her supervisor an expert in pouring oiliness on troubled waters.

Janice sat at her desk for a little while and then went to the loos. She masturbated, thinking of Carlo and Mr Bigby nuzzling her breasts at once. After a while she stopped but the images did not go away but persisted throughout the morning.

At lunch Carlo had a meal before her in seconds and then left her alone with her cafe au lait at the end. She was certain she would have to see her NHS doctor that evening but for some reason she hadn’t yet got around to making the call. And then the Blonde Bitch came over, a coffee cup in her hand and sat down at Janice’s table! The Bitch!

“I wasn’t at all pleased with having to deal with Mr Bigby, Janice. I expect my girls to be able to handle trouble.”

“I’m sorry. It was... I’ve just been having a bad week that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

“A pity. I was hoping to be able to put your name forward when I move on to replace me. But if we have any more of this fainting flower behaviour I shall have to think again.”

“Oh? Are you planning to move on soon? When can we hope for a date?”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady!”

“I’ll take whatever tone I like! You have done your level best to make my life a misery since I moved down here....”

“AND just as well I did. The Company puts a lot of money into bringing you bright young things in and half the time you’re off to be married or somewhere you think the grass is greener. You’ve no loyalty...”

“Oh, I’ve seen how loyal you are, Madeleine! You’d fetch Branston’s paper for him if he felt like throwing it. In your teeth!”

“Why you ungrateful....”

“Ladies, ladies, please!” It was Carlo, standing right by them, towering over them. They both fell silent. “I cannot have this in my establishment. I cannot have my ladies arguing. Please, you will be quiet. You will not argue! Not here!”

Janice was silent. She looked down and felt her cheeks turn red. She was about to open her mouth to apologise when to her astonishment she head:

“I’m sorry, Carlo. It won’t happen again.”

She looked up. Madeleine was looking up at Carlo. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and her eyes were filled with tears. The Bitch was looking at Carlo as a whipped dog might look at her master. Janice looked at her and looked at Carlo.....

And realised she felt the same way.

“No....” Her throat was dry. “It won’t. I’m....I’m sorry too Carlo.”

He smiled.

“I know. You are good girls really. Here: a little treat for my two favourite ladies.”

And out of his apron’s pocket he took a small brown box and tipped a little of it’s contents into his right hand, put the box away and shared the small yellow crystals from the box into each hand.

“Here, you try this. You will like.”

And he held out his hands to each of them. A scent tickled Janice’s nostrils: it was the same ‘spice’ she had tasted in her evening coffee for nearly a week now but stronger and more attractive. She reached up with her hand to take some from him but he stopped her.

“No! Not like that. Like this.”

And he nodded down to Madeleine. She was licking the crystals from his hand, eating from his hand like a pet taking food from its owner. And a moment later Janice found herself doing the same. It seemed perfectly natural and the spice rushed to her brain so strongly that she licked each little finger until there was not a trace left.

She looked up at Carlo. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Good. Is very good. Both of you are nearly ready. Tonight, you come to Carlo’s you go to that door,” and he pointed to a small door marked STAFF, “and you ask for Carlo. Is good. Now you drink your coffee.”

And they drank their coffee. In silence.

She did not register much of what she did that afternoon. She was sure afterwards that she made phone calls, wrote memoranda, sent e-mails. But none of it was important enough to remember. Besides, her breasts were once again tight against her bra but she did not mind the discomfort. Not now.

That evening she knocked off as soon as she decently could and followed her instructions, the ones given her by her cafe au lait man. Through the door and there was a man in a white coat.

“I want to see Carlo,” she said and he gestured for her to follow. He lead her to a door which had her name on.

“You must take off your clothes, put on the dressing gown and go through the door on the other side.”

“I want to see Carlo. He said I should ask to see him.” The man didn’t seem to understand what was important.

“You will see Carlo when you go through the door. Now do as you’re told.”

She did as she was told. Inside the room was a locker for her belongings, again with her name on it, and a big towelling dressing gown. When she took off her bra she saw that there was moisture in the cups and she stood for a moment wondering what it meant. Perhaps Carlo would tell her. She put on her dressing gown and went through the door.

A big white room. Bright lights. And right in front of her a set of steps. It was one of a row of such steps that lead up to a higher platform. The platform curved in a semicircle and on it...

Were women’s bottoms. Mostly pink but some brown and black. She wondered what they were doing up there. There were men in white coats standing by some of the bottoms, taking notes. Notes about bottoms? It seemed very odd to Janice.

But there was Carlo and she wasn’t going to worry now.

“AHD here you are. You are ready now, yes?”

She smiled and nodded happily. She wasn’t sure what she was ready for but she was ready.

“Let me look at you, see how you have turned out.”

She puzzled on that for a moment but when he started to take off the dressing gown she helped him.

“Oh, you are so lovely!” He hung the dressing gown by the steps. “You come up here, come with Carlo.”

She let him lead her up the steps. She let him bend her over on a table sort of thing that was there that left her tits dangling down over the edge. She let him start to strap her torso down to the table thing while she looked around. There were women here she recognised from the Company. And right across the way from her was Madeleine. She was about to wave to Madeleine when Carlo took her arms and strapped those down too and she let him.

“Madeleine,” she said to Carlo and nodded over. Doc Morrisery was standing behind Madeleine with a clipboard and he reached down and touched her. He must have been touching her pussy because the Bitch smiled and her eyes got all misty.

“Yes,” said Carlo, “we put you apart. We don’t want you upsetting each other.”

“Uh huh,” said Janice and then she said: “oooooooooooooohhhhhhh” because Carlo was touching her just like Doc Morrisey was touching Madeleine and that was nice.

And then a man in a white coat was going along the row of women’s tits as they dangled off the table sort of thing and rubbing some sort of stuff on them. It felt nice, especially as Carlo didn’t stop touching her up from behind. It was cool stuff and made the tits all shiny to look at. And then another man came along and he put some sort of black rubber thing over the end of the women’s tits. They all had big tits just like Janice had now and they all had big dark nipples pointing down.

A voice shouted: “Ready to start up! Stand by with the new girls!”

And just then Carlo put his prick into her! Right into her and she heard herself sort of growl and pant and it was real good and she said so.

And then suddenly there was a machine starting up sort of sound and she felt something pulling on her tits only not pulling sort of sucking and that was good and she looked down and she saw that there were clear tubes going from the black rubber things down to a machine and there was white liquid coming from her tits and all the other tits and towards the machine.

“Milk,” she said. “I’m making milk.” She was pleased to have worked it out. Her big tits were making milk. Carlo had given her something in her coffee that made her tits big and make milk. She was so lucky.

“Yes, you make milk for Carlo and for Company. You come here every evening and we milk you. We make lots of lovely milk together. And they take your milk and make medicines and lots of profit. Is good. Yes?”

She looked over at Madeleine. Doc Morrissey was humping her and she had a smile on her Bitch’s face.

“Is good,” she said. “Yes.”