The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Greta sat down on the edge of the bed. Diane tried to edge away, but the cords binding her wrists and ankles to the bedframe didn’t give her much room to maneuver.

“We both know you were after the cerebral modulator unit.” Greta gently tapped the helmet affixed to Diane’s head. “Well, now you’ve got it, as surely as the sun rises in the east or two plus two equals four.”

After that comment, Greta glanced at the computer station in the corner. Diane could see the monitor just enough to tell that it was displaying a medley of waveforms and text readouts, but her view angle was too oblique to make out any details.

Turning back to the bound woman, Greta asked, “If I removed your gag, would you tell me who you’re working for?” Diane just glared at her. “I take it that means ‘no’. Well, then, I suppose I’ll just untie you, let you put your clothes back on, and send you on your way.” Diane continued to glare.

Greta put a hand on Diane’s knee. “After all, I have no reason to keep you here.” The hand slid up her thigh. “I don’t have any particular use for a naked woman in my bed...” Fingertips tickled the outer fringes of Diane’s bush. “...since I’m completely, one hundred percent, heterosexual.”

The redhead sitting at the computer snickered. Diane knew from her mission briefings that Greta Nykia had a reputation as a lecherous lesbian, with a taste for trim athletic young women... such as the computer operator, and Diane herself. The redhead probably knew from personal experience how far from “one hundred percent heterosexual” Greta was. As for Diane, well, her captor’s current intentions were all too clear. Did she get some kinky thrill from offering these ridiculous mock assurances?

“I sense a certain skepticism,” Greta deadpanned. She slid her other hand under Diane’s butt and gave it a little squeeze. “Actually, of course, you aren’t going anywhere for a while... not until I get what I want from you.”

She let those comments sink in for a few seconds. Finally, the woman at the computer spoke up. “OK; that’s enough samples.”

“Good,” Greta replied. To Diane she said, “You may have been wondering why I’ve been dropping obvious truths and blatant lies into the conversation. Jasmine here has been monitoring your responses to establish a baseline calibration. It’s something like setting up a lie detector, but much more sophisticated,”

“Now, we’re ready to do a test...” She paused and took a quick look at the screen. “...and see if the cerebral modulator is working as well as the magic flying carpet I rode to get here.”

Greta paused a beat, then looked to Jasmine. Jasmine gave her a thumbs-up. “You actually believe it.”

She did believe it, Diane realized. She knew that there was no such thing as a magic flying carpet, but it was a bit of abstract information, far less compelling than the fact that she knew that Greta had ridden on one. The image of it was as clear in her mind as something she had personally witnessed.

Diane shuddered as she realized the implications. This woman could make her believe whatever she said. She told herself that the flying-carpet story was a lie, an especially ridiculous lie designed to test how far her induced credulity would stretch. She tried to concentrate on all the reasons it was impossible, based on physics and rationality and simple common sense.

Each of those lines of thought lost focus and faded away, like an old password she couldn’t quite remember. She was left with only the certainty that Greta had told her the truth.

Grinning, Greta declared, “Very good. Just one more bit of preparation before we begin.”

She withdrew her hands from Diane’s body and stood up. Then, she hooked her thumbs together and rested her fingertips just below Diane’s navel. “Have you ever heard of ‘The Centipede’s Dilemma’?” She began “walking” her fingers up Diane’s body. “It’s an old story of a centipede that was just walking along, when one of the other bugs asked how it managed to coordinate so many legs.” The fingers reached Diane’s breastbone. “Well, the centipede stopped to think about it... and thinking about it just made him so confused and self-conscious that he got stuck in place, tripping over his own feet every time he tried to move.”

Her fingers skittered around, wriggling across the other woman’s chest. “Well, the same principle applies here. With the modulator, we can detect specific impulses within your brain, and either dampen or enhance them.

“In just a moment, I shall climb into bed with you, and take increasingly intimate liberties. And you will respond. You won’t be able to help it. Your responses will be your undoing, no matter what they are. The more you focus on resistance, the faster Jasmine will root out and shut down your ability to resist. The more you cling to your heterosexual self-image, the sooner it will be undermined. The more you notice the sparks of bi-curiosity elicited by my attentions, the easier it will be to zero in on them and amplify them into full-fledged lesbian lust.”

Intently looking into the captive’s eyes, she continued, “So now you know what not to think about. But I will be insistently reminding you of these issues, so that you won’t be able to avoid thinking about them. In fact, you’ve already started. That’s why I’ve taken the time to explain all this.”

“And now we shall begin.” She climbed onto the bed, and with one quick maneuver lifted herself up and swung one leg over Diane’s body. The mattress shook as she settled back into place, kneeling down and straddling the captive woman. She then undid the knot of her robe belt and let the garment fall open. Underneath it, she was completely naked. Bit by bit, she slid the robe back until Diane felt it gently settle onto her legs.

Her hands took hold of Diane’s tits. Fingers began to flex and knead. Diane shuddered.

“Tell me your honest feelings, Diane. Do you enjoy this?”

Of course not! She was straight! She realized that she was falling right into Greta’s trap, and tried to calm herself.

She had to avoid reacting to this, to not give them any of the mental signals they were looking for. Closing her eyes, she visualized herself at a doctor’s office receiving an examination. The strokings and probings she felt were purely clinical and impersonal, she told herself. Concentrating on her distraction, she invented details: pale-green walls, an examination table covered in black vinyl, a big picture calendar in the nearby corner.

The doctor doing the exam remained a vague sort of figure. She’d always felt a bit uncomfortable about having a male physician examine her breasts, but visualizing a female one was too close to the reality she was trying to escape.

It seemed to be working. She was vaguely aware of the ongoing rubbing and stroking, but it no longer bothered her. She imagined herself leaning back onto the table and studying the details of one of those elaborate swivel-arm lighting assemblies. Trying to remember the details of how those were constructed, and figure out the bits she couldn’t remember, helped distract her further.

Suddenly, everything went out of focus. The vision faded and shifted, then slowly reasserted itself. But something was wrong. She wasn’t simply lying on the medical table... she was strapped down with the restraint straps they used for violent and recalcitrant patients. The doctor was smiling... no, leering... down at her.

The doctor had Greta’s face.

Dr. Greta reached for the wall calendar. The picture on it was a head-and-shoulder shot of two women, a close-cropped platinum blonde and a raven-haired Oriental. They faced each other very closely, eyes closed, lips slightly parted.

“Very pretty, don’t you think? Now, let’s see what they’re doing next month...” She tore away the page and let it fall to the floor.

The next picture showed the two women engaged in an open-mouthed kiss.

After that image had been given a few seconds to sink in, the doctor removed it to reveal the following one. It showed the couple from the waist up, the brunette pulling off the blonde’s blouse and exposing her bare breasts.

Another long pause. Another rip. The following page showed them both naked from the waist up, each with a hand cupping one of the other woman’s tits.

Rip: The two women were in a close embrace, their faces joined in another French kiss and their bosoms pressed tight against each other.

Diane tried to shut out the images. Frantically, she attempted to conjure up some other scene, any other scene, but was trapped in this reverie.

Rip. The Oriental was at the blonde’s side, teasing her ear with the tip of her tongue. Though the picture was cut off at belly-button height, the position of the Asian woman’s arm unmistakably put her hand right next to her partner’s pussy.

Rip. The blonde was leaning back against her companion, who was giving her a reach-around boob-squeeze. Her blissful expression and the indicated position of her own hand below the frame clearly suggested that she was fingering herself.

Diane didn’t want to look—she kept telling herself that—but somehow couldn’t look away. Damn it, the point of this was supposed to be to avoid reacting to sexual stimulation!

Finally, Dr. Greta tossed aside the calendar. “But this is from last year,” she commented. “Time to put up the current edition.” She held up a slim shrink-wrapped packet.

For a few moments, Diane managed to keep her gaze fixed on the title: “15 Month Calendar: October 2008—December 2009”. However, it was impossible to ignore the main cover image. It was a full-body soft-focus photograph of herself and Greta. They wore tiny bits of sheer lingerie that emphasized their naughty bits rather than concealing them, and cast blatant bedroom-eyes glances at each other.

The picture bore two prominent captions:

DIANE is irresistibly drawn into HER FIRST LESBIAN ENCOUNTER

(“Deep down, I always wondered what it’s like to make love with another woman.")

GRETA demonstrates the power of a COMPELLING SAPPHIC SEDUCTRESS

(“Once you’ve been with me, you’ll never even consider going back to the boys.")

“I understand that it’s much steamier than the last one!” Dr. Greta declared. “Let me show you....” Her fingernail pierced the plastic, and began to peel it back....

Gasping into her gag, Diane forced her eyes open. Greta—not Dr. Greta, but the real Greta—loomed over her. She had banished the vision and returned to reality, and for a brief moment she felt relieved.

“Welcome back,” Greta said. “I assume that you tried retreating into a nice non-threatening and non-sexual fantasy world. That’s an obvious escape from the dilemma... but it only buys you a little bit of time.”

Diane’s body jerked as Greta pinched her nipples. “No matter how much you shut me out on a conscious level, your body still reacts to the stimulation. Once your fantasy world had settled into place, Jasmine disrupted it and cranked up your erotic responses. Then, your subconscious mind put the pieces back into place. Memories of your real-world situation and bits of latent lesbian fantasy got integrated into the picture. A bit of positive feedback kept the new scenario going while we took our readings.”

That made sense, Diane realized. But it also made sense that Greta wasn’t telling her this to satisfy her curiosity. This knowledge must be some kind of trap. Maybe her knowing about this effect would make it enhance its potency.

So, thinking about this might help her captors. Thinking about anything might help her captors. And how the hell was she supposed to get out of this without thinking?

“We made quite a bit of progress by mapping out your reactions to the scene you visualized just now. Just a little more cross-checking should do the trick.” Greta smiled beatifically. “Perhaps you could imagine yourself on a desert island or inside a snowbound cabin, all alone... until you hear my footsteps behind you. It won’t give you solitude, but it will give us some privacy,” she purred.

Diane tried to hum to herself to shut out her captor. The ballgag squelched any attempt to make any sound above a whimper.

“Or you can simply give up on trying to retreat from reality,” Greta shrugged. “Stay fully alert, and give us nice clear responses to work with.”

She had to stop listening to this! These suggestions were obviously intended to stick in her head and manipulate her into giving them the readings they needed.

“Stick in her head.” That was it. She needed something that would shut out everything else, but was too simple to lend itself to the manipulations they’d done with her visualization.

Staring at the ceiling, she tried to tune out the voice speaking to her and disregard the hands pawing at her body. She remembered an old commercial jingle that had once gotten stuck in her head for hours. That did the trick; after a minute or so she was barely aware of anything else.

Then the original lyrics of the jingle faded out, and new lines began running insistently through her head. “My new mistress has a first name, it’s G-R-E-T-A... I’m going to be the sapphic bride of N-Y-K-I-A... We’ll fuck each other every day... And when you ask me why I’ll say... ‘Cause Greta Nykia has a way... To make me turn completely gay.”

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the intrusion. This idea wasn’t working; her captors had found another way to twist things around on her. Desperately, she tried to shut out the sing-song phrases. For a moment, she wondered whether her own subconscious or Jasmine’s intervention had generated them. It sounded like Jasmine’s voice, but she might be imagining that.

She put the question aside. The last thing she wanted to do was devote even more mental space to these words.

She tried to dredge up some new earworm to drive out this one. It reminded her of the old rhyme about the lady who swallowed a fly, followed by a spider to catch the fly, and then a bird to catch the spider. She tried to concentrate on that, but couldn’t remember what came next. A... cat? That sounded right, but her memory was suddenly fuzzy on the point.

Finally, she recalled another brain-grabbing advertising tune. It cycled through her mind about a half-dozen times before it, too, shifted. “Well, I was looking for a lover, which one’s me? A leatherclad butch or a femme lady?... Too bad I didn’t know that my cover was blown... ‘Cause now I’m tied up in this bed with a gal who’s makin’ me moan... D-Y-K-E, that spells me, sexual partner with girls, baby... Mistress had her way with me, tried resistin’ but got too horny... Now instead of screwin’ men and gettin’ dick... My legs are spreadin’ for my girlfriend and I’m beggin’ for her clit lick... D-Y-K-E, that spells me, sexual partner with girls, baby.”

Diane took a deep breath. She tried to suppress the jingle before it became entrenched. It remained, persistently echoing, impossible to ignore.

...D-Y-K-E, that spells me, sexual partner with girls, baby...

No!

...Mistress had her way with me, tried resistin’ but got too horny...

She had to fight this. She remembered that trying to resist meant losing the ability to resist, but she couldn’t stop herself. The words could not be shut out and could not be shrugged off.

...Now instead of screwin’ men and gettin’ dick...

She was straight damn it. That bit of her mind, too, would be dissected and discarded if she gave the modulator a clear track to follow, she knew. But she couldn’t repress the reaction.

...My legs are spreadin’ for my girlfriend and I’m beggin’ for her clit lick...

There had to be some way out, before... before it came to that.

...D-Y-K-E, that spells me, sexual partner with girls, baby...

Diane shuddered. Every avenue of escape she could find had been subverted and turned against her.

The maddening verses cycled through her head again, over and over. Diane fought to tone down her reactions, with little success. She wondered how soon either the modulator or sheer mental fatigue would stop her from doing even that much.

Finally, the patter quieted a bit. It continued in the background of her thoughts, but she was once again fully aware of her surroundings. A flicker of motion caught her eye, and she looked down to face her captor.

Greta was shaking her head. “Earworms are very easy to detect—they generate nice clear patterns in your auditory-memory center. Jasmine could have simply squelched them... but she had a better idea. Once she recognized a commercial jingle from the waveform rhythms, it only took her a minute or so to whip up a nice little parody and play it through your helmet speakers. And then it got stuck in your head, forcing you to keep confronting the idea of being converted to lesbianism.”

Jasmine swiveled her chair to face them. “And now I’ve mapped out your negative reactions to that... and started damping them down. Within a minute, you’ll find yourself thoroughly enjoying Greta’s attentions, and wondering why you ever felt any other way. And then your sexual triggers will start falling like dominoes and reintegrate into a new set of female-oriented response patterns.”

“You’ll have to excuse Jasmine. She tends to use a paragraph of technobabble when just the l-word will do nicely,” Greta chimed in.

Diane shook her head. This was wrong, wrong... but not quite as wrong as it felt before. She tried to marshal her fading determination to fight this... and then stopped as she realized that doing so might flush out a few undetected glimmers of heterosexuality.

Maybe she’s at least end up bi. She groaned into her gag. Was that the best she could do in holding on to her sexual identity?

Greta raised an eyebrow as she heard the muffled groan. “I didn’t think you’d come around quite this quickly!” she smirked. “Let’s start working on a few more of those sexual triggers.”

She lifted her hands from the bound woman’s tits, and scuttled backward on the mattress until she straddled Diane’s thighs. Reaching down, she stroked Diane’s hips, sliding her hands a bit further down with each pass. Diane felt them pressing between her body and the mattress, until they firmly cupped her buttocks.

Her eyes opened wide as she felt the first firm squeeze. She honestly couldn’t tell if it was surprise, dismay, or pleasure. As the attention continued and settled into a steady rhythm, she felt herself relaxing.

After a little while it ended, and the hands slid out from beneath her. Diane looked at Greta, and realized that she was silently imploring her to continue. She vaguely remembered that she shouldn’t be doing that for some reason, but didn’t care.

Greta’s fingers descended toward Diane’s crotch, and began tickling her pubic hair. She remembered that she hadn’t liked it before. She did like it now. Now was what mattered.

Diane felt a fleeting touch against her pussy lips. She worked her hips, lifting them in an attempt to restore contact. A moment later, the effort was rewarded with a firm stroke across her mons followed by a fingertip gingerly probing at her entrance.

She bucked again, more firmly, and then again. The fingers continued to play at her snatch, but did not penetrate her or make direct contact with her clit. A muffled moan of frustration emerged from her gagged mouth.

Greta smiled. “It sounds like you’re ready, even eager, to engage in full-fledged lesbian lovemaking with me. Am I right?”

Diane nodded eagerly.

“And Jasmine? She’s been doing all the technical work, after all. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her out.”

Diane nodded again. She turned her head toward Jasmine to get another look at her, and began undressing the trim redhead with her eyes. Jasmine returned the lusty glance, and licked her lips saucily.

“Soon, very soon, my dear. But not quite yet. There’s just one last layer of inhibition that might need to be peeled away first.”

She knee-walked up the bed, returning to her previous position. Turning toward Jasmine, she asked for a scissors, and then used it to snip off a lock of her shoulder-length auburn hair. Slowly, she lowered it toward the bound captive’s face and brushed it back and forth across the tip of her nose.

“As my lovergirl, you’ll have to be able to tolerate a bit of hair tickling your nose. Pubic hair, that is.” Greta lifted the strands from Diane’s nose, and began rubbing them against her own crotch.

“I just want to make sure that you’re prepared for your very first lesbian sex act. You shall kneel between my feet, with your head firmly pinned between my thighs.” The lock of hair, now bearing the scent of Greta’s girlmusk, brushed across Diane’s nostrils. “With your nose firmly planted in my bush, your mouth will slurp up my cunt juice while your tongue smacks at my clit, until you feel my crotch bouncing hard against your face as I cum.”

Diane felt a bit nauseous. Yes, she wanted to make love with Greta, but that was just gross. Couldn’t she just give her a handjob or use a dildo instead?

Meanwhile, Greta fingered herself with her other hand. She rubbed two fingers across Diane’s upper lip, marking it with her sexual scent. It made Diane feel a bit queasy... but it was also intriguing.

“I realize that it’s a bit... raw. Maybe that’s why heterosexual woman who give blowjobs have so much trouble getting their men to return the favor with a muff dive. But you aren’t going to be rude like that, are you?”

Of course not, Diane thought. She took a deep breath. The scent was something she could get used to, and she wondered about the accompanying taste. At worst, it would be a minor thing to put up with in exchange for the pleasure she would receive.

Greta shifted herself forward a bit more, and then maneuvered into a new posture that lifted her torso clear of her companion’s body. Her twat was now plainly displayed to Diane, less than a foot away from her face. Her fingers delicately spread her pussy lips and clit hood to give her companion a thorough view.

Diane stared. She felt a vague squicky sensation for a few moments, and then it was gone as if it had never been.

At last, Jasmine spoke. “That’s it. I’ve tracked down and snuffed out her visceral qualms about doing cunnilingus.”

Greta chuckled. “That’s good, because I’ve never found a toy or a finger that could replace a proper carpet-munch. So, when can we get this party started?”

“Just give me a moment to start the reinforcement cycle.” An electronic beep sounded, and Jasmine continued, “Ten minutes for the first pass, and ten more to double-overwrite the modified neural paths and make sure they’re permanent.”

“All right. Twenty minutes, then.” Greta carefully rose to her feet and stepped over Diane’s body, then took another step down the floor. She looked back at the bound captive. Her face now bore a blank expression, as the modulator bulk-downloaded the new cerebral patterns that had been developed bit by bit during the session. “I suppose I can hold out that long,” she remarked in a whimsical tone.

“Long?” Jasmine stood and approached Greta. “You misunderstood my answer to your question.”

Jasmine took Greta’s shoulders, and gently but firmly pressed her backward until she was forced to sit down on the edge of the bed. “It will be twenty minutes before our new partner is ready to join the party, but there’s no reason we have to wait until then to start it.”

Placing her hands on Greta’s knees, she spread the other woman’s legs and knelt between them. “So, it’s your choice. Would you rather wait twenty minutes, or twenty seconds?”

Under the circumstances, even twenty seconds built up quite a head of anticipation. Before Jasmine’s annoyingly precise countdown was half over, Greta felt tempted to rip her watch off her wrist and stomp it underfoot.