The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chain Letter

by Iago

Disclaimer:

  • If you are under legal age, stop reading this at once. If you are disturbed by erotic literature, mind-control or f/f sex, ditto.
  • This story is © 2000 by Iago. No posting or distribution is allowed without express permission from the author.
  • This is a work of fiction. The situations are not real. Neither are the characters.
  • Send all comments to . Don’t be shy, I’d love to hear from you. ;)

Author’s note: I wrote a story years ago that used a similar plot device, albeit merely as a catalyst for a tale much more romantic in flavor (as opposed to relying heavily on MC, or taking a more sociopathic route). Here’s a quaint little retelling that came to mind as I mulled the original over.

Many thanks to Sara H, for her very helpful feedback, suggestions and corrections.

* * *

There was an audible zing coming from the speaker next to my computer, followed by the sound of an arrow hitting someone in the chest. A distinctly British voice, speaking through painfully clenched teeth, gritted out, “Message for you, Sir.”

Thud.

I groaned in annoyance. I was in the middle of juggling numbers for an upcoming pitch to SoftImaging, and didn’t really enjoy being interrupted. I remembered, though, that my mail filters already separated the wheat from the chaff... so whatever came through, would likely be important.

I minimized the spreadsheet with a click, wondering how it would go over if I introduced Monty Python sound bites into the presentation. To hell with the corporate getup, with the white blouse and gabardine skirt, with the silk ascot and the chin length bob with bangs—I enjoyed the idea of being as unpredictable as the Spanish Inquisition.

My friend, Vivian, mentioned at dinner a while back, that she thought my job was getting to me. Maybe she was right. I didn’t have time to worry about it.

A few more mouse clicks and the newly-arrived message popped up into view. My eyes scanned it quickly.

Down on your luck? Unable to find Mr. Right? Don’t despair! Send this letter to three of your friends, and love will smile upon you yet! A woman in Michigan found her soulmate ten days after sending this letter to friends! Countless women have benefited! Stop being unhappy! Send this letter and find happiness at last!

I stopped reading at once, cursing under my breath. I thought my filters sent this rubbish right to the trash bin, but I guess there were still enough cracks the system for it to slip through. I sighed wearily, manually deleting the annoying message.

Then I got back to figuring how I was going to convince a major software imaging company to take the XML plunge... and to pay us truckloads of cash in the process.

I gave the message a last thought, and then shrugged it off. Besides, I already had Matthew. He was a gentleman.

And a great fuck.

* * *

I had nailed a Sales Representative position less than a year ago. Success lies in the art of saying, “Nice doggie,” while your client hands you a check. On a good day, I could have mine panting and rolling over.

Vivian didn’t get it, but being an artiste, it was understandable. She loved charm and idle romance; things she was sure to find in her latest trips to Paris, Rome and the Caribbean. Me, I settled for the clockwork pace of New York and L.A.’s business districts. I was addicted to the rush of securing blue chip accounts, quite a step up from managing cross-organizational teams focusing on specific market segments. People hear me talk about my work and think I’m reciting the corporate line, but their ears aren’t attuned to that riveting symphony of the mind... the one that heralds the upload of a client’s electronic signature, validating a virtual contract. In a second, a transfer of funds in three major banking establishments takes place, generating net revenues for our company upwards of nine figures.

I had the best office suite on StructuredTech’s third-floor, the West corner of the building, all to myself, with a wonderful stretch of green expanse swooping under me, and away from the hazy gray mist that perpetually hung over the city. My supervisor, Diane, was itching to get me in Raymond Dawney’s chair, over in Business Development, by any means necessary. It had something to do with the fact that the bastard either ripped her ideas off, or scuttled them outright if he didn’t get a chance to snatch them; but mostly, she was hoping to promote a sympathetic department head who would help her forge a stronger link between marketing and sales. Raymond had defeated all her efforts so far, thanks to Barrington, who had been squatting for so long in the CEO chair he would soon need wheels to get around.

Diane and I would bitch about it, when we found time to meet for lunch. She’d muse dreamily about a wholly client-based approach to Software Development and Marketing, and I would nod curtly. She was a visionary all right, and the challenge was tempting.

Of course, I was also thinking of the extensive benefits that came with the position.

But just a little.

* * *

Casual Fridays: The great American underwhelming innovation. I slipped on a casual cotton T-shirt, a pair of jeans and comfortable espadrilles before grabbing my briefcase. The drive put me in a great mood-there was little to no traffic.

I got to my office, put the coffee mug filled with orange juice next to the pile of internal memos, fired up the PC and went through my e-mails. Anticipation of the weekend trip with Matthew to his cottage near Lake Meighen, and the glorious nights in store for us, sent a glorious little chill down my spine and straight to my clit.

I blinked about halfway through my list of new messages.

Stuck in a horrible relationship? Tired of being abused and treated like garbage? Always falling for Mr. Wrong? Send this letter to three of your friends and your troubles will come to an end! You will find the right person for you! Below you will find testimonials that will prove without a doubt that this e-mail chain-letter works. Just send it to three of your friends, and all your secret, romantic hopes and dreams will come to fruition! Just mail it and see how it will change-

I groaned, wondering how an e-mail from the same server would have made it past the filter again. I had purposefully specified a lockout on any message coming from ‘@so_s.com’ I called up the properties of the mail-filter software, and wasted another ten minutes trying to figure out the glitch. I came up empty handed.

I selected the message, shoved it in the trash bin with an angry click of the mouse, and emptied its contents immediately, while frustrations seethed in my brain. A small thing, but a royal pain in the ass.

I hated when little things like this put a damper on my day.

Then again, I had to be honest with myself. Matthew was going to pick me up after work, drive us up straight to the cottage, and start drinking when we got there. He’d pass out, only to run off early in the morning to go rock-climbing. He’d be bushed come nightfall, and I’d be all by myself. Again.

Typical.

I looked at my middle finger, making a face.

I wondered if sex-shops had dildo specials.

* * *

Back from the weekend. StructuredTech was scrambling to comply with a request for help from a major client that lost a sizable chunk of its main database backup. Said client also happened to have a few offices overseas, meaning we had to coordinate troubleshooting of their IS facilities over a seven hour time differential. I was to gear up for the possibility of a contract liability dispute, just in case.

Nothing like landing in the middle of a hurricane.

I tried not to think of the horrible events of the weekend, as I reached the third floor and headed to my office. I could still feel Matthew’s paws all over me. I tried to repress a shiver, but to no avail. I had brought extra beer in the hopes that he would go all out and booze himself into a stupor, but for once, his drinking habit didn’t kick in.

Lucky me.

I had to fight him off, finally imploring him to go to bed alone, pretending I needed fresh air from the large open window in the cottage living room. Thank goodness for the couch, with its moldy cushions and springs, pressing the stuffing into my ribs. At least I was alone.

When I was sure Matthew was sleeping soundly, I took out the 9 inch artificial cock from underneath the clothes I had carefully folded into the bottom of my satchel.

In the darkness, I slipped my panties down to my ankles and felt the touch of its rubber head on my wet slit.

Strange whispers floated in the back of my mind, warning me of frustration, just as they had while I stood in the sex-shop, about to blow fifty bucks on the thing.

I should have listened both times. An hour later, fuming, I threw the thing away and finished the job properly... by hand. It took me less than two minutes to reach a wondrously intense climax, and I had to bite into one of the cushions to stifle a scream. Good thing Matthew is a sound sleeper.

Only a woman can do the job right.

I lay there for a time, pussy seeping and quivering, delicious currents swirling from the center of my womanhood, spreading. The idea that I came while thinking of Vivian’s nude, squirming body didn’t really bother me at all. I wiggled my toes, which had curled and cramped a little in the intense violence of my climax. Then I looked down to the discarded phallus on the ground, still slick with my juices. It peered up at me pitifully, like a ridiculous, wobbly, one-eyed worm, and I couldn’t help but feel mild revulsion.

To quell the nauseating sensation, I brought my fingers to my lips, tasting of my tangy, feminine essence.

Yes. Much better.

There was a burning question trying to form in my mind, but somehow it wouldn’t sit still long enough for me to grasp it.

* * *

I sat at my desk, activated the automated answering service on my phone line, and quickly typed in my e-mail password. I had to do it twice more before my excited fingers got the sequence right.

I skimmed through the ton of messages, until I saw the extension I was looking for. Thank God the mail filter had failed again. I made a note to eliminate the server name from my ‘forbidden’ list as soon as I had finished reading.

Love comes in many forms, but ONE is sweetest amongst all others. Why settle for anything else? Why accept the humiliation of male violation? Send this e-mail to three of your friends, and your secret urges will be satisfied! Do not tell anyone, do no speak to anyone, simply send it, send it to three of your sweet, young, beautiful girlfriends. And then think of the joy they too will come to know... just as one of *your* friends already has...

I could almost feel my pupils dilating as I glimpsed the pictured displayed at the bottom of the text. The scanned image was sharp in quality, and there was no doubt that it was a picture of Vivian, although her surroundings appeared somewhat nebulous. She was obviously in the throes of a delightful orgasm, her head arched back, her mouth open, screaming her consuming pleasure in such vivid fashion I could almost hear it myself. The bottom of the image cut right under her naked breasts, but somehow my mind managed to fill in the unseen parts. The most significant parts.

For one, the fact that another woman was eating her out.

I felt my panties stick moistly against my pussy.

* * *

Hell is waiting for an e-mail to arrive.

I hadn’t heard a peep from Vivian, the picture I received being the only proof I had that she was still around, somewhere. She still hadn’t returned from her trip to the Caribbean as far as I could tell, though she had been expected back over week ago. I left twenty-three messages on her machine. I tried e-mailing her, at her normal address and the one I received the chain-letters from, but I got no response.

I suppose it was my fault. I was being a bad girl.

No, not like that. I indulged myself. Honestly, I did. I stroked my pussy every chance I got, thinking of beautiful women to make love to. I climaxed five, six times a day-during office hours. Some nights, it was double that.

That’s what a good girl does.

I was a bad girl because I... couldn’t quite bring myself to obey.

I knew it was just a matter of time, but I was afraid. Worried. It was not that I didn’t want to forward those e-mails to every woman I knew... every friend, every family member... the mere thought of it enthralled me beyond my ability to describe the feeling accurately. I had already created a mailing list, containing all the addresses of the women I was in contact with. I’d also grabbed my high-school and college yearbooks, and had started tracking down all of my former classmates.

I was betting that I could reach an additional two, maybe three hundred women. Easy.

But I was just keeping my mind busy. Working towards that goal prevented me from actually obeying ”now.“ I guess it was the nameless fear I was still feeling; the terror of being a moth drawn to an irresistible flame. Even so, my climaxes kept getting stronger and stronger... the feeling of apprehension would never come back quite as strongly, dwindling with each blissful indulgence as the days passed.

Maybe it was worth it. I would continue to receive e-mail messages. I began to live for the moment when the computer notified me of another note.

I set up my e-mail filter to block incoming messages from everyone in the company. Everyone outside too. I knew that would draw suspicion, but I felt the instant of Truth was near. I changed my “new mail” notification sound from Monty Python to Meg Ryan, who screamed in pleasure every time I received the wondrous gift of another letter. No one was ever in my office when it suddenly blared over the speakers... not that I cared. The sound echoed through my mind, through my body... right into my fiery cunt. I would cum then and there, even before I contemplated yet another directive... another order...

Matthew took news of the breakup as well as could be expected. Which is to say not well at all.

He begged me to explain. I refused. How could he possibly understand anyway? How could he envision the dreadful nausea every woman felt whenever a man probed her with his disgusting organ, screaming obscenities, filling her nostrils with the awful stench of his breath? That the throbbing abomination between his legs soiled her sacredness with a substance so foul as to make her vomit?

I told him I’d rather swallow raw sewage than have my lips anywhere near his vile, filthy member... and meant it.

He begged me to talk to him, to tell him what had happened between us, what he could do to change things. He used that pathetic, whining little voice men always use when they want something. When they want IT.

They always want IT.

He finally understood when I picked up the phone and told him I was about to call the police. I sighed in relief as he left, knowing it was finally over. I was so grateful to have put this obscene and abominable chapter of my life behind me. Forever.

I waited for the next e-mail.

* * *

Sweet cunt-lapper... slave to my Will... woman graced with the pleasure of servitude to your Mistress... Read these lines and OBEY... You KNOW what you must do... you have been instructed... you must COMPLY... you must SUBMIT... you have NO choice... NO will... NO say... NO soul... you are an INSTRUMENT ... an instrument of PLEASURE... an instrument of CORRUPTION... the only thing more important than serving your MISTRESS is the induction of other SLAVES to my WILL...

I came and screamed, longer and harder than I ever had before, not caring about who might hear. I felt the walls surrounding the innermost part of my mind bursting apart as the sweetness of Truth seeped forth and invaded what little of my original personality remained. The dismal pain of my joyless world ended as the sun exploded in me, delivering true understanding of my purpose. It was Destiny, ordained by sweet Fate, who had smiled upon me, cajoling the electronic sinews that had sprung across this male-dominated hell, leading me to Salvation. I wondered why it had taken so long to obey, so long to succumb to the bewitching power which now owned me, body and soul.

I was happy to become a mindless slut, enthralled by my Mistress.

Perhaps I had waited because it made my surrender that much sweeter.

It was no longer of any importance.

* * *

My rasping breath whistled through my lips.

I tried focusing on the computer screen, my shaking right hand guiding the mouse, my left working deep inside the furnace, under my shriveled skirt. The orgasms thundered inside me in swift succession, like scorching, lightning lashes from a black sky, every time my mind contemplated what I was doing. I struggled to rid myself of all thoughts, concentrating on the task itself, instead the ultimate goal.

It was way past office hours. I had the building floor all to myself.

I sifted through the company listing, under the “Software Design” heading. Names, pictures and bios flew by as I searched for the perfect candidate. Sweaty strands of hair dangled before my eyes, dancing to the rhythm of my swaying body and my excited panting.

A spasm suddenly coursed through my right arm, freezing my hand into place it as I found her.

Sabrina Higgins. 24. Rising star of the Product Technology department.

She smiled happily at me from the flat screen, her eyes brimming with intelligence and enthusiasm.

I pointed the arrow to her internal e-mail address, trying to steady my badly trembling hand. I tried clicking on it three times, as I heard the roar of a tidal wave screaming in my ears, every burning nerve in my body about to carry me over the edge of the world...

no choice... no will... no say... no soul...

Oh yes. Oh God, yes.

* * *

Friday afternoon.

I came up with an excuse for a prolonged visit the Software Engineering lab. As it turns out, I caught sight of Sabrina as she stood alone in the break room. The bleak, lightly furnished area, with its smooth, pale-blue walls, was down the hall from her assigned cubicle on the second floor.

Brown spots tarnished the light khaki bermudas which covered her long tanned legs to mid-tight. The white T-shirt and casual Reeboks further established her affiliation with the brash, younger crowd of programmers, who were spared the trappings of corporate dress code, thanks of their invaluable and innate computer expertise.

Sabrina was staring at her hand purposefully as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee... as if needing to concentrate intensely on the task to avoid spilling any.

“Helloooo Sabrina” I whispered huskily, peeking into the otherwise empty room.

Her gasp was quickly followed by a crashing sound, as she dropped her half-filled cup. It shattered, spewing fluid blackness and porcelain fragments over the tiled floor. More brownish blemishes appeared, this time all over her pretty little white shoes and socks.

The young woman’s eyes were wide with fright, focused upon my amused grin.

“I hope you’ve taken the time to check out those mails I sent you...” I began, casually stepping into the door’s threshold.

The click of my heels sounded peculiar in this part of the building... so stiff and formal.

I clasped my hands behind my back, arching my shoulders outwards a little.

Samatha’s befuddled expression provided me with her answer, her eyes dropping instantly to my thrusting bosom, tightly wrapped in my well-tailored, dark blue blazer. I shivered as I felt her glance run over the curves of my breasts.

“I-I have some more work to do on a beta version of the latest interface—”

She had begun speaking in a mad rush, desperate to finish her sentence so she could flee. The words died on her lips as she saw me take a step forward, gently shutting the door behind me.

“There’s something I need you to do Sabrina” I began, in a confiding tone, “but first, you need to finish reading all of your messages.”

Sabrina’s pretty little blonde head shook sideways while a whimper escaped her lips. An irresolute, halfhearted sign of dissention.

I wondered how thorough her perusal had been, how quickly she had come around, with the whole load of e-mails I had received dumped in a single, long attachment, in her inbox.

Why had it taken so long for me to get them all? Had Mistress been toying with me?

toy yes fuck toy instrument pleasure slut lesbian toy yes fuck

The click of my heels resonated with oppressive inevitability. I closed in on Sabrina, who took a step back and cornered herself between the lone table and the coffee machine.

“You are going to finish reading all of your messages, Sabrina...” I instructed emphatically, “and then you are going to read them again. Very attentively. After that, I want you to have a long, hard cum.”

The fear in her eyes swelled darkly as she realized she could do nothing but obey.

“Then, you can give me a call,” I added with a wink, “so we can discuss what I need you to do.”

Her lower lip was trembling, her lost, fawn-like eyes caught in the headlights of my stare, shining a new awareness into her soul.

I reached for her. One arm circled her narrow waist, pulling her closer. With my other hand, I began stroking her lovely, firm ass.

Her young breasts mashed against my own, driving her breath slowly through her parting lips, like a deflating balloon. The melodious little moans she made as I continued to fondle her behind provided me with her second, unspoken answer.

“That’s a good little girl” I murmured approvingly.

* * *

Diane called me into her office Tuesday afternoon. I stumbled out into the corridor, legs still weak from the climaxes my luscious little slut recruit had given me. Sabrina’s little tongue had worshiped my snatch wonderfully for much of the morning, before I dismissed her back to the Software Engineering lab, so she could continue to fulfil the mission I had entrusted in her.

I took the elevator up, and was alone for the ride. I felt my juices dripping down my inner thighs, and gave them a short squeeze. In the aftershock of the small orgasmic tremor, I glanced down between my legs and saw three glistening drops, shining like pretty little pearls, upon the floor of the cart, directly underneath my skirt. I thought of the next woman who would be riding this elevator... about the intoxicating fragrance that would rise up in the air, to tickle her nostrils.

I though of the wonderful images that would slowly sink into her mind as a result.

I willed myself not to come, the rush of blood to my head signaling the arrival to the right floor. The metal doors parted silently, and I stared, quite flushed, at a delicious secretary from Accounting, carrying folders under her arm.

I winked at her playfully as I stepped off. She looked at me quizzically from behind her gold-rimmed glasses, before entering the elevator cart.

* * *

Diane was very upset. I sat mutely before the glass surface of her desk, hands carefully folded upon my knees.

“You have to understand, Anne,” she lectured, with frequent pauses that made me wonder if her entire rambling had been previously rehearsed, “we have a corporate... image to maintain. It’s a miracle I’m... not hearing about this from upstairs. If I hadn’t, ah, caught my own assistant—”

“Doing what?” I interrupted.

Diane blushed furiously.

“Look. I’m not saying this... perverted message comes from you. I know you. You’re professional and... courteous. Everybody knows that, which is why they probably won’t believe you were the one who sent it via internal mail. Maybe we have a joker with a sick sense of humor in the building... one of those new programmers who takes a twisted pleasure in usurping mail ID’s... corporate policy specifically states—”

“Have you read it?” I asked innocently, cutting her off for the second time.

Diane was ten years older than Sabrina. A successful career woman, with a lot of senior management experience under her belt. She handled pressure like a pro. But I saw it then, swirling in her eyes... the same, sweet, senseless desperation I had glimpsed in poor defenseless Sabrina.

I smiled at my boss. Warmly. I slowly stood up, while she looked at me, apprehension clouding her soft, feminine face. Her eyes continued to widen as I languidly stepped around her desk, coming over to her side. She was petrified, quite immobilized in her chair.

“Don’t you think obedience is the best policy?” I inquired, trying to control the lust in my voice.

She closed her eyes, her delicate frame jolting as it felt the kiss of sweet ecstasy. How could she possibly deny the Truth of her destiny now?

I carefully leaned back on the desk, lifting my skirt and spreading wide. The pungent smell of my arousal hit her with an almost physical force, overpowering her puny resolve. Her eyes snapped open, immediately converging upon my dripping slit. The hypnotic dance of my glistening fingers held her complete attention, the bright red color of my long nails loosing themselves in the flushed, dripping folds of my sizzling cunt.

She hesitated only slightly as she begged me for a taste. I parted my labia gently in unspoken invitation.

As she began the oral ritual that would forever seal her fate, our minds recited the words of Truth in unison...

I am a slave to my Mistress... I must obey to my Mistress... I am an instrument of her pleasure... I am an instrument of corruption... I live to pleasure my Mistress... I live to entice other women to serve my Mistress...

We came. And came. And came. Together. As Sisters.

Later, as my mind rose from the numbing bliss of our indulgence, I thought once again of Sabrina, and of our hallowed mission.

* * *

We are standing on the threshold of a New Dawn.

The women of StructuredTech are kneeling before me.

The room is by no means huge, but large enough to hold the fifty or so females who have been blessed with the Truth. It is very unusual for such a meeting to occur in the building at such a late hour, but it was a very easy thing to arrange, with the help of the higher-ranking women of the company.

Security is a wonderful thing. So is access.

A number of computer terminals sit on desks pushed over to one wall, shining pale, ghostly flickers across the otherwise unlit surroundings. The chairs have been moved to the corners, to make room for us here, now. Piles of clothing lie about us, no longer of any use.

I know my Mistress wishes obedience. I know she wishes me to spread Her influence.

I know Vivian serves her as I now do, wherever she is. I envy my friend, my Sister, who spoke my name to Mistress, making it possible for me to see the Truth.

Sweet Vivian... she probably is allowed to make Mistress come with her own tongue. I can only hope what we are doing here will earn me the wonderful privilege.

The excitement, the glory of pleasing her is my only thought. I know not why she has chosen to make such timid openings to the women of the world. All females need to, and will, hear her Truth.

I feel it in my bones. In my soul.

In my dripping cunt.

The women, undressed, are listening raptly to my every word. Not because I hold authority over them, but because I was the First to hear the Truth-the one who brought it to them.

“A new dawn comes, Sisters, and with it the glorious promise of serving our Mistress. A wind of change blows over the world. We have the power to bring it to its knees, to have women from all corners of creation serving our Mistress, thanking her for the Truth.”

I am trying to keep my voice steady. The sheer thought possesses such power, such awe for me, that it makes me quiver.

I walk over to sweet Sabrina, who has done as I have asked.

It was easy for her. Child’s play. She knows the ins-and-outs of innumerable platforms, operating systems and firewall configurations.

The virus is designed to elude detection. The file extension re-writes itself as it propagates through a system. The VbScript is rather complex, to insure wider and faster propagation. An hypertext copy of the virus also uploads itself into IRC rooms, spreading it across chat rooms.

The whole attachment shall spread across the world tonight. It will fly to all corners of the globe, as similar viruses have done before. This time, however, a truly glorious purpose will be fulfilled. The sweet song of Truth shall play far and wide, across servers, cable connections... it will float down from the skies, transmitted by satellites to wireless laptops.

Before anyone can react, a hundred million women will be enslaved.

Conservative projections for the end of the week indicate we will reach half a billion.

There will be no computer crashes. No files destroyed. No immediate flags will be raised, drawing unwanted attention to the spreading message.

Men will frown and delete the chain-letter unknowingly, while their wives, sisters, daughters and co-workers experience a Sapphic revelation.

Once the mass conversion begins, it will never be stopped.

Everything... wired to the terminal on my right. Sweet Sabrina is so thoughtful...

I reach for the mouse, smiling at my audience.

Instinctively, without a word, we converge together, a loving mass of writhing female bodies, sucking, licking, fingering. Sweet Sabrina is attacking my asshole with her tongue, while Diane’s hungry mouth is glued to my clit. I feel the rising storm in me, ready to engulf my mind and soul.

I am a servant of my Mistress... her will is my own... her pleasure is my own...

Closing my eyes in reverence, I tap the mouse button gently.

I cry out in perfect, orgasmic rapture. With me are the voices of a fifty women... my Sisters...

And, joining them, the coming cries of billions more.

-Fin-