The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Carol tapped her earpiece. She already knew it was working perfectly, but didn’t want to accept that Miriam had gone completely silent. Her power could sense the mage’s communicator, not that the knowledge did her any good. Something had happened to Shroud, and the cybermancer could feel anxiety tightening its grip on her.

Last time, only Miriam’s intervention had saved the team from the Enslaver’s traps and the archetypal ‘fate worse than death’. With her missing, Cypher didn’t rate their chances of pulling off a similar escape.

Her eyes flicked between the two other heroines, seeing the uncertainty in the way they held themselves. None of them were natural leaders, a situation that had only intensified since Shroud had taken more literal control.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, wrestling with the subservient part of her nature and forced herself to do something.

“Nat,” she began, fixing the Norwegian with what she hoped would pass as a steely stare. “You’re with me. Pheebs take point... but don’t stray out of sight.”

“But...” Slipstream responded nervously, “Miriam?”

“Miriam’s not coming,” Carol explained. “It’s up to us now.”

The Confectioner smiled hungrily and then reluctantly tore his attention from the cotton-candy coated mage and back to her three erstwhile colleagues. The angle wasn’t right for him to read their lips with any accuracy, but from their expressions and other body language it seemed likely that they’d realised their friend wasn’t going to be joining them.

He wasn’t about to give them the chance to decide what to do next. The heroines had been on the back foot since they had entered his lair. And, if he had his way, they would be forced to react, right up to the point where the last of them fell into his clutches.

His fingers curled tightly around an over-sized valve handle and the grin spread more widely across his distorted features. The villain’s mouth gaped like a wide slash as he tugged hard on the wheel.

“I’m afraid I shall have to enforce our rather stringent dress code,” he chuckled, his voice rising slightly to avoid being drowned out by the sudden whoosh of running water.

Slipstream glanced upwards, her accelerated senses registering the soft sound before her fellow heroines. A single droplet of cool water splashed against her upturned cheek and then the heavens seemed to open.

Sprinkler heads exploded into life, filling the air with bright droplets. She was already accelerating to the point where the world around her slowed to a pedestrian crawl. The water raining down seemed to pause, perfectly formed tear-drops hanging in place, while Phoebe glanced around and searched for understanding.

The tingling sensation started somewhere near her right shoulder, but it was spreading from moment to moment. Phoebe could see her costume losing its colour, becoming drab and dark. She watched the fabric unravel, following the individual fibres as they uncoiled and melted.

There was a moment where Slipstream simply stood there, a startled expression marring her beautiful face and then, as the rain continued to splash down in eerie slow motion, the speedster hurled herself toward the exit.

The startled squeals from her friends suggested that neither of them were faring any better.

A strange crackling sound came from Natalie’s direction, the ice-wielding heroine belatedly using her powers to freeze the falling torrent. Phoebe turned and saw a dome of ice suddenly appear, offering some cover to the cowering women.

“Phoebe, no!” Carol screamed, her voice stretched into a drawn out moan.

Cypher watched in horror as Slipstream rocketed out of the small chamber. Hadn’t she just told the other two girls that they all had to stick together? If nine years of playing ‘Call of Cthulhu’ had taught her anything, it was that you never split the party.

Even as the water drenched through her silver catsuit, the cybermancer’s attention was still fixed on the rainbow blur of her teammate’s retreating form. It was only when Natalie’s pained yelp announced the imminent destruction of their clothing that Carol’s focus was drawn back to the here and now.

Given all the potential nasties that could have used the warm flood as a vector, Cypher knew that she should probably consider herself lucky that only their dignity had been stripped away. But, the psychological impact of being denuded was undeniably potent, and one look at Snowblind’s face told the heroine that she wasn’t alone in that realisation.

She keyed her earpiece, grateful for the fragile protection of Natalie’s ice-shield. The deluge showed no sign of abating, but the real damage had already been done.

It wasn’t a huge surprise to find that Phoebe wasn’t answering, there was a lot of interference down here and, the deeper they ventured the worse that was likely to get.

“Okay,” she snarled, fixing Snowblind with a determined stare. “It’s just you and me... don’t you dare go anywhere without me!”

Slipstream was almost coasting as she burst out of the room. If she’d had a better feel for the tight corridors then she might have really opened up, but in unknown territory, it seemed sensible to be cautious. The energy field that shielded her body from the effects of friction was supposed to be proof against most impacts, but, given what had happened with the gynoid, she really didn’t want to test that again right now.

The Confectioner’s lair was only dimly lit, and what little lighting there was felt much more like photochemistry or even bioluminescence than anything more traditional. Phoebe was doing her best to avoid the tunnel-vision that was so prevalent when moving at these kind of speeds. But despite that, she still didn’t notice the subtle change in texture and shade in the corridor ahead.

She could see that a t-junction was approaching and noticed with some relief that the deluge didn’t seem to have reached this far. Leaning to one side and shifting her balance, Slipstream sought the purchase she needed in order to slide around the sharp corner.

The field encasing her taut body rippled, trading aerodynamics for the friction she required to turn on a six-pence. Her soles dug into the gleaming, mahogany flooring and the speedster eased back just a fraction.

Phoebe’s catsuit was still coming apart, but she wasn’t really thinking about that. She was thinking about the friends she had just abandoned in a fit of panic. But, before it could take root, the guilt spun away from her, cartwheeling into random motion as the ground slipped out from beneath her feet.

A shallow pit had been cut into the floor and filled with gleaming purple balls. The dark, aniseed candy cracked, spheres splintering under her weight and momentum. Her arms flailed, searching for balance that she was never going to find.

Slipstream twisted, while inertia dragged her helplessly toward the wall. The impact drove the breath from the heroine’s lungs in one short, but heartfelt moan. She sprawled, skidding across the corridor before slamming, shoulder-first against the wall.

At first the white tiles seemed to bow and stretch, become transparent just an instant before they lost cohesion completely. Phoebe ploughed onwards through a shower of broken fragments, through the false wall and into the concealed chamber beyond.

A split second later another, pristine wall shot up from beneath the floor, sealing Slipstream inside.

Turning away from the stricken speedster, the Confectioner adjusted the dials on the side of his viewer. The two remaining heroines sprang into sharp focus and the villain allowed himself a moment to appreciate their unaffected beauty.

Both women were gorgeous, although the clearly razor sharp sword the taller of the pair was wielding was something of a passion killer.

He caught himself, before his mind started to wander any further down that particular track. Heroines were dangerous creatures and he needed to keep that in mind. The Confectioner unclenched his sticky hands and reached for another lever.

Staring intently into the viewer, he waited until his victims were perfectly positioned and then gave the lever a firm tug.

The villain peered at the oblivious heroines for another few seconds and then slid through a narrow, mechanical door that had just opened in the wall behind him.

Blinking against the double-vision, Phoebe fought to lift herself from the oddly, pliant floor. This was the second crash the young heroine had endured in the last couple of days and, as her head continued to spin, she wondered if she might have given herself a concussion.

Bright, primary colours swam around her, catching her attention, while the heroine’s fingers sunk more deeply into the lime green tiles. She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the entire room still seemed to be in motion.

Tiny gelatinous figures emerged from concealed hidey holes and began walking toward her with an oddly stiff-legged gait. Phoebe felt something tugging at her fingers. She looked down and realised that her hands were already mired in the thick, glutinous slime. Two more of the jelly babies hurled themselves at her, adding their mass to the weight already holding her in place.

She struggled more fiercely, trying to push herself up and hauling on the gelatinous mass wrapped around her hands. It gave slightly, stretching for a moment before snapping back into place. More of the tiny creatures were marching closer and when she tried to sweep the diminutive army away with her legs, only her super speed stopped them from splashing themselves over her trim legs.

But the poor girl’s head was still stunned from the collisions, first with the robot’s forcefield and more recently with the unexpectedly fragile wall. And the jelly babies seemed to have numbers on their side. She could crush them, but the strange figures simply remade themselves out of their squashed remains.

And then, just when Slipstream had decided that her situation couldn’t possible get any worse, two far larger figures dragged themselves out of the bright-coloured gel. They came at her from both sides, clearly seeking to divide her attention while their Lilliputian fellows continued their attacks.

Each over-sided jelly baby must’ve been about three foot tall, and they moved with the same bizarre mix of speed and stiff-limbed shuffling. Her legs continued to scissor, punctuating the atmosphere of the small room with supersonic whip cracks. At least she didn’t need to worry about growing tired, Phoebe could keep this up for hours.

The malevolent babies, however, had no desire to let things drag on for that long. A small number of them continued to throw themselves at Phoebe’s forearms, sheathing her in emerald jelly from elbow to fingertip. But the majority concentrated their attack on the speedster’s thrashing legs.

She was so fixated on the battle to keep what little freedom remained, Slipstream didn’t notice how close the larger babies had moved. At least, not until one of them took hold of her shoulders, gripping them tightly with amorphous hands.

Despite all her efforts to hold it in, a scream bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. More of the pint-sized army used her momentary shock to grapple the squirming heroine’s ankles and, much to her horror, Phoebe could feel her movements growing slower and more limited.

Soft, fragrant hands took hold of her head, rich orange jelly spreading across her cheeks and holding her in its implacable grip. She found herself staring directly into the jelly baby’s midriff, eye bulging as it slowly drew her in.

Gel stretched, pressing outward to form a thick, slippery member, dripping with dark, orange ooze. The heroine was still screaming when the creature lunged forward, forcing itself into her wide open mouth.

Slipstream froze, the scent of blossom filling her mind. Orange oil stung the back of her throat with its bitter tang and, just as the second oversized baby grasped hold of her hips, Phoebe realised that keeping still was the very last thing she should have been doing.

More and more jelly sucked at her ankles, binding her with unnecessary thoroughness. The speedster’s thoughts swirled behind the orange blossom and she exploded into a frenzy of activity. But the second creature wasn’t going to be put off by her uncontrolled thrashing. It hands seemed to have been glued to her body and no matter what she did, there seemed no way for her to stop it from thrusting first against and then ruthlessly into her unprepared pussy.

She bit down on the jelly filling her mouth, feeling a moment of resistance before the mass burst. Warm syrup spilled outward, pouring down the startled heroine’s throat, while the both oversized babies continued to pound at her unprotected sex.

The gel dribbled from around Phoebe’s lips, solidifying almost immediately. Slipstream strained, fighting to pull her jaws from the sticky orange jelly. But her mouth was now hopelessly mired shut and all she could manage was to moan with every relentless thrust of her captor’s amorphous cocks.

Phoebe wanted to deny the ruthless eroticism of the assault, but every movement of the baby’s malleable forms made that a little more impossible. Her thoughts were growing less coherent with each passing second, and the rich, acid tang of oranges seemed to blanket everything.

She surged against the thickening, gelatinous bonds, stretching them mere millimetres before they sucked her back down onto her hands and knees. Ever muscle strained, as though she thought to stave off the inevitable. And then, the first climax ripped through her captive body, snatching away the last, faint hope of escape and plunging Slipstream into erotic darkness.

A soft sound from overhead caught Carol’s attention. Her head snapped up, just in time to see two panels hinge open in the ceiling. Pastel pink discs floated down from above, almost instantly filling the air with tiny, saucer-shaped objects.

“Nat!” she yelled, already scanning for another exit.

Snowblind moved like lightning, pressing her palm into the centre of Carol’s chest and giving the smaller woman a hard shove. Cypher stumbled, driven back by the force of her friend’s attempt to get her out of harm’s way.

She groaned, having the air driven from her lungs had made it impossible to speak. The cybermancer’s knees buckled and her feet slipped out from under her as she fought to keep her balance.

Natalie took a step, spinning as she did so and swept her gleaming, transparent blade through the first of the falling objects.

“No!” Carol tried to shout, but it was already too late.

The Nordic heroine’s frozen sword flashed, cutting through rice paper with ease. Each saucer seemed to explode, showering the corridor with pale, pink power. Sherbet filled the air, billowing in thick clouds that almost completely obscured the heroine’s vision.

Gasping and choking, acutely aware that something fiendish almost certainly lurked within the swirling fog, Carol tried to struggle to her feet.

“Carol?” Natalie’s voice wondered for somewhere close at hand, but it wasn’t possible to pinpoint her friend’s exact location.

Before she could respond, a warm, sticky hand closed over the heroine’s face.

“Shhh!” a sibilant voice whispered, and Cypher felt the blood turn to ice.

She knew she had to hold her breath, but that was only going to buy the heroine a little more time. And, it seemed that no matter how much she struggled, she simply couldn’t escape the villain implacable grip.

While one, strong arm effortlessly pinned the squirming heroine’s arms to her sides, the other remained clamped over her mouth and nose, stifling her voice into silence. Worse still, as the Confectioner’s cloying perfume slowly seeped into her mind, the villain was soon able to loosen his grip and allow his free hand to roam her naked body.

Sweetly liquid fingers closed around Carol’s nipple, massaging and painting the taut nub. The heroine’s helpless and horrified squeals only served to speed her descent. Sugared spice melted around her brain, muffling and coating every thought.

Cypher shuddered, the last sensation she was able to discern before pleasure swamped everything, was the softly controlling touch of the Confectioner’s fingers as they slipped between her trembling cuntlips.