The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Do you mind if I brain?

Chapter I. Sarah meets Jason

I’m Jason Blunt, the mind controller. I know you neither believe in mind control nor in my power and that’s because I told your brain not to believe in it: experience has taught me it’s safer to move in the shadows and avoid public attention. Likewise, it’s obvious that my name doesn’t bring any particular memory to your mind, since I’ve instructed you to forget who I am. You are now compelled to read a detailed report of my recent erotic adventures and by the end of the narration you will be aroused to the point that you can’t help but masturbate. Nevertheless, as you can imagine, I don’t care much for your pleasure—all in all you’re just a pet to me—and this imply that the main reason of my writing is another one, namely my delight in playing and messing up with your mind. Now picture yourself on a boat by a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies... well done, just float away with the words, feel how they take shape in your mind, feel how they shape your mind and... relax: your trip is on the run.

The pub area near the dance floor is crowded. It’s hot, the music bumps and the air is full of smelly armpits. In spite of that, I do prefer crowded environments, where I can act unnoticed. I’m here to indulge myself with a new abduction, in view of the fact that last week I dropped Dorothy, my last slave, who had became somewhat boring after complete taming. Once I’ve carried out a brief assessment of the sexiest girls around, I chose a beautiful brunette who sits alone on a velvet sofa. Her body is perfectly wrapped in a blue shift mini-dress and her crossed legs are on display in shiny pantyhose. The expression of the face, however, is particularly thoughtful and minimal rhythmic oscillations of a high-heeled shoe betray a certain tension. Intrigued, I sit next to her and start to explore her mind-waves.

—“Hello, I’m Jason... why are you all alone in here?”—I say with a grin of confidence.

The girl scan me from bottom to top with suspicion, unable to hold a slight motion of annoyance with my attitude. To be honest, besides the attitude issue, my physical appearance is not that of an Adonis: I’m rather low in stature, with short legs and a receding hairline which betrays my age, now close to fifty. The girl is thirty one, as I learn grabbing numbers directly from her brain.

—“It’s none of your business, dude...”—she spits frostily, turning away.

I don’t reply and let the dust snow around, while I take time to peep at her mental library from afar. I know you assumed that things were much easier for a mind controller, so that I could simply say: “You are my slave, I’m your master: follow me” or similar craps you find in movies and fiction. How naïve of you! Mind control is subtle, it deals with subliminal influences and indoctrination, as you should have learnt at you own expense in everyday life while you’re targeted by advertisings, mass media brainwashing and fashion trends. Mmmmm... the brunette graduated in Sciences of the Communication sex years ago, has a wide literary culture, superior mathematical skills and has a passion for extreme sports, like free climbing and bungee jumping. Wow... but there’s something more she’s trying to hide. I dive deeper in her brainwaves, tickle brain convolutions and squeeze out secret information: bingo! What a surprise: she’s a cop working undercover to infiltrate a drug ring and... she’s not alone! There’s another cop, Thomas, over there, drinking at the bar counter while keeping an eye on her. Mmm... I choose a dangerous victim, indeed, but when the going get tough the tough gets going.

—“But... you’re Sarah! Don’t you remember me?”—I say mimicking surprise—“We met at the Navajo Bridge during a bungee jumping gathering, three years ago!”

The brunette takes a second look at me, somewhat puzzled. I grab the chance of her momentary confusion to link my persona with her feelings for a far uncle, generating a fake sense of familiarity between us. The process requires a strenuous effort: the girl isn’t only smart, but also strong willed.

—“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you, even if... even if your face is not new to me”—she answers, trying to recall my name, which I gently push to her mind—“Wait... perhaps I remember something, you’re... Jason, aren’t you?”

I smile.

—“Yes, it’s me, but don’t worry: I’ve had some trouble too in focusing where we’ve met. Your dress was completely different at Navajo Bridge.”

With a gallant gaze, I emphasize my appreciation for her sexy outfit. She blushes and I take the opportunity of her turmoil to make further improvements to her frame of mind. I extract her memories of bungee jumping and direct the adrenaline rush towards her most intimate parts, enhancing her sexual drive. She flushed and nervously shift her position on the sofa.

—“Well, tonight was supposed to be a special night”—she lies—“a hot date with a man I met on Facebook, but it seems he has decided not to show up.”

—“You’re wonderful, Sarah, believe me. That man doesn’t deserve you.”

Thomas, her mission mate, comes around to check the situation, but Sarah reassured him with a thumb up sign.

—“That man was staring at you. Do you know him, Sarah?”

—“No, I don’t”—she lies again, betraying some uneasiness as she fails to find a comfortable sit on the sofa. I map the neural pathways of her telling stories, messing them up, so that it will become quite difficult for her to distinguish between truth and false in my statements.

—“It’s very hot tonight in here, isn’t it? Accordingly, you’re hot too. It’s reasonable that you loosen up a bit your dress, Sarah.”

She assembles a weak smile, trying to understand what’s going on, unable to put her finger on it. Then with a somewhat dreamy look she unfastens the first button of the neckline exposing the upper part of her breasts.

—“I’m feeling strange, Jason, almost lightheaded... I don’t know what’s wrong with me...”

—“You don’t know, but I do. You’ve drunk too much, tonight: that’s because you’re feeling dizzy”—I stated, pinching her left vestibolocochlear ganglion to impair her sense of balance.

—“But... that’s not true! I... I never drink when...”—she starts to object, stopping herself not to reveal her undercover identity.

—“On the contrary, Sarah, that’s definitely true. It’s true as it is true that I’m here and I can smell your alcohol breath. Moreover, I saw you drinking a Martini, right before”—I bring to her mind the aftertaste of the cocktail from old memories and I carry on with my encirclement tactic—“It’s true as it’s true your missed date with a Facebook friend, it’s true as it’s true that we met some years ago at Navajo Bridge, it’s true as it’s true that when you get drunk you start to think more sexual, it’s true as it’s true that you’re on an undercover mission, it’s..”

—“Please stop talking non-stop, Jason”—she asks querulously, fighting a growing sense of nausea—“my head is aching... how... how do you know of the mission?”

—“It was you who told me, Sarah, you were afraid that the drug dealer won’t show up if I continue to keep chatting with you. However, in your actual conditions, it’s plain and simple that you would not be able to catch him. Thus it’s far better that we go on with our quite and truthful chitchat.”

I emphasize the “quite” aspect of the whole thing by retrieving a image of her childhood in which her mother combed her long hair in the hot and steamy air of the bathroom after a shower.

—“Funny”—she says—“I’m having a flash back, a recall of a faint memory I had forgot. I’m a child and there’s my mother combing my hair... sorry, I don’t know why I’m annoying you with childhood things.”

—“Oh, don’t mind: mind is a dangerous thing. If truth be told, sometimes it’s better not to think. Sometimes it’s better to simply let thoughts flow freely in your head.”

—“Mmmm... your line of reasoning is quite convincing, Jason, I have to admit”—she says with a moan, starting to act more flirtatious.

I reach a deeper state of connection and tickle her mental representation of the inner thighs.

—“It’s a sign of fate that we met again just tonight, when you had to date a stranger”—I suggest, pushing in her mind the sensual idea of my hand caressing her leg up to her crotch. Sarah feels the pantyhose burning on her skin, and that special tingling come to life in her slit.

—“Oh my God... what’s up with me tonight, please forgive me, I feel so dizzy and... aroused.”

I put a hand on her knee and gently touch the nylon, suddenly evoking shivers of pleasure thanks to my work of fine-tuning of her brainwaves.

—“You’re a wonderful and sexy woman, Sarah”—I state, staring into her eyes—“You arouse me and, likewise, it’s plain evident that I arouse you, baby. You’re wise enough to feel it, don’t you?”

—“Yesss...”—she whispers, while I reach down her limbic system and lit up the pleasure centers of her brain. Suddenly, I feel the surge of dopamine in her neuronal networks, flowing from ventral tegmental area to nucleus accumbens, prefrontal cortex, amygdale and septum.

—“Look at me, Sarah, don’t you find me attractive? The more you look at me, the more you realize I’m your ideal man”—I emphasize, relying on the support of the reward circuit set in motion in her mind.

—“N-no... something is wrong... something strange is taking place in my... mind... No!”

She snaps back away from me, breaking my mental connection. Her reaction is so quick and powerful that I’m taken by surprise. While I’m still trying to organize my thoughts—an abrupt disconnection is like a kick in the lower parts—she’s already on her feet.

—“Wait, Sarah, what’s the matter with you?”

—“I have to leave, Jason, sorry”—she says, waving to his partner at the counter that it’s time to go—“I do not really know what came over me tonight, but... let’s forget about this, ok?”

I take the opportunity of the “forget” in her words for a bayonet charge in her mind, sending a brief electroshock to the hippocampus to prevent memory formation of her insight that something wrong have just happened. She freezes, zoned out for a second.

—“Wait, Sarah, there’s no need for such a hurry!”—I stand on my feet taking her hand: she’s ten inches higher than me, also because of her heels—“We were so lucky to meet again, I don’t want to miss you for other three years!”

I mimic a desperate face to evoke her empathy and reinforce the sense of familiarity that I have built between us. She hesitates and I grab the chance to send a warm sensation through our touching hands. Wrong move: she’s in on high alert mode and gets rid of my hand grip. What a bitch, I think, fuming for her rejection... do I look so horrible? I’m not a sex symbol, but it appears that the brat princess find me even disgusting!

—“Ok, Jason, that’s enough. I’m happy we met again, but now each one of us goes his own way. Goodbye.”

I’ve never been humiliated like this. I will make you kiss my feet, Sarah, I do swear it. I will adjust your uppity attitude by making you kneel in front of me.

—“Sarah, please...”—I complain, given her a last chance, but she is already walking towards the counter.

I feed of my anger and charge up for few seconds. Then, just before her mental field is out of reach, I send a blast of electrical energy to her brainstem, hitting hard her ascending reticular activating system. As a result, she suddenly loses consciousness falling to the ground. At once, a small crowd gathers up around the sleeping beauty. I run at full speed to bring help to the girl.

—“Sarah! She’s my friend, let her breath, stay aside!”—I scream pretending to be very concerned—“Sarah! How do you feel? Sarah, answer me!”

Her mate officer emerges through the crowd.

—“Stay away! There’s nothing to see”—he roars trying to outdo the noise in the pub, then he speaks to me coldly—“Who the hell are you?”

—“I’m Jason, an old friend of Sarah, we met years ago at a bungee jumping gathering.”

I have to be careful: the effort to produce the blast field has completely drained my mental energy and for a while I have to rely only on my cleverness.

Thomas checks my all-but-athletic body and chooses to accept my explanation, albeit with the benefit of the doubt. I decide to pass on the attack.

—“If I may ask, who the hell are you, instead?”—I spat, withstanding his stare to dispel any suspicion. Then, with a coup of theatre worthy of a professional actor, I widen my eyes and exclaim as if I’ve run into a genius intuition—“Thomas? Are you Thomas, Sarah’s mate officer? She told me about you, sometimes.”

Bingo. The officer suspicion flies away like morning dew in the sun and I can continue to play the part of the worried friend without problems.

—“The pulse is regular”—I say looking directly at Thomas—“Can you help me to move her on the sofas?”

—“Of course”—he says, proud to parade his strength and with nonchalance he picks up the unconscious woman and carries her all the way through the room.

When Sarah lays limp on the sofa, I manage to act undisturbed before she begins to regain her senses.

—“Can you please call for an ambulance, Thomas? I’ll sit near Sarah and wait for you to come back.”

—“I’ll be back in a moment, take care of her.”

The officer runs away in search of a quiet place to call an ambulance and, probably, the police headquarters. A minimal strength is slowly flowing back to me and I start to savour the pleasure of having free access to the unconscious brain of the woman. Sarah sleeps defenceless, with her ample breasts floating up and down, along with the regular rhythm of her breath. My predator stare lingers on her body and my cock harden: she is at my complete mercy, what in the world could be more amazing? I barely resist the desire to play with her body: Thomas will be back soon and I have to act quickly. While she is dreaming of walking by a peaceful lake, I go down on her long-term memory library and browse the files linked to sexual arousement. It takes a minute to come to terms with her personal encoding process, but in the end I gain full access to storage and retrieval functions of the database. I gather up long term memories related to brain’s pleasure systems and detect their shared sensory inputs from peripheral nerves. Then I check inside emotional circuits to play memories connected with Sarah’s worst fears. I find a strong phobia for cockroaches and I boost it up with the image of a lot of cockroaches climbing up on her naked body. Going back to the ascending pleasure pathways, I intersect them with the enhanced phobia circuit and shape a mental barrier to cut off the cortical access of sexual inputs. I mark the barrier with an electrical red flag to reach it easily even when Sarah will be conscious and alert, and eventually I set up a hidden bypass so that with a jolt of mind power I can short-circuit the block. Oh, my brat princess, you can’t imagine what tricks I have in store for you... I’m ready to disconnect from Sarah’s brain when I have a rather wicked idea: to implant inside her long-term memory a foot-fetish. I dive back to the limbic system of the girl and follow the tracks to her erotic database to find what part of the male body is the most arousing for her. Not surprisingly, tallness is the main issue of her Prince Charming. I collect all the images of male feet which I’m able to find in her memories and replace the tallness record. Then...

—“Jason?”

With great effort, I regain focus.

—“Jason, are you ok?”—reiterates Thomas.

—“I... I was... I think the stress of the evening was too much for me.”

—“You were staring blankly ahead, like stoned or daydreaming”—says the officer, turning suspicious again—“Are you a drug abuser, Jason?”

—“I suffer of petit mal, a kind of epilepsy which is also called absence seizures. Sometimes I lose awareness of the surroundings for up to a minute”—I confess, blushing as if it’s very embarrassing for me to reveal it.

He’s not persuaded, so I try to change subject.

—“What about the ambulance? Her vital signs are normal, but she doesn’t seem to recover... I’m quite worried.”

—“They will be here in a minute.”

He looks at me askance, then beckons me to move away from Sarah. I obey, rising to my feet to allow him to sit next to her. I’m too exhausted to probe his hostile mind: I’ve been able to work on Sarah’s brain only because she’s unconscious. A blast of mental energy strong enough to knock out a host brain, drops the fuel gauge of my mental powers in the reserve range. It will take three weeks for my complete recovery, but this prey was far worth my single shoot.