The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Immediately alert, Mallory jumped out of bed. “Fuck!” he yelled. He checked his watch: he had slept for 4 hours! What happened? He had left the swimmers’ room, passed by their coach once again... Did he get his MIP address this time? By pressing a button on his watch, he saw that he had. Good. He had bought a newspaper... He quickly scanned his motel room: the Sun-Sentinel lay on the plain desk, next to his closed briefcase. Then he must have just crashed on the bed. The swimmers! He had forgotten to awake them! He hoped the coach didn’t call an ambulance...

He opened the briefcase, and then turned on the PowerBook. His fingers hurriedly battered the keyboard (which he had to change every month with a spare he carried). There. Three windows on the screen, one for each mind. Not many people on Earth would have figured out from the flashing symbols that the three boys were still asleep, but to Mallory, it was like reading from a primer. There. Wakie, wakie. The flashing symbols changed to show that the boys were waking up.

For a young woman who had just discovered her boyfriend and his friends standing nude and intoning strange litanies, Melissa behaved quite impassively. In fact, she acted as if she witnessed this sort of thing daily, and knew exactly what to do. Careful not to look at the screen, she turned the computer off. John and his friends remained nude and motionless. Their vulnerability satisfied her on some level: although she found John’s friends attractive, she had always hated them. She focused her attention on Jeff, the blond sidekick, the only one she tolerated. His naÔve attitude made him appear younger than the others. His half-hard dick looked ready for some action.

“Jeff,” she asked, “how do you feel about me?”

“I have a crush on you, Melissa,” he confessed, with a faraway look on his face. “Well, in fact, I want to be just like John, and so I want a girlfriend just like you.”

She pondered his words. Was there a compliment in there, or an insult?

“Jeff, there’s something I always wanted to ask you. We both were in Professor Finley’s class with those guys, Chris, Jon, and others, who disappeared for a weekend after being suspended by Finley. When they came back, they were all weird. Mario Lama was also in our class, and though he wasn’t suspended, he also came back weird. Christopher Demetar was hanging out with you before he became famous. He must have told you what happened. I want you to tell me, Jeff.”

Jeff answered mechanically and without any emotion. “Finley somehow kidnapped Chris, Jon, Mark and Scott and brought them to some compound. They found Mario there later. Finley used all sorts of technogadgets that messed with their minds to abuse them sexually. There was this competition where they had to dominate each other sexually. That’s what changed them, some in good ways, some in bad ways. A guy shot a ray gun at Chris and it put him in a sexual frenzy. He couldn’t stop himself from having sex with anyone who asked. Then he found a ring that made him able to freeze people. It was the winner who took him down, but he kinda got out of it even.”

Melissa considered his words, then she asked the question she really wanted to ask: “Who won?”

When Gary got out of the hospital, he avoided Dr. Carter’s office. The three naked men in there hinted at a link between Dr. Carter and Domination or a similar organization, and Gary was not ready to expose himself yet. The words of the angel-like mage blared in his mind like an accidentally triggered car alarm: “I know who you are... That protective spell is thirty years old... You’re his son, aren’t you?... His son...” and the flashy way in which the mage had disappeared from his bed precisely matched Nick’s description of how the one in his bedroom had vanished. Except...

“Nick,” he said as they pulled out of the hospital’s parking lot, “do you remember smelling anything unusual when that purple man disappeared from the room?”

Nick thought for a moment. “I think so. Something fruit-like... Strawberries? No, blackberries...”

“Myrtles?”

“Sure, it could have been myrtles... But it was brief and I don’t remember that well.”

“It’s about time!” said the coach, as the three boys awoke from their coma. They immediately became self-conscious: they were naked, Seth and Scott’s chests glistened with dry cum and Scott’s sheets were quite a mess. “What happened there, boys? I come to fetch you for practice and not only do I find a smelly room where an orgy seems to have taken place, but for four hours there was nothing I could do to wake you up. Can you explain that to me? What kind of drugs did you take? I’ll call that nice fellow who agreed to lend us his pool, but there’s no guarantee he’ll allow us in so late. Now clean up your mess and get ready. We’re gonna act like nothing happened until the end of the competition. But don’t think I’ll forget about this, you disgusting pigs!”

The boys, who only had fleeting memories of extremely erotic dreams, were too stunned to say anything. They snapped out of their stupor, got dressed and packed their things.

Doctor Carter pressed a button on the Palm Pilot-like device on his desk, and the clothes on the three men before him started to phase back in. They didn’t notice the change however, as they had not noticed that they were naked previously. Carter loved his “emperor’s new clothes” device, as he called it, a gift he received when he joined Domination after the events that took place at the Harriston compound. With it, he often took photographs he then used to blackmail interesting people, as Domination was doing to him and many others. Or he used it for fun, like now. As soon as the interns were dressed, Carter headed out of his office, and they followed him like sheeps. As they approached room 562, Carter noticed that something was wrong with Officer White. He stood motionless with his shirt unbuttoned, his pants down to his ankles, drenched in sweat.

The interns were snickering. “What’s with the policeman?” asked Fred.

Carter turned around and told the students: “I have to take care of a little snag. Go do your rounds on the fourth floor. I’ll come and fetch you when I’m done.”

They started to protest, obviously curious, but when they saw Carter’s eyes, they obeyed.

“Officer White,” asked Carter when they were alone, “what’s going on here?”

“This man came to me. He sprayed me with some water from a water bottle, and then I could not resist doing what he said. He went in the room, came out, sprayed me again, and then left.”

So it was sprayed water and not sweat on the officer’s hair and face and sleek and fuzzy legs. Carter checked room 562. Damn! It was empty—the purple mage had vanished. The room still smelled like myrtles. Did the mages wish for their teleports to be so flashy or was it something they couldn’t control? Anyway, both White and he had failed to interrogate and then kill the mage. Carter’s attention went back to the officer, still Enthralled, obviously because of the water. If the controller had sprayed him a second time, it meant that either the control did not last long, or that it worked only if the Thrall was still wet. Was it some potion from Chang’s store, or some Coinage drug he knew nothing about? His eyes kept returning to the policeman’s legs and the wet white boxerbriefs above them. During The Game, he’d never had the chance to sample the endowed policeman’s goods, and he had not seen him since, until they had been assigned to this mission...

“Follow me inside the room, Officer,” Carter said. “I’ve got to test whatever is controlling you.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Officer White, livid, but with a hint of childish innocence.

Yet he had not choice but to follow Carter inside room 562, scuffing his feet. Once they were inside, Carter closed the door. “See,” he said, “we now know that you can be controlled by anyone. Now, let’s see how well it works against your inhibitions. Are you gay? Do you enjoy sucking cock?”

“No, I’m not,” the officer said, furious. “And no I don’t. Doctor Carter, I’m warning you...”

Carter approached the officer, pulled down his own pants and underwear, shook his hard-on and said: “Shut up, drop to your knees and suck my cock in the best way you can.”

Mallory was seething. There, on the screen, a window exposed the coach’s mind, yet all the interesting areas were somehow locked or hidden or both. Mallory had spent the last half-hour trying to find a vulnerable point in this man, but they were all protected. He had coached soccer at Harvard once, before he switched to swimming, but that period was conspicuously hidden. Troubling.

Right now, the coach was asking a man permission for his team to use his pool even though it was late. The man was only the pool guy; the coach found him a bit whacko. The pool guy answered that the new owner had left for the evening but had been expecting the group; he led the group there, and then the coach’s thoughts focused completely on the swimming practice. When it started, Mallory sighed with exasperation. He was stumped. He looked around, trying to distract himself. He picked up the Sun Sentinel, which he had not had time to even look at yet, and then saw the front-page news: “Timothy O’Shea was shot...” The chills seized him immediately. The purple mages had killed O’Shea? Was there any link to what O’Shea had wanted to tell him?

Some unusual activity on the screen drew back his eye. All the locks in Anthony’s mind had vanished suddenly, although the hidden areas were still hidden. Mallory left the paper alone to study this new development. Some sleek virus spreading through the coach’s mind was rapidly bypassing all his defense algorithms. Mallory analyzed the viral algorithms: they were some kind of restructurers, linked directly to verbal processors: they reprogrammed the brain based on whatever the subject was hearing. This was extremely powerful. What about the athletes who were with him? He opened a mind window for the three he knew. There it was, the same virus. Fantastic. The coach and his jocks could now be completely reprogrammed through mental commands.

He snatched the address where they were from the coach’s mind and headed out for that location.

“... the initial promotional campaign must be aimed at those select few on the list I sent you. One hundred of the richest but least known men on this planet. I trust you will give the products the necessary pizzazz to tempt these men beyond rational thought, if you catch my drift...”

George Popoulos stretched on his designer chair while listening to the response. The corpulent businessman looked out his office window at the best view one could have of Redfield, Illinois.

“Good, good, Michael. I understand why you and Matthew were recently made partners of Prowlan & Graham, or should I say Prowlan, Graham, Bueler & Keaton? Or is it Keaton and Bueler?”

A knock on the door interrupted his good-hearted laugh.

“I have to go, Michael, but amaze me with this one, all right? Yeah, Perkins is here. Bye.”

George buzzed the door unlocked, and stared at the Enthralled construction worker walking towards his desk. George could never tire of Brad Perkins’ movie star looks. His obsession with Brad had started long before George had participated in his kidnapping. While they were both in high school, the then thin and pimply Popoulos had developed an intense lust for the man. Brad had been civil enough with Popoulos in high school; yet he had sensed something weird in George that made him feel awkward in his presence, and so he had been unconsciously avoiding him.

Now, George’s blond idol stood before him, in dirty jeans and T-shirt, completely Enthralled to him as payment for the capture of Indiana Patrick the journalist for Domination.

“The job was done, George,” said Brad, matter-of-factly.

“Good. Now I will once again bring us back to the time we were in high school together and you invited me over to your house. You were changing your clothes and you noticed me checking you out. You noticed that I was interested in you, and it made you mad. You asked me out of your room, and then you were very cold to me the rest of the evening. Things were not as they should. Now, do you remember the changes we have to make to that scene when we replay it?”

“Yes, George, I do,” said Brad, who had acted the revised scene more than a hundred times before.

George went to stand a few feet away from Brad then said: “Back in time.”

Mallory simply told the pool guy: “I’m with the swim team.” When he entered the glass-roofed pool area, he noticed that the swimmers were extremely into their sport, precisely and seriously complying with each order given by the coach. Yet, they might have just been completely dedicated to winning. The coach scrutinized him; he seemed to vaguely recognize him.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked. He was dressed in track pants and a tight white T-shirt. God, how he looked delectable to Mallory. Those dark Italian looks. That flawless tanned skin.

“Sure.” All his years in Domination had made Mallory daring. “Jump in that pool, right now.”

The coach immediately leaped, all dressed, into the pool, then yelled: “How did you make me do that? I couldn’t resist doing what you told me to do!” All the players stopped practicing to watch.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Mallory. He kept his distance from them, as he had been instructed to do when confronted by a Coinage, a new, unknown, form of mind-control.

He scanned the pool. What a selection of hot athletes in Speedos! There were Seth, Trip and Scott. “You,” he said, pointing towards a tall, muscular jock. “Come out of the pool.” Immediately, the guy pulled himself out. He wore the tight blue Speedos of the team, one size too small for him.

“You are extremely angry at your coach,” said Mallory, “because he doesn’t want you to swim in the nude. You are fed up by his authoritarian attitude, and you will defy him.”

A red tint spread across the guy’s face. He walked up to the stunned coach in the pool and yelled: “Fuck, coach, I’ll swim in the nude if I want to. I get a better performance like that. You think you know everything, that we have to do everything your way. Well, fuck you.” In one swift movement, he removed his Speedos and threw them to the coach’s face. Mallory stared at the bare, tight ass and the finely shaped dick, until the coach pulled himself out of the water. The handsome and vigorous Italian man approached Mallory with glowing intensity. “Look, here...”

“Anthony,” said Mallory, calmly, “stop. You will all continue your practice as if nothing strange happened, as if I was not here. Anthony, the sight of your players in Speedos will arouse you sexually. You will be ashamed not to be able to resist staring at their crotches. You will gradually feel an overpowering urge to tear off their bathing suits and start sucking their dicks. Now.”

The activity resumed. The coach made the players do a few laps then asked them to come out of the water to dive. As they lined up before him, dripping and their Speedos full, the coach very obviously checked out their crotches. He fondled himself as discreetly as he could, but he was getting an obvious erection in his track pants. His players looked at themselves, puzzled.

“Coach,” asked Trip. “Are you checking us out?”

“What does the fuck do you mean, Trip?” the coach said, angry. “Come here. The rest of you, dive.” They dove, and Trip walked towards the coach, who still could not resist checking the boy out. “Do you think I want some of your precious ass, or some of your precious cock?” He grabbed Trip’s Speedos and tore them up. “You think that’s what I want,” he said nervously, as he threw the tattered nylon away, his eyes focused on the boy’s exposed genitals.

Trip covered his groin with his hands. “Coach, what the fuck are you doing?”

Scott Vicks strolled down North Ocean Drive, alone, looking up at the stars and trying to understand how Kyle and he had gone from playing an innocent game of basketball on the Motel grounds to rubbing against each other’s bodies on a chaise longue in the company of a nude and excited motel janitor. He could still smell the stench of the other men’s cum, a strong scent that made his stomach turn. Was it the janitor who had done something to make them behave that way? Somehow, he had appeared too dumb for such a thing. That scout from Harvard University Athletics had witnessed the whole show, and then had left, disgusted by the whole thing. How embarrassing! Now there was no chance for Kyle and him to ever get a scholarship to Harvard...

At least he, unlike Kyle, had kept his underwear and his sperm. He still had a bit of dignity left. He still had not told Grant about the episode, too ashamed to breach the subject. Grant had mentioned that the tattoo would protect him from strong influences, and so it had. Speaking of which, it was burning on his right arm. Wait. He was close now. He looked carefully at the series of numbers. 537, 539, 541, 545. 545? Puzzled, he stopped and looked at the folded note he was carrying.

Chang’s 543 North Ocean Drive. 11:42 PM.