The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

9

That was a night to remember. The next day, as they all soaked in Ben’s enormous spa tub—a tight, slippery, giggly fit for three—Brandi gave them more instructions, this time not sexual but related to the things they were going to do professionally. The project that Ben was working on had to end sooner or later—and the people involved would have to report failure and sabotage their own findings and forget about them, since Brandi wanted no competition. But with their knowledge of biochemistry and bio-engineering, Serena and Ben could collaborate privately on their own projects, patent them, and be financially independent. And if needed, they could continue, on the sly, to manufacture exactly what Brandi needed. Ben reeled off the necessary equipment, and Serena said she could round it all up. They could work out of Ben’s private lab.

In between the periods of instruction, of course, there were frolics. Steadily Brandi removed even Serena’s deepest inhibitions. She had Serena put on a show for Ben and her, contorting, masturbating imaginatively, agreeing to anything and everything cheerfully, eagerly, wantonly. Meanwhile Brandi idly stroked her brother’s cock and he fingered her, a lovely way to pass the time, a very cozy day. Later Brandi watched approvingly as she gave Ben free rein with Serena, impressed by her brother’s unsuspected kinks and by the way Serena joyfully gave in to each and every one of them. Because Brandi had special plans for Serena, she gave her the full-on treatment with the miracle goo: long soaking bath, douche, enema, a pint to drink, even the neti pot—Serena had never used one, and it gagged her at first, but she took to it the same way she had to deep-throating Ben’s massive cock, and at the end of the treatment she glowed.

The third day of her visit, Brandi got right to work and they spent most of the day with her instructing Serena and Ben and then making sure their memories were properly submerged. Neither would remember their sessions of sucking and fucking explicitly—but both of them would harbor a deep-seated love—and lust—for Brandi that would make it all the easier for her to control them next time. Then to unwind, Brandi had Ben lie back on the big bed. Serena straddled him cowgirl-style and rode his cock while Brandi lowered her pussy so he could lick and suckle at it while she tongue-locked with Serena, the girls lewdly playing with each other’s breasts, pinching and pulling their partner’s engorged nipples. Brandi let them all cum simultaneously, then instructed Samantha and Ben to sleep. “When you wake up,” she cooed, “you’ll forget what I told you to forget—but you’ll do what I ordered you to do.”

She showered and dressed and left them cutely cuddled naked together. She called a taxi, called her pilot, and by that evening she was back in Beaton, a small town near Laurelwood College. She had things to do, including finding a place to live. She drove herself around, looking for “For Sale” signs, rejecting this one or that one for various reasons—no townhouses, because she didn’t want nosy neighbors, no development houses for much the same reason—plus they were tacky—nothing too old to be uncomfortable, nothing too new to have no character. She narrowed the possibilities down to three, called the agencies representing them, and toured them all. The second was, like the little bear’s porridge, just right: a twelve-roomed house with a wonderful master bedroom, a bath with a roomy spa tub, a living room and dining room large enough to entertain comfortably, three spare bedrooms with baths—and nearly an acre of land, with a backyard hemmed in by tall, old arborvitae trees and a high privacy fence. It was pricey, though, the agent, a vivacious raven-haired woman named Cheyenne, warned her.

“Let’s talk about that,” Brandi purred.

They did, on the living room floor, and after a long afternoon, a dreamy Cheyenne found ways to finance the purchase that she’d never even thought about before. “This place will be wonderful once you decorate and get the furniture in,” she told Brandi.

Brandi smiled. “I hope you’ll come and inspect it. Especially the bedroom.”

“I’d lick that,” Cheyenne said, not having the least idea that she’d said the wrong word—or maybe the one she really meant.

Furnishing the house was a wonderful experience. She got such great deals from the local merchants . . . and they just loved her. She wound up with an extra-large king-sized bed—she’d need it, she reflected—and had a little work done to the house, enclosing the patio as a sun room, installing a gigantic hot tub there for those cold winter nights. By the time September rolled around, Brandi was cozily installed in the house. She had also been accepted by Samuels University. She needed just two courses, which she could complete online, and then she would have to turn in a dissertation. She had mentioned William Blake and the English Department had her come to campus to discuss a possible dissertation with Dr. Alma Minor, who recognized her name from the presentation.

Dr. Minor was a little pudgy and just past fifty, but she quickly agreed that she would be Brandi’s directing professor and suggested a topic—sexual subtexts in the prophecy poems—that she felt Brandi was qualified to deal with. By the time they both got dressed again, it was all arranged.

A year? Hell, Brandi thought. She’d be qualified for a doctorate by December! She programmed herself to have an intense interest in Blake. She got in touch with Dr. Willoughby, who agreed immediately to review her research plan and outline—“I’ll have to fly down and get together with you now and then,” Brandi said.

“Oh, my dear, that will be very expensive,” the dear old professor told her.

“I never mind going down for you,” she said sweetly.

All along, she received regular shipments from Washington, courtesy of her brother. One batch of insulated boxes contained five thousand-odd ampules of an amber serum—something that the biological-weapons department had created. Ben had explained: “They’re stockpiling this stuff just in case. It’s not really biological—well, it is, but it consists of nanites, microscopic, biological robots. If you inject one dose of this stuff—just 15 cc’s—you acquire lifelong immunity to almost all diseases, including STD’s, and also you become immune to about eighty per cent of known poisons.”

Brandi could use that, she thought.

She already had the campus nurses and the visiting doctor under her thumb. It was easy to arrange for a vaccination program—during orientation days, all new and returning students, all faculty members, and all staff submitted to the little prick of a needle. Now everyone would be safe, Brandi though. Safe for some fun.

Laurelwood wasn’t an enormous school, just a very selective one. Each year they took in about four hundred new students, almost all of them well-off, almost all of them gifted (just being a legacy didn’t guarantee you a seat in the classroom there). The student body numbered only 1200 or so. Accordingly, the departments were small but versatile. English was actually the largest one, with Mathematics the second-largest: the English Department had a total of twenty-two in it, including the chairman, Dr. Klipston, who taught only one class per term—always a senior-level seminar—as opposed to the three or four per term the others took. Most of the younger faculty taught three or four sections of Composition 1 and Composition 2, the required Freshman courses, but if they were lucky they might also get to teach a couple of literature surveys over the year—World 1, 2, or 3, or British 1 and 2, or American 1 and 2. Brandi had two Comp 1 classes, one Comp 2, and one British Lit for fall term, which bothered her not a bit. Within a year she knew she’d be teaching upper-division courses, maybe even some senior seminars.

Her students would be her first concern, of course, but after that would come the English faculty, whom she had met during the orientation days: Fifteen women, ranging in age from 24 to 50, and seven men, from 26 to 55 (Dr. Klipston was the oldest, of course). Some were on the plain side, but none were hideous—and Brandi already had Aiden Derrick, who was the vice-chairman of the department, and Maida Semmels on her side. Each of them would . . . make friends with the others, gradually. By Christmas, Brandi hoped, the entire English Department could gather in her house for a celebration.

Within the first four days of planning week, Brandi, Aiden, and Maida between them made six new converts, including Dr. Klipston. She knew the pace would pick up from there.

Then came the first day of class, and her first class of the day was English 1, 24 students in a computer lab for seventy-five minutes. Brandi had thrown the master switch so the students couldn’t fire up the computers—she knew they always wanted to surf the web instead of paying attention. She’d spent quite a few minutes in the ladies’ room before class, fingering herself, urging her juices to flow copiously, and she’d practically bathed in them. She counted to make sure everyone was present and then said, “I’m Professor Berringer, class. Now, I’m going to get to know you.” Instead of standing at the lectern, she walked up and down the aisles, slowly, spreading the musky aroma and speaking to each student: “What’s your name? Where are you from? Which dorm are you in?” As the pheromones hit them, they looked dazed, but they responded obediently, answering every question.

Anytime a buzz of talking began from students still too far away to catch her scent, Brandi said pleasantly, “You will be quiet, please.” Like magic, all the students she’d been close to fell silent, obedient and still, and so did the others, succumbing to the amplified suggestiveness of her voice. And before fifteen minutes had passed, she had been close to them all and had spoken individually to all of them. Only then did she take her place at the front of the classroom. She smiled at them. “Listen to the sound of my voice. You are going to do as I ask you. You’ll never doubt me. You’ll never question me. What I tell you to do, you will do, and doing it will make you happy. Now you’ll answer me honestly and without embarrassment—anything I ask you’ll answer. Understand? When you’ve stopped speaking, you’ll immediately forget that you spoke at all. You’ll feel very, very good, though. And you’ll want to please me by doing what I tell you to do.”

They looked at her attentively. Nobody seemed to be resisting. “All right,” she said. “How many of you are gay or lesbian?”

A class of twenty-four, and three hands went up, one guy and two girls. “Thank you,” she said. “In this class your choices will be respected, until you want to experiment. And you will. Who considers themselves bisexual?”

Interesting. Two more, both girls. Brandi nodded. “Now—how many of you are virgins?”

No snickering at all. Good. Six hands, though—two boys, four girls. One of the girls—Brandi remembered her name was Becky Marlsten—blushed bright pink. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll remember that for later. Now, counting masturbation, of course, how many of you love sex?” Every hand but Becky’s, and her face was even redder.

Brandi laughed. “Good. I love it, too. Can’t get enough of it. I love to fuck and suck! All right, enough about personal issues. Let me tell you about the semester. We have fifteen weeks in all. The syllabus calls for you to write ten essays over that period of time and to select three of the ten to revise and polish as your capstone submission, which takes the place of a final examination in this class. Now, the first essay will be read by two other English teachers. If they approve it as appropriate-level work, you get to stay in class and will get a grade for it. If not, you’ll have to take remediation with the Writing Center for a semester before you can take English 1. Don’t worry about it. I promise you, you will all pass. Similarly, when you have finished your capstone submissions, they will be graded by two other English teachers. If they fail your submission, you will fail the class and will have to repeat it. If they pass it, the grade they assign will be forty per cent of your grade for the term. Is that scary?”

Heads nodded.

“It won’t be. You are going to find your powers of concentration have increased. You’ll read the entire textbook by this time next week, all four hundred pages. You’ll have total recall of the material. You will apply what it says about grammar, organization, support, and the writing process to the essays you will write. In six weeks I expect you all to have written the final draft of your ten essays. That’s a very fast pace, but you won’t have any trouble doing it. There will be no plagiarism, no copying from others. You’ll find it much easier than you think. If every one of you meets the deadline and gets the papers all turned in, you’ll have a reward.” She smiled. “We’ll have a class orgy.”

“All right!” someone said.

“And the better you work, the farther ahead you get, the more often we’ll indulge ourselves. Now—everyone take out your books—I have five extra copies for those of you who haven’t bought yours yet—and in the next twenty minutes I want you to read the first three chapters. You will remember everything you read. Reading will make you feel happy. You’ll forget what we’ve done until now and what I said about the orgy. But you’re going to start to feel really sexy. And you’ll look forward to my class every single day you attend it. Becky, you don’t have to read. Come with me, darling.”

They walked around the corner to Brandi’s office, and Brandi closed and locked the door. She went to sit in her chair and had Becky come around and stand in front of her. “Now, my questions won’t upset you,” she said. “In fact, they’ll relax you and make you feel all warm and happy, and when you answer them truthfully, you’ll feel even better. Okay?”

Becky visibly relaxed and for the first time she smiled. She had a pretty face and light-brown hair, but she didn’t seem to know the first thing about makeup or managing her hair—it was just straight, when it could be very attractive with a little styling. Brandi returned her smile. “Why are you still a virgin?” she asked.

Becky’s smile turned a little sad. “I’m shy,” she confessed.

“Do you masturbate?”

“Yes.”

Brandi nodded. “That’s very good! Do you enjoy it?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great!” Becky said enthusiastically.

“Ever used a vibe?”

Becky shook her head. “Just, you know, my fingers.”

“Ever kissed a woman?”

“No. Well, you know, my mom, on the cheek.”

Brandi stood up. “Come here and kiss me. On the mouth.”

Becky took tentative steps forward. Brandi put her arms around her and let Becky raise her lips. They were soft and hot. “Did you like that?” Brandi asked, her breath right in Becky’s face.

“I—yeah, kinda,” Becky said. “But, you know. When I do it—masturbate—I think of, you know, guys.”

“That’s fine,” Brandi said. “Now I’m going to kiss you.” She did, and her tongue probed between Becky’s lips. Becky’s jaw relaxed, she opened her own mouth, and their tongues touched. When they parted, Becky said softly, “Wow!”

“You’re going to love sex,” Brandi promised. “Tell you what, when we get back to class I’ll pick out a guy to be your first. First, though, take off your clothes for me. All of them.”

“Underwear too?” Becky asked, almost casually.

“Underwear too. I’m going to do the same thing,” she said. She stripped, and Becky’s eyes followed her every movement. As if in a dream, the girl’s fingers found the buttons of her blouse and undid them one by one. She shed the blouse and then her white bra—not very becoming—and Brandi could see that she had a nice bust, not as developed as it might be, but her nipples were perky and erect, begging for attention. She kicked off her shoes and then took off her skirt and pantyhose. She was left just in a pair of white panties, and she hesitated. “I—I don’t know about this—”

Brandi was casually fingering her own slit. She came close and put her fingers against Becky’s lips. “Taste.”

Tentatively, Becky’s lips parted. She licked Brandi’s index and middle fingers—and then sucked them, flushing, breathing hard. Brandi led her around behind the desk... “Sit up here on this,” she said, helping the girl hike herself up so she perched on the edge of the desk. “Open your legs for me.”

Obediently, unable to resist, Becky spread her thighs. Brandi smiled. A dark, moist patch perfectly outlined her pussy lips. “You’re wet already!” she said. “Good for you. Here.”

She helped Becky hitch out of the panties, pulled them off her legs, and then said, “I’m going to go first so you’ll see how nice it is. You’re going to love this.”

She knelt and began to lick Becky’s slit slowly, teasingly. “This feels great,” she said huskily. “Tell me you like this.”

“Mm—ohhh, yeahhh,” Becky moaned, writhing. “It feels great.”

“You want to play with your nipples.”

“N-nnooo. You’ll see me….”

“Sure I will. You love showing off. You know you do. You want to pinch them and pull them and make them feel good while I do this. Go ahead.” She lapped again, and Becky squirmed. When Brandi glanced up, she saw that Becky was rolling her nips between finger and thumb. Her breasts looked goose-bumpy.

Brandi stood up. “Now we change places. Get off the desk and let me sit there.”

“Y-yeah,” Becky said. Brandi had to help her down—her legs were obviously rubbery.

“Just kneel on the carpet,” Brandi said, sitting on the desk and leaning pack, opening, offering her pussy to the girl. “That’s right. Now lick me. You’ll love doing it. You love sex. You love to be licked and you love to lick and suck. Do it now. Yeah, that’s it . . . do it. It feels so nice, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmmm!”

“Stick your tongue right in. Oh, yeah, fuck me with your tongue! You want to cum, Becky?”

“Mmm, yeah,” she moaned, her words muffled by her task.

“Five minutes,” Brandi said. “Five minutes and you’ll have the best orgasm of your life.”

When they both walked back into the classroom, fully dressed, Becky still looked flushed, and her gaze followed Brandi as that of a devoted dog would follow her beloved master. Or mistress.

The other students still read intently. Brandi smiled. “Very good, class. Now, listen to me: You will not talk about what I said about sex to anyone. You will not tell them that the topic of sex even came up in this class. You will forget all of that until later, when I tell you to remember it.”

A boy said, “Aww.”

With a laugh, Brandi said, “Now, now! There’ll be lots of time for lots of sex later. Listen to me: You’re all going to feel a lot sexier. Every day it’ll get stronger and stronger. And you know what? Coming to this class is going to make you feel better. I don’t want you indulging in any wild fucking outside of this class. You won’t be able to do that, because you know something super-sexy is going to happen later on. You need to save it for that. Now, here’s the first assignment. Becky, please hand out the sheets. Ordinarily you would work on this first essay for two weeks. But surprise! You’re going to get so interested in writing it that you’re going to turn it in day after tomorrow. And you’ll obey all the rules of grammar you’ve read so far and you’ll read the model essays and understand them and then write your essay so it will be just as good and interesting to read as the samples in the book. I’m going to count to three and then everyone will forget everything about sex. You’ll just know you’re tremendously excited about writing. Ready? One, two, three!”

The class looked as if it were waking up from a nap. One of the guys—Larry, tall and sort of lanky, but good-looking—raised his hand. “Uh, Dr. Berringer, would it be OK if we turned the first essay in next class meeting?”

Smiling, Brandi asked, “Do you want to try for that, class?”

A chorus of enthusiastic agreement made her chuckle. “Go for it!” she said. “If you all pass, we’ll have a special class day to celebrate.”

10

On Friday of the next week, Brandi met with Dr. Vernon Ambrose, a specialist in Victorian literature, and Dr. Amanda Machetta, a composition specialist, in her office. Dr. Ambrose, a heavyset man in his forties, said, “Professor Berringer, I must say this is remarkable! You must have been very lucky in your composition students. I cannot recall a set of freshman essays this good, and I’ve been teaching here for nineteen years.”

“Thank you!” Brandi said.

Dr. Machetta nodded. “I’m very pleased, Professor,” she said. “I have provisionally graded these—of course, your grade will be final, and you are free to disagree with me—but honestly, the lowest grades of all seventy-two papers were six C’s. I also assigned a dozen grades of C+, and the rest all B’s and A’s. Excellent work, and my congratulations to your class for having done so well.”

“Thank you, too,” Brandi said. “They’re a hard-working bunch.” She didn’t’ tell them that her composition classes had already turned in three more essays.

Dr. Ambrose rose. “Well, that concludes this pleasant bit of business,” he said. “Amanda, do you have anything else?”

“Well,” Amanda said with a little frown, “I’d really love to have a threesome with you and Brandi.”

“Splendid idea,” Dr. Ambrose said, removing his sports jacket . . . .

On Monday Brandi handed the papers back to the students in her first class the eight students who had scored below B groaned, but she said, “Now, stop that. You’ll get better! By the end of the term I think everyone will be most happy with your grades. The good news is everyone passed. Remember?”

“Do we get our orgy?” one of the two lesbian girls asked hopefully.

“No, that comes later. But I thought we might take some time to do a little sex education.”

The students buzzed a little in anticipation.

Brandi had prepared for this. Becky Malsten had spent all day—and all night—Sunday with her and was primed and ready for her assignment. “All right, class,” Brandi said. “Pay attention, please. Becky, strip down.”

With no hesitation, Becky removed all of her clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor. Smiling, Brandi said, “Be neat!” and the girl picked up the clothing, folded it, and lay it on the teacher’s chair, taking the opportunity to let the class have an excellent view of her naked ass. She turned toward Brandi with a bright smile.

Brandi said, “Good. Now, Becky, stand up straight and let the class have a look at you. Don’t cover your breasts or pussy. Class, does she look good?”

There was a chorus of “Yeahs” and a few whistles. One guy said “Good enough to eat,” and Becky giggled.

Becky did look good, after her special bath and a loving application of the golden serum to her breasts and pussy. Her breasts were larger, perky and bouncy, and her complexion was clear and glowing. Brandi smiled indulgently. “All right, class, now we’ll do a little demonstration. Hop up on the desk, Becky. Spread your legs and let us have a good look at your pussy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Obediently, Becky sat on the desk, leaned back and spread her legs wide, resting her heels on the edge of the desk. She reached down with both hands and opened her glistening pink pussy, the clit pearly and swollen, dewy with anticipation. The other students were stirring and murmuring.

“What do you think?” Brandi asked. “Wade?”

“My God,” Wade said. “It’s gorgeous! I’ve never seen anything prettier!”

The two lesbians, Patti and Linda, were leaning forward, their faces flushed. “Beautiful,” Linda said. There were murmurs of agreement all around.

“Larry,” Brandi said. “You’ve had experience fucking girls.”

The lanky student—one of the C-plus writers—blushed and muttered, “Uh—yeah. I mean, yes ma’am. Uh . . . three girls.”

“Can you deflower Becky for us?”

“De—uh , you mean, like, you know?”

“Fuck her,” Brandi said plainly. “If I let you be Becky’s first guy, you’ll have to work harder on your next essays. Is that a deal?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Brandi held up a warning finger. “But do it slowly, with consideration, and be gentle. We’ll watch. Becky will let you know if you’re too rough. Strip and let’s see what you have.”

Larry had a very respectable cock, already erect. Not too big, not too small. Brandi walked over to where he was standing, reached down, and began to massage it. Precum glistened on the purple tip. “Very nice,” she said, and still grasping his cock, she led him to the front of the class. “Becky, this is Larry. You want him to fuck you.”

“Yeah,” the girl said dreamily. Her fingers were working in her slit, which gave off a tantalizing aroma.

Brandi positioned Larry—she had guessed well, and his cock was at the right level—and she began to move the tip of his dick up and down along Becky’s slit. The girl wriggled and sighed, and Larry bent forward to suckle her nipples, drawing a gasp from her. “Class,” Brandi said, “your cocks and pussies produce their own lubricants. What I’m doing now is getting Larry’s penis slippery and ready so it will glide in without too much pain or discomfort to either of them. And Becky’s vagina is getting all moist and is relaxing so he can slip it in. How does your pussy feel, Becky?”

“It’s hot and wet,” Becky said, shivering.

“You want him to put it in?”

Becky bit her lower lip but smiled and nodded.

To Larry, Brandi said, “Now enter her, slowly and carefully,” putting her hand on Larry’s buttocks to guide his progress.

He glided right in, making Becky suddenly start as he encountered and pressed through her hymen. “Oh!”

“It won’t hurt for long,” Brandi said. “The pain is going away. Going, going, gone. How does it feel now, Becky?”

“Fuckin’ great,” she said, pumping her hips.

“Good. Now, Larry, start to move. Fuck her, slowly, slowly.”

A little blood trickled out, but Becky began to thrust her hips and groan, “Oh, yeah! That’s so good! Faster!”

Brandi looked at her squirming class. They were sweating and breathing deeply. “You may all strip and masturbate if you wish,” she said.

They all did. Every single one. Some moved to get a better view. Two of the girls, not the lesbians, fingered each other’s pussies, biting their lower lips. One moaned, “I wanna fuck too!”

“I promised you an orgy,” Brandi said. “If everyone in class does their work, we’ll have a great one.”

“Professor Berringer,” Patti moaned, “Can I go down on Linda? Please? The smell of her pussy’s making me crazy to taste it. I wanna make her cum!”

“You two can use your fingers, but you want to watch.”

Like the other two girls, they began to masturbate each other, their breasts bobbing. They writhed and murmured, but their eyes stayed glued on the couple who had started to fuck.

Brandi reached between Larry’s legs and fondled his bouncing balls. Judging that he was about ready to blow his load—like too many young studs, he had stamina for multiple climaxes but little staying power for the first one—she said, “Becky, listen to me. You’re gonna cum when I count to three. It will be mind-blowing. You’ll really love it. One . . . two . . . three!”

Becky bucked and yelped and screamed, “Oh God, I’m cumming!” At the same moment Larry gasped and twitched and cum streaked with blood oozed over the edge of the desk.

Everybody, but everybody else in the classrooms was masturbating. By now most of them were sitting on the floor, leaning back, really into the sex. The guys were stroking their cocks, the girls sinking their fingers into their slits—or into their neighbors’. Brandi concentrated hard. “Everyone, get ready. Girls, the guys are gonna cum on your tits when I tell them. Aim, guys! Not yet! Girls, when you feel their nice hot cum splatter on you, you’re all gonna have a great orgasm. Ready? On three!” She counted again.

The guys gushed, the girls wriggled and shuddered and received their spurts and cried out in ecstasy, even Patti and Linda. Brandi laughed. “Rub it in!” she urged. “It’s great for your skin. Rub it in, and soon your breasts will feel more sensitive.”

More yips of delight from the girls. One of them, bolder than the rest, seized the nearest cock and pulled it to her lips, then sucked off the remnants of cum, smacking her lips. She had made an A on the essay, and so Brandi let her have her little indulgence.

Down the hall, another teacher interrupted her lecture and tilted her head at the sounds she heard. “Sounds like our new teacher is very popular,” she said with a smile.