The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Uhhh... yeah... My name’s Emil,” said a youthful voice on the answering machine. Jon’s blood froze. “Hank Parrott gave me this number before he left town. He said that you bought him out, so I had to talk to you. Well, I’m Hank’s—talent scout,” the voice said with a snigger. “He told me you’d seen the Kityn flicks and wanted her for more. I—discovered her, but she ain’t around no more. But I got someone just like her for ya. Beep me if yer innerested.”

“Carolyn, Val,” he called. Now that Hank Parrott was no longer of interest, both of them had their real names back. They appeared from different parts of the house within seconds. “Thank you both for all of your help. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.” They beamed at him. “Now, though, it’s time for you to go home. It’s all my job from here on out.”

“You mean we cannot stay with you in this wonderful place?” Val asked, still childlike, yet incredibly sexy, right down to her accent. Her eyes flashed an unspoken trade at Jon. “We would stay out of the way,” she cooed.

“No,” Jon flatly stated, although he was having some regrets about not taking Valentina up on her offer. “It’s too dangerous as it is—I don’t want any distractions, and even if you weren’t in the house, there’s a part of me that would worry about you returning at a bad time and becoming a victim. I can’t afford that. Not now.”

“We understand, Jon,” Carolyn broke in before Val could say anything else. She paused, trouble on her face, and softly asked, “This is a bad one, isn’t it?” He nodded gravely. “Will you be OK?”

“I can’t make any promises,” Jon replied, equally soft. The room was quiet for a few moments. He cleared his throat a little before resuming, “Heather—Bambi will be going back with you.” He and Bridget had managed to deduce that the porno bimbo was a mind-adjusted UCLA co-ed named Heather Cross, who had been missing for over two months and was presumed dead. After an extensive, detailed mental probing of the girl’s mind, Jon advised Bridget to have the Los Angeles Police Department drop the “presumed” part. There wasn’t enough left in the poor girl’s mind to have any hope of restoring her former self. He had bolstered her mental capacity enough that she was no longer a complete bimbo. Jon had also arranged for the removal of Heather’s implants, and he would allow her to recover in his care while Bridget created a new identity for her. Once that was established, Jon would turn her over to a psionic friend in Switzerland whose private clinic specialized in severe psychiatric trauma cases.

“You guys make sure that Bambi gets settled in the house. She’s going to have those ridiculous implants removed, and will need recovery time and space. Hopefully, I’ll be back to take it from there.” He took a deep breath. “If I’m not back in two weeks, call Bridget. She’ll know what to do.”

Carolyn and Valentina hugged Jon tightly, fighting a losing battle against tears. He returned the hugs, cooing calming assurances, fighting his own seesaw battle against his own fear and doubt.

Jon hugged Val and Carolyn goodbye as the first class boarding announcement was made. Bambi/Heather, dressed as conservatively as possible and wearing very dark sunglasses, stood to the side, trying not to draw attention to herself. Jon had made it possible for her to function without Hank Parrott, but this had the unfortunate side effect of making her aware of just how aberrant her chest was, leaving her in a constant state of embarrassment. It didn’t help that everybody gawked at her; some were just more open about it than others.

Carolyn told Jon she’d handle everything as she gave him a last hug. As the women presented their boarding passes, Jon felt bad for Heather, because the gate agent just stared at her, open-mouthed. Before Jon could reach for the man’s mind, Carolyn brushed in front of Heather, and said in a stage whisper, “Her plastic surgeon freaked out. It’s been settled, but we can’t really talk about it or give any names.” Jon couldn’t help but smile at her quick thinking. Several nearby heads nodded, and understanding and pity blossomed on more than one woman’s face. The gate agent stopped his stare and lowered his eyes with a soft apology. The line resumed its motion, and all three women disappeared down the ramp. Jon turned and headed for the airport exit.

Jon rode back to the house in silence, truly alone in L.A. He’d lost his awareness of Val and Carolyn’s mental signatures, which had a range of almost twenty-five miles. That space now filled with questions about his no-longer-anonymous adversary. What was he going to be like? Any chance Jon had of reasoning with Emil depended on the young man’s motivation for the things he did. How would Emil react when he found out that, although his extra mental abilities may have made him special, they did not make him unique. Most emergent psi-talents were actually relieved to find people like themselves, and quickly understood the need for discretion. Those that didn’t were dealt with harshly by other psi-talents working alone, or in some cases, in concert. If it came down to a battle, could Jon defeat the kid one-on-one? He still had no accurate gauge of Emil’s power. There were a few things that had to be taken care of before Jon could arrange a meeting with the eraser. One way or another, Emil would stop erasing people for his amusement.

When he got home, he called Bridget. “Hey, sweets. I’m going to be in DC tomorrow to help a friend out with some business,” he lied. “Can you make some time for me after work?

“I’ll always make time for you, Jon, you know that,” she lovingly replied. “How’s the porno biz going? Any further leads beyond this Parrott guy? I’m working on the Cross girl thing now. I’m glad that you could rescue her from that—existence.”

“So am I, Bridget. I sent her back about an hour or so ago with the girls to get those things taken out of her chest. Physically, she’ll heal in a couple of months. As for her mental state... we’ll have to see. We’re on for an early dinner tomorrow—my treat.” Jon waited, hoping that Bridget would not press him for any details on his progress.

“Jon, are you asking me not to eat tomorrow all day so I can run up your charge card?” the FBI agent laughed. “Remember, I’m just a poor working girl, so I take every advantage I can.” Their conversation dissolved into friendly banter, allowing Jon to avoid any further discussion of the case. Especially since the specifics of the case were not the reason for this trip. Jon had business with Bridget that could only be attended to face-to-face, in private.

He sat down at the desk and began to write three nearly identical letters to his closest friends in the loosely-knit psi-talent community. The letters detailed everything Jon had learned so far about Emil, along with his recommendation and warning. He wanted them to be more prepared than he currently felt. He put them in three separate Federal Express envelopes marked for the next business morning: one would be delivered in the United States, one would go to Switzerland, and the last one to New Delhi, India. If the letters were sent, it would be up to them to deal with Emil; Jon would no longer be in the picture. He stopped to consider what it would be like; the concept of death never frightened him, but he did worry about those for whom he cared. Maribeth and Val would be absolutely devastated, Bridget only slightly less affected. Carolyn would hurt inside for a long time, but she’d probably be the best person to handle the details it when it happened. With that in mind, he arranged a conference call with his lawyer and his financial planner. His wealth would provide for his harem (including Bridget) for the rest of their lives, as long as they weren’t overly extravagant. Jon also made a note to leave something for Kityn and Bambi/Heather. Devoting his time to insure the continued well-being of his lady friends also kept his mind off of Emil for the rest of the day.

The lawyer and the “money guy” had their marching orders; Jon would have the papers to sign by the end of the week. He stretched out on the bed in his hotel suite; Bridget would be due to stop by in a couple of hours, still unaware of what awaited her in Jon’s company. He felt a twinge of guilt at using her this way, but she was the logical choice; he knew every contour of her mind intimately. In fact, he literally knew Bridget better than she knew herself, because everyone has some self-truths that they keep hidden from themselves. His college sweetheart arrived at five, full of cheer and chatter. “It’s good to see you again, Jon!” she chirped, giving him a peck on the cheek and a hug. “I was hoping this would be a purely social call, but I have some news for you—don’t worry, it’s good news. I got the big guy to OK the Heather Cross identity change. She’ll be a new person in ten-to-fifteen days. Score one for the good guys, huh?” Jon smiled weakly. “What’s the matter?” Bridget immediately asked.

“I’m sorry Bridget, but I have to do this,” Jon whispered, and he pulled Bridget’s thoughts into a whirlpool of his own creation. “Deeper and deeper you go, Bridget, down... down... all the way down... into a deep, deep hypnosis. Deeper and deeper... hypnosis... nothing but darkness, warmth and peace... nothing but darkness and my voice... nothing but hypnosis and my commands... always my commands as you go deeper and deeper... completely still except for my voice and my commands.” She collapsed onto the bed, eyes closed, in trance. “Open your eyes and see nothing, Bridget, as you continue going deeper and deeper to the bottom of the hypnotic well... the very bottom... until you are completely hypnotized, Bridget... completely hypnotized... deeper and deeper.” Jon continued to pull her down with his vortex until he could sense no brain activity other than very sluggish autonomic messages. He was going to weave something into the tapestry of her mind. “You are now so deeply hypnotized that you will do everything I say, and act when and how I command. Do you understand?”

“Y-Y-yesssssss...” Bridget sighed.

“Very good, Bridget.” Jon pulled out his Federal Express envelopes. “I will give you three envelopes. You will take them and put them in a safe place at your home, where no one but you will find them. In fact, when you put them away, you will forget that you have them.”

“Forr-get...” she slurred.

“If I do not telephone you within ten days, starting tomorrow, you will awaken on the eleventh day and remember the envelopes. You will not take them to work with you, instead, you will take them to the Federal Express drop box closest to your home and send them from there. You will have no memory of doing this. Is that understood?

“Sssssss,” was all that came from Bridget.

“Also, if you do not hear from me in ten days, you will call my home phone number and ask for Carolyn. You will tell her who you are, and give her the message, ‘he’s gone,’ and hang up. You will have no memory of making this call, and you will react naturally to anything that happens afterwards. No memory of the call, Bridget...”

“No... mem’ry...”

“When you awaken, you will feel refreshed, and have no memory of being hypnotized. You will not be aware of the Federal Express envelopes until it is time to put them away in your home, and then you will forget until the designated time on the designated day. You will not be aware of the phone call you are to make, unless it is time to make it. Is that clear?”

“Cle-e-ear,” Bridget crooned.

“All right Bridget, it’s time for you to come back up from the depths... I am bringing you back from the depths of your hypnosis... You are remembering a happy conversation and discussion about where we’ll eat dinner tonight... yes... A happy discussion as you are coming awake... you won... getting closer to the surface... closer... Stand up, Bridget.” The FBI agent stood, still entranced, but with a smile now as Jon’s suggestion about her winning the argument over dinner took hold. “Yes, closer to consciousness now... you can feel it... hypnosis fading away... forgotten... you have not been hypnotized... you have not been hypnotized... you have not been hypnotized...”

Bridget started to repeat, “I have not been hypnotized,” softly, until Jon snapped his fingers, ending her deep trance. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to Napoli for dinner. How long has it been since you’ve had really good Italian, Jon?”

“Been like forever, it seems, dear,” Jon said with a rueful smile. All the arrangements were in place now. As he walked out the door with Bridget, he wondered if Holly was still at Capitol Hills. A little recreation with no strings was the diversion he needed. One last bit of fun.

Jon’s hands trembled as he dialed Emil’s beeper. All the arrangements to take care of his loved ones had been made. There was nothing between him and Emil now, except time. It took an hour for the kid to reply. “Yo, this’s Emil. Carter, right? I remember the phone number. So, you in or not? You wanna give the merchandise a once-over?”

Jon felt nauseated at Emil’s description of the girl he held sway over. “Yeah. She still available?” he asked, trying his best to sound like a porno promoter.

“Well, I was gonna take her for myself, but then I heard about Hank, and decided to wait another coupla days—in his memory.” Jon was quiet at the other end. He had known what was going to happen to Parrott; he just hadn’t known when or where. People will do extremely stupid things when they don’t have any self-preservation instinct. “You haven’t heard?” Emil had taken his silence for shock. “They found him and his car wrapped around a tree. Word is he was so coked up that he could have had a heart attack before the crash.” There was a pause, then Emil muttered, “I told him that shit was gonna kill him some day. Yo, Carter, you don’t do coke, do you?”

“Just the soda, kid. I don’t touch that stuff,” Jon replied. “I don’t trust it.”

“Well, good,” Emil said in return. “Hank coulda killed lotsa people—he woulda killed Bambi or anybody else with him!” Jon was surprised at his righteousness. The kid wasn’t completely without morals. “That shit ain’t right. I don’t do drugs—never have and never will. I think I’ll be a little pickier about my clients from here on out. I don’t want to waste all that work.”

“So where’s that leave me?” Jon asked, a little nervous that the discussion had strayed so far, so quickly. An attack of conscience on Emil’s part was the last thing Jon expected, or needed at this moment.

“Oh... yeah... Well, I can bring the babe by anytime. Parrott hipped you to the deal, right?” Jon made an agreeable sound. “Just so you understand—I get a finder’s fee of ten grand, and half of the future profits. If you want to change her body, that’s all on you, but I’ll make sure she’ll go for it eagerly, just so the plastic surgeon doesn’t get suspicious. I also figure you’ll want a special phrase to turn her nympho just like Kityn. That’s also included in the finder’s fee. Last time, we lost Kityn ‘cuz somebody said her magic word in general public. I’ll pick somethin’ weird this time, somethin’ nobody’ll say.”

“That’ll work,” Jon immediately said. “How’s five o’clock, my place?”

The doorbell rang at five-thirty, causing Jon to wonder if anybody in Los Angeles did anything on time. He felt it before he got to the door—Emil’s power radiated through the fixture in uneven waves. The kid was very powerful and dangerously undisciplined. He opened the door, fighting the instinct to get the drop on Emil and attack him first. He saw a tall, slender, young man of about twenty-five, maybe less. Emil was around six feet, three inches tall, and skinny—he might have weighed a hundred fifty pounds. His black hair was stringy, almost down to his shoulders. The image Jon had seen in Parrott’s head was fairly accurate. “You Jan Carter?” the young man asked, somewhat nervously. When Jon replied with a yes, he grinned and offered a hand. “Kewl. I’m Emil, and this is... whoever you want her to be.” He indicated the young girl with him. She was about eighteen, with brown hair, a few freckles and a vacant smile on her face. She reminded Jon of Holly, who had apparently left Capitol Hills a month or so ago. She was pretty in a natural sort of way, cute enough to have recently been a homecoming or prom queen. The girl was just like Kityn in that there was nothing fake about her beauty, or her unassuming presence.

Jon shook Emil’s hand, being careful not to probe him in public. “Come on in. I’ll figure out a good name for her. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Emil was looking around before the door closed. “Nice place, Carter, very nice. Very classy, too. I’m impressed.” He took his time to admire the artwork in the living room. “Wow... this is really classy,” Emil said, his voice full of admiration. “You’re a different kind of cat than Parrott was, that’s for sure. I haven’t seen anything smutty or dirty lying around. Your films got this much class? I mean, porno is porno, but you look like the kind of guy to do like—a triple-x Hamlet or somethin’.”

Jon evenly answered, “I’ll take that as a compliment,” all the while planning the confrontation. He didn’t want the girl to get hurt in the crossfire. As they got to the den, Jon said, “You know, I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Emil.”

He reacted with shock. “No way! Parrott said he never told anybody about me! That lying sack of shit!”

“No, not just Parrott. There was Beth Arnold, who you and he turned into Kityn. There was an exotic dancer named Lolly Popps, who used to be Liza Marie Preston from Tuscaloosa, Alabama. And there was a young woman named Heather Cross, who you made into Bambi, your personal sex toy, until you got tired of her,” Jon said. “All of these things are wrong, Emil. You can’t just continually take people and twist their minds to suit you.”

The kid looked at Jon with astonishment. “Who the fuck are you? Some kind of cop? How did you—” The astonishment changed to fear for just an instant. Then he smiled. An evil one. “It doesn’t matter,” he lightly said. “Dude, you just picked the wrong case. See, I can make people forget everything. Then I can tell them what I want them to do. Get him, Terri!”

The sweet girl attacked Jon, trying to tackle him while Emil continued to shout instructions to her. Jon unplugged her motor control, and she went slack around his ankles. Before Jon could get away from her prone body, Emil knocked him over and landed on top of him. “And that’s what I’m gonna do to you,” he hissed. “When I get through with you, you’re gonna be the faggiest faggot ever! Say goodbye and forget.” Emil put his hands on Jon’s head at the temples. “Forget,” he repeated, with an evil grin of mocking triumph.

DARKNESS. Covering everything... Filling his head... covering the light. Going... darker... Jon got an image of someone pumping gallons and gallons of thick black paint into his brain with a very high-pressure hose. So this was how Emil erased people. While the attack was formidable, requiring a great deal of psionic energy and effort, it was nonetheless amazingly unsophisticated. Jon found that he was—disappointed—by the lack of challenge, as he was able to deflect it with considerably less effort than he had anticipated. It allowed him to go on a careful offensive of his own, one focused on finding the source of Emil’s power. Jon had immediately noted that the psionic “leak” had stopped completely when Emil attacked. He used his own power to gently invade and watch the most active area of Emil’s brain. All the nerve impulses seemed to be heading to one specific spot, indicating immense concentration. Jon decided to create a weak impulse near the junction point, the equivalent of a fleeting thought; a brief, minor distraction. He had a flash of Emil’s mental signature. The leak had returned for the duration of the distraction, but only at a fraction of its earlier intensity.

He resumed the impulse, and maintained it this time, which provided Emil with a slight distraction on an ongoing basis. Jon couldn’t afford to do much more than that, because he still had to defend himself. However, as his sense of Emil’s mental signature slowly grew, the amount of black goo flowing into his mind decreased. As the leak steadily approached the magnitude of its earlier tide, Jon was able to devote more and more of his own energy to increasing the strength of his constant counter impulse. His opponent’s expression suddenly changed.

Emil was shocked. It wasn’t working! “FORGET!!!” he screamed at the guy. Why wasn’t he getting that funny blank look? “FORGET, DAMMIT, FORGET!!!” He tried harder and harder, squeezing Jon’s head, thinking as hard as he could, trying to make the thing work like it always did WHY WASN’T IT WORKING???? “FORGET!!! I COMMAND YOU TO FORGET!!! FORGET!!!” Emil hysterically repeated, frantically trying to do the mind wipe thing. WHY ISN’T IT WORKING????

Jon smiled up at Emil, and then he simply rolled the kid off of him. Without physical contact, Emil couldn’t do a thing. Maybe now it was time to talk. “Certainly you don’t think that you’re the only one in the world with special mental abilities?” he calmly asked as he got to his feet.

Emil gaped at Jon. “No... I’m the special one. I’m the only one that can make girls forget—I’m gonna make them all my sluts,” he babbled. “Never get turned down again ‘cuz I’m ugly. Never. I got the power to get even with them. It was given to ME cuz’ they were all so mean!” Emil looked at Jon with malice. “And you can’t stop me!!!! I’m gonna make you forget!” He attacked Jon again, grabbing at his head.

Now that Jon knew where Emil’s power was seated, he could exploit his opponent’s lack of skill. Jon resumed his counter impulse, enlarging the leak, which dramatically reduced the effectiveness of the mental assault. He found that he could even talk during this battle. “Emil, you know by now that I’ve got powers, too, and that you can’t erase me. Let me help you to understand your gift and control your power,” he gently said, trying to diffuse the young man’s rage.

But Emil wasn’t having any of it. “I’m gonna make you forget to breathe, motherfucker,” he angrily hissed. “You’re not gonna stop me from making these bitches my toys,” he snarled. “They deserve it. I’m gonna get ‘em all after I’ve fucked you up.”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Jon warned. Emil’s power was almost completely unfocused now; Jon had reduced his mental defense to its barest minimum and barely felt anything. “I’ll kill you if I have to.” He began to channel his own power, feeling it gather itself like a serpent coiling for the strike.

“You can’t kill me! I’m gonna make all those stuck-up bitches pay! I’m the chosen one! I’m gonna get revenge on all of ‘em!!! You can’t stop me! I’M CHOSEN!!!!” Emil screamed hysterically.

Emil had enough raw power to fry a mind or two with a concentrated mental blast, but his lack of discipline and skill led Jon to believe that the kid had never even thought of the possibilities of his power beyond his simplistic revenge. “No, Emil, this has to stop,” Jon quietly said, “Now. Either you tell me that you’ll quit, or I will make you stop.”

“You can’t make me do anything—only I can make people do anything. Sooner or later, I’m gonna make you forget. Nobody can stop me. I can make anyone forget everything! Forget!!!” he yelled, reaching frantically for Jon. “FORGET!!!! FORG—”

Subtlety had failed; Jon had to let Emil know that he was telling the truth and that he was able to do things inside his mind. Emil’s voice died as Jon forcefully reached into his mind, studying the young man’s life and memories, looking for a ray of hope that he could be rehabilitated. “Now do you believe me? There are others like me, Emil. You could have been one of us. I offered to teach you, to help you, but you’ve refused so far. Please let me help you.” Emil gritted his teeth and Jon felt him twist in his mental grip, trying to get away.

Emil thought up a very vivid image, along with a very defiant thought directed at Jon, fanatical in its message.

“Goodbye, Emil,” Jon coldly said. He cut into the core of Emil’s brain, his power working like a very large knife instead of the precision scalpel he’d been using to this point. Emil’s nose began to bleed. Jon didn’t care. He drove to the root, first interrupting voluntary, and then involuntary muscle control. The Eraser took a rattling, gasping breath... then his lifeless body collapsed onto the floor. His eyes and mouth remained open with a surprised expression. Jon slumped onto the sofa, thanking providence that Emil hadn’t been any more skilled. He smiled, realizing that his ladies would be stuck with him for a while longer, and that he would call Bridget tomorrow. Then he passed out.

Epilogue

Three days later, Jon sat in a secure room at FBI headquarters debriefing Bridget. “I think that the house is all that’s left to take care of. I’ll be happy to have that money back. Los Angeles is just not my style.”

“I bet,” she said with a smile. “We’re going to let the agent know when she can put it back on the market. We’re almost finished wiping the house. There won’t be any trace of what happened there. Omega One is personally going to do the final check to make sure there’s no—fallout remaining.” Jon raised his eyebrows, impressed, and briefly wondered if that meant he’d get paid for this job. Bridget interrupted his musing by resuming, “By the way, how’s Heather? Her new identity should be ready in about ten more days, maybe longer if State gives us shit over the passport. She’ll basically be just like a protected witness, except that we’re not sheltering or helping to support her.” Jon nodded. The FBI agent paused for a moment, then asked, “How’s she doing?”

“Carolyn said that the surgery went well yesterday, but they’re keeping her pretty doped. She’s been having bad dreams.”

The FBI agent shook her head. “I can understand why.” There was a pause. “Let me get this straight—the only thing that held this Emil guy together mentally was his confidence in his ability to change women,” Bridget said. “He must have been really warped.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Jon replied. “I don’t quite understand what he found so traumatic about being dissed in high school—it happened to me a lot, and look at how I turned out.” Bridget gave him a funny look and a wry smile. “I haven’t changed anyone’s body—including yours,” he shot back with a touch of a laugh. “It might have been that his father passed down his own opinion of beautiful women,” he continued. “His mother—who was beautiful, at least in Emil’s memories—died in an accident. His father believed that she was being unfaithful to him, and that’s why she was involved in the accident.” An inquiring look from the FBI agent caused him to read her next thought before she could say anything. “No, I don’t know if that was true or if that was just his father’s way of dealing with such a traumatic event. At any rate, Emil took an extreme view about women. When his power manifested itself during puberty, which was pretty late in Emil’s case, he used it to take what he considered a justified revenge. When he couldn’t erase me, he panicked because he thought he had lost his power. He couldn’t deal with the possibility of being unable to warp women to his demented specifications.”

“But why didn’t you just snuff out his power, just like you did to Val? That would have rendered him harmless, right?”

“Because he vowed to continue his revenge,” Jon quickly answered, shivering at the memory of the gruesome images in Emil’s last thoughts. “If he couldn’t mess with their minds, he was still determined to mess with their bodies.” At that he shut up, leaving Bridget to draw her own conclusions, and didn’t bother to check if she got it right or not. “At least it’s truly over. No more women will fall prey to his torture again.”

“Speaking of tortured women, were you able to get anything from him about the other women who’d disappeared? The number I finally had was fifteen.” Jon shook his head ruefully. Bridget felt ill, but had to continue. It was her job. “Well, that’s down to eleven that we know of, counting Kityn, Heather, poor Liza Marie, and Joanne—” Bridget stopped, interrupting herself. “How is Joanne? Were you able to—”

“Nope. She’s erased. Her mind is empty,” Jon sighed, with an air of defeat. “She’s another one you’ll have to give a new identity. The same—friend—who is going to help Heather has agreed to take care of Joanne as well.” He hung his head. “Somewhere, there are at least eleven women whose lives were destroyed by a psionic monster, who was just the dorky kid that everybody picked on. And we don’t really know how many women Emil affected. Eleven is just the number you get when you plug in the MO you started with.” He looked at his college sweetheart with pain and fatigue in his eyes. “When you’re dealing with rogue psi’s, sometimes winning isn’t enough.”