The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Kityn’s personality is, well—bubbly,” Bridget said after having met her at lunch. “I can’t believe that there’s a 180 IQ inside—such an airhead.” She frowned. “That’s not the right word. She’s just entirely too sweet, like Romper Room or something.”

Jon nodded. “She really is a sweetheart. Unfortunately, there’s absolutely no trace of her former self, other than her old name. However, she’s regaining her former academic skill at an amazing rate.” Before Bridget could say anything, he continued, “No, that’s not my doing. As far as I can tell, it’s natural.”

“If anybody would know, it’s you,” the FBI agent said. “So where were we before lunch? You were saying something about California. That’s a pretty big place. Care to give me some justification on why I should get the bureau to launch an initiative?”

“First of all, the two victims we’ve had contact with have or had California accents. Neither of them had their original accents. I know, you’re thinking it’s hearsay in one case. Trust me. It isn’t. However, even if that were enough to get an initiative going, I would recommend against it.” Jon sat on the edge of his desk. “Bridget,” he reluctantly began, “I don’t know how his power works or the full extent of it. After seeing exactly what he did to Kityn’s mind, I can tell you that he’s extremely powerful.”

“More powerful than you?” Bridget asked, a little afraid of the answer.

“I honestly don’t know.” Jon sat back, recalling all of his thoughts on the case. “He probably needs physical contact to do what he does. I know that he doesn’t have enough discipline to keep his power under wraps, which means I’d be forewarned for any encounter with him.”

“Are you sure about the physical contact thing?”

“Not one hundred percent,” Jon replied. More like ninety to ninety-five. Restraint and subtlety aren’t necessarily this guy’s strong suits. If he could do this to people from a distance, we’d probably have an epidemic of slutty, big-titted blondes walking around.” He tapped absently on the desk. “At any rate, he may be able to compromise the agency if he’s discovered by a single agent. I have no doubt that he could co-opt one, possibly two agents at once. I’d rather narrow this down on my own, then go after him by myself.”

Bridget sighed. She looked at her watch as silence fell. “Well, I’ve gotta get back to the office downtown and make it look like this is a business trip,” she finally offered, standing up to leave. Grinning, she added, “I’ll be back for dinner.” Jon smiled and saw her out before returning to the study to think.

“Of course, I don’t know how I’m going to narrow this down,” Jon muttered aloud to no one.

“Narrow what down, Jon?” Carolyn called. She came into the study after Jon didn’t answer. “What’s the matter? Does it have something to do with that gorgeous woman you and Bridget had lunch with? Is she going to be a new playmate?”

Jon chuckled. “Carolyn, you’re positively drooling.” She shrugged, waiting for answers. “No, she’s not a potential playmate, she’s—a rescue. And yes, she’s related to my current case, which is giving me a major headache. That’s what I was muttering about,” he explained.

“Maybe I can help,” she replied, “lie down.” Jon lay face down, and Carolyn began to give him a massage, which was something she did very well. “Tell me about it, because it may do you good to talk it out. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it might seem.” She patiently kneaded his neck, waiting for him to start. His quick scan was met with the thought, “I’m waiting, Jon. Ready whenever you are.” He shifted to look at her; she had a slight smirk on her face. She knew he would read her mind. Carolyn was quick-witted and sharp-tongued; her membership in his club was by her choice, and on her terms, as were most of the things she did.

Jon and Maribeth had initially met her on a ski vacation. She was a ski instructor at the resort. Her intense attraction to Maribeth did not escape Jon’s notice, nor did the fact that Carolyn quite happily considered herself strictly homosexual. In fact, Jon’s first overture towards Carolyn was met with, “you’d have a better chance of surviving a thousand-foot drop on skis than making it with me, dude.” The resulting battle for Carolyn’s psyche and the change in her sexual orientation was well-fought; she lost, but not before impressing Jon with her strength of self. Once Jon was finished with her, he asked her to join his concubine. It was a simple matter to rewire Maribeth for bisexuality, which was an instant hit with Carolyn. The athletic blonde also admitted that being mind controlled into a heterosexual liaison was—exciting. She agreed, especially when she found out that the depths of Jon’s financial wherewithal allowed her to do pretty much anything she wanted without having to work.

He shook himself from his reverie, and recounted the case and his experiences, only leaving out his sexual dalliances. She silently, patiently worked on his muscles as he spoke. “So I’m almost 100 percent sure that he’s in California. I just don’t know where,” Jon unhappily concluded.

“Well, judging by the looks of little miss oh-god-I-want-her, and from what you’ve told me about the dead girl, I’d say he likes blondes with big tits.” Carolyn began. She tapped him on the back, signaling that the massage was over. Jon sat up and said that he’d come to the same conclusion. “One place in California where I know there is no shortage of artificially big-titted blondes is in the porno business. The frat guys talk about it all the time at the resort. He’s either inflated the girls before they go into porn, or gotten them after they’ve been inflated for porn. Maybe Miss Mouthwatering would be in a flick or two. Then you can find the producer of the movie. That ought to narrow down your search.”

Jon laughed. “I can’t believe I overlooked something so obvious! I didn’t even think about that tack, thank you!” Carolyn beamed. “Unfortunately, the answer to your unspoken Kityn question is absolutely not.” The beam turned into a pout. Carolyn had been hoping that Jon would let her play with Kityn as a reward. Jon couldn’t do that. “How about Val and Maribeth in a customized fantasy?” Jon suggested.

“No, I can seduce them if really want,” she sighed in reply. “Real-life spontaneity is surprisingly powerful with those two. I don’t want to have a coerced fantasy with them. If it happens, we all agree on it.” She rearranged herself on the floor and glumly continued, “No... This Kityn girl was new... different... there was something so wholesome, yet so... sexy about her. I’ll get over it, Jon.”

“It’s your call, Carolyn,” Jon said. “But Kityn’s had her mind messed with too much for me to even consider it.” She smiled ruefully at him. “But now I have the problem of finding all this smut. And assuming I find what I’m looking for, what on earth am I going to do with all those sex tapes afterwards?”

“Donate it to your favorite bunch of nerdy college guys. It’s the closest they’ll get,” Carolyn shot back with a laugh. “And if watching gets you too hot, call Val.” She stood to leave, and paused by the doorway. “If the two of you are still going—then maybe, just maybe, the two of you can call me.” Carolyn zipped out of the study, leaving mischievous thoughts that made Jon chuckle.

After reviewing the opening credits on about 10 movies, Jon had a headache. The credits flew by, usually over a background of someone having sex or some naked body, which made them even more difficult to read. Unfortunately, the business was so fragmented that the best Bridget could do was to give him a list of recent releases. There was no master list of actresses, nor any guarantee that the FBI list was anywhere near comprehensive. “It sure sounded easy when Carolyn suggested it,” he grumbled to no one in particular. It would take a stroke of luck to get this done quickly.

Two days, and countless tapes later, it was evident that luck was not in his favor. He had briefly enlisted Val’s aid on a second VCR, but his resident nymphomaniac kept getting distracted. Then she had interrupted him from his search for a couple of wasted (albeit extremely pleasurable) hours. She wasn’t going to be much help, Maribeth was gone on business, and he figured that Carolyn would not want to watch predominantly heterosexual tapes. Sexually sated, refreshed, and well rested from the nap that followed his frolicking with Val, he called out for dinner and resumed his task.

At about eleven-thirty, Carolyn rushed into the study. “I’ve found her! On a tape! Come see!!!” Jon bolted upstairs, hot on her heels. She pointed triumphantly at a frozen, fuzzy image on her television. It definitely was Kityn, surrounded by three black men with large genitalia. “There weren’t any credits, just a blank screen,” she excitedly said as she rummaged through boxes and tapes on the floor. Jon gave her a questioning look. “I’ve decided to help. I took Val’s place while you guys were—busy—in the study. It was a lot tougher job than I thought, and I figured that I wouldn’t get turned on. I felt sorry for you, especially since it was kind of my idea—Ah!! Here it is!” Carolyn handed him a box that read, “Big Blacks-Little Blondes. A Four Hour Production.” The producer’s name was listed as “Richard Harding,” and the address for the company was a post office box somewhere in Los Angeles. Jon had a sinking feeling that if he could easily find someone named “Richard Harding,” it would not be the person he was looking for.

He studied the box carefully as if there might be a hidden clue somewhere. Other than Kityn’s name (“Kityn,” in small print with several other names, male and female,) there wasn’t any more information other than the hype. He needed a next move. Go to L.A., and stake out the post office box? Although he didn’t think that Richard Harding was the real name of the tape’s producer, he could find each person with that name and scan them one-by-one, just in case the guy really was an idiot and had used his true name. What else could he possibly—Jon realized that the tape was playing. He could hear assorted moans and groans. He turned around to see Carolyn, watching intently, mouth slightly parted. She was breathing rapidly, in the early stages of arousal. “Carolyn?”

She reluctantly hit the pause button after a moment. “Jon—it’s Kityn. I mean, she’s naked. And she’s sexing. Even if it is with guys. I want to fantasize what it would be like with me,” Carolyn whispered. “Please? I’ll even be your slave when you want if you just let me watch this,” she begged.

“Go ahead,” he tenderly replied. “I’m going to wipe your memory of the tape tomorrow, though. I don’t want Kityn to have a whiff of that persona, and I certainly don’t want it to slip from your lips. If she’s identified by someone else, she can always plead mistaken identity, and her behavior would be contrary enough that she could get away with it. But you and I know better, so I’m going to make sure Kityn doesn’t find out from either of us.”

Carolyn nodded. “I understand, Jon.” He turned to leave. “Jon?” He stopped. “Fuck me sometime—soon. OK?” There was a pause. “Master?” Jon shut the door, leaving Carolyn to her fantasy.

“Richard Harding, and Four Hour Productions, right?” Bridget’s businesslike voice sounded reassuring over the phone. “Give me about an hour, and I’ll get back to you. I agree, though, I don’t think we’re going to turn up anything useful. Still, it’s worth a try.” Ninety minutes later, Bridget’s hello told Jon everything he needed to know. “No smoking gun, no doors to knock on,” the FBI agent sighed. “Absolutely no information other than what you’ve already got.” She waited for him to grumble before resuming, “At least it’s a definite lead. That’s the good news. It may not be an obvious one, it may take some more detective work, but it is a solid lead. Let me know what you come up with from here.”

“I will, Bridget,” Jon said. “After I get done with this one, we’re going to Colorado for a couple of weeks. Wanna join us?” A soft, girlish giggle, tinged with a hint of excitement was the response. “You’re always welcome, Bridget. You know that,” he said with a smile. That smile faded after he hung up and returned to his contemplation of the problem at hand. How could he find out who Richard Harding was? Was Harding the renegade psi he was looking for? That didn’t seem to fit the profile. Accomplished psi-talents never lacked for money or sex, which were the main products of the porno business. Even the power trip of control could be savored much better in private, or more powerfully expressed in a public humiliation, one not restricted to a relatively small market of viewers in their own homes. More to the point, Kityn wouldn’t remember any part of her sexual activity. That completely ruled out humiliation as a motive.

It was also unlikely that Harding was just a lucky opportunist who had discovered Kityn’s—talents—by accident, as Jon had. Her programming had been too specific. She had been designed to be the perfect porn star, eagerly doing anything with anybody while maintaining a nearly irresistible girl-next-door look. So, if Harding wasn’t directly responsible for her mental alteration, he knew who was. Even more to the point, he knew that person. Find Harding, and Jon would be one small step away from his ultimate target. Still the problem remained. Just how in the hell could he find a porno producer using a fake name—?

“That’s it!” he shouted to no one in particular. He could work from that side of the fence! Jon could set up his own porno production company. He had his own actresses. He could also say he saw Kityn in a movie, and wanted to hire her. Perhaps “Mr. Harding” would try to help him out. This was the best, clearest shot he could get. He called Bridget. He wanted professional help in designing his sting operation, and to get the FBI’s assurance that they would look the other way. It would take a couple of weeks to a month to set up his ruse, but he was betting on old-fashioned greed to flush his quarry into the open. Then the reckoning would come.