The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

Diana Finchley looked up as the banging on her office door grew louder. She was afraid it would fall in before she could open it. She pressed a button under her desk and the door buzzed, and the woman who had been beating it fell into her office, almost losing her balance.

Almost.

In less than a second, Diana found herself staring down the barrel of a nine-millimeter pistol.

“It was unlocked, Patsy,” she said.

“Shut up, Finchley,” said Patsy. Her voice was full of impending death. “Your operation is finished!”

“Operation?” Diana said. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Don’t even try,” said Patsy. The rage in her voice was real. “You thought you could condition me, make me turn, betray the Agency. But I’m one of those rare people beyond your ability to bend. I’m your worst nightmare, you bitch.”

“Hmm. That was you last night? Were you the horribly disfigured dwarf or the ominous shadow that chased me?” said Diana.

“Shut up, cunt. You have certain items. Items that I want. Now.”

Patsy paused to give the venom in her voice time to seep into the seated woman. “Are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to make sure that your face looks like a bowl of rancid lasagna? Either way is fine with me. I’m not leaving without them.”

Diana tensed. This was a rather unfortunate turn of events, and completely unexpected. There was no choice about it. She gritted her teeth as she smiled and said, “Okay, Patsy, you win. The items are here beside my desk.”

“Smart girl,” said Patsy, sneering.

She walked over to the desk, gun never leaving the face of her enemy. She reached over and hefted the heavy object and stepped back.

“Now, you evil whore, I’m going to take this bucket and brush, get on my knees, and scrub the floors. I’m starting with the top floor. There’s nothing you can do about it, so don’t even try. Don’t even think about attempting to stop me. The Agency has operatives everywhere.”

Patsy stepped backwards, leaning to one side as she worked to carry the five-gallon bucket of water and industrial cleaner. In a miracle of balance and skill, the gun was still pointed directly at Diana.

“Remember, bitch, I’ll be back to kill you if you so much as think about interfering. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Diana, voice dry with fear.

Then Patsy was gone.

Diana relaxed and broke into a smile. She got up, closed the door, went back to her desk, and flipped a switch on the console. A voice answered, “Yes, Ms. Finchley?”

“Good work, Doreen. But next time, see if you can’t reduce the need to use force. She reacted perfectly, but she almost killed me in the process.”

“Of course, Ms. Finchley. I’ll do better next time.”

“I’m sure you will. By the way, does anyone at the Department of Psychological Research suspect what’s happening?”

“No, Ms. Finchley. They are about to close the investigation. We will all be returning to the Agency offices soon. Your strategy is perfect.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re biased or anything,” laughed Diana.

“Recognition of your perfection is not bias, Ms. Finchley. It is a simple statement of fact.”

“Oooo, you make me feel so good, Doreen. I think I might keep you around, just for the fun of it.” Diana smiled as a moan of pleasure made its way out of the speaker.

“Yes, Ms. Finchley,” said a breathless Doreen.

“This afternoon, put Patsy through the last stage. The misdirection conditioning worked perfectly. Now all we have to do is transfer how obsessed she feels about scrubbing floors to how she feels about me, and layer it into her subconscious. The information we get from her should be enough to figure out how to streamline the process.

“I would imagine the Agency is a very well kept place these days. I don’t mind. The day I walk in to confront Director Morgan, I want that place to be shining.

“Afterwards, I might even make her Director of Laundry and Ironing. She’s always been a sharp dresser. I doubt she’ll be hard to convince.”

There was a long pause as Diana savored the thought.

“Let me know when you’re done with Patsy, Doreen.”

“Yes, Ms. Finchley.”

Diana switched off the intercom and shivered as she came.

2.

Deputy Director Natalie Koranski barely looked up from her desk before resuming her work. She recognized the footfalls of the approaching woman. It was easy after years of working together.

“Why, Assistant Deputy Director McClanahan, to what do I owe this great pleasure?”

“Just got back from Finchley Enterprises and checking in. I thought I’d let you know you were right about the Finchley case.”

Natalie’s hands stopped moving and she looked up. “Well, you could have trusted me.”

“You’re right, and I should have, but you can’t be too careful. The Agency isn’t without its enemies.”

“And your apology?”

“I thought I might make it on my knees, Natalie.” Patsy smiled as she watched Natalie’s scalp move back as the words hit home.

“Right where you belong, too,” said Natalie. “It’s only been a month and I’ve been going crazy with desire.”

“Mmmm, you wouldn’t be trying to be overt in order to distract me away from some hidden agenda, would you, darling?” said Patsy as she began to move around the desk.

“No, I’m trying to steer you clear of making any mistakes about my intentions, my love.”

“So it’s an order then?”

“Absolutely.”

Patsy reached over in a moment of brash presumption and pressed the hidden switch that would seal the office from interruptions, eyes and ears. She smiled as the door hissed and clicked in response.

Patsy teased off her top, holding it out to Natalie, as the seated woman’s hands began a lazy unbuttoning of her own blouse.

It was Natalie who broke the silence. “It’s always a good idea to celebrate a successful mission, eh, Patsy? Keeps up morale, if not morals...”

Patsy didn’t speak. Her eyes smoldered with desire as her shoes, pants and pantyhose followed the path of her blouse to the chair beside Natalie’s desk. Her whisper was full of unspoken fire. “Yes, Deputy Director Koranski, I couldn’t agree more.”

Natalie licked her lips as her hands released her bra, flowing over her breasts and nipples as if in a ballet of electric drama.

Within only a few more moments, both women were naked, standing face to face as their hands roved over each other, mere millimeters away from touching skin, feeling the heat radiating outward, moaning as the leaned in to kiss, only to jerk away at the last moment, as if unable to consummate their hungry lust.

Patsy fell to her knees with slow grace, staring at Natalie’s shaven crotch, boring a hole into it until as a reward, Natalie spread her feet apart. “Do it, my love. God, yes, do it...”

Patsy reached forward, placed her hands into the hot, soapy water and pulled a scrub brush from the bucket just behind Natalie’s feet. She began to press it into the floor, panting as she did, drool falling from her lips as she became lost in secret rapture.

The sound hitting Natalie’s ears made her moan loudly enough that the sound echoed even in the plush drapes and carpet of the sealed office. She fell backwards into her chair as the swishing, grating sound attacked her right in the clit, making her legs buck and her thoughts spin out of control.

She turned to her desk, to the two large crystal decanters still awaiting her attention. She reached her hand into one, and brought out a single jellybean. She dropped it into the other, which was almost empty. “Twelve,” she gasped.

Patsy nearly fell as her clit throbbed at the sound. Her lips moved, swollen and dark with blood, covered in spittle as she bobbed her head up and down. The words came, finally, rasping out of her as she quaked in place, her hands still scrubbing the floors. “Count, you bitch... fuck yes... count... do it... ohhhhh YES...”

“Thirteen,” said Natalie, the word nearly spewing out of her mouth. She was losing control. There was only the pleasure and the sound. Count. Fuck. Scrub. Count. Fucking count. Count as fucking. Scrub.

shwish “Fourteen!” Her legs were moving beyond her control, and she almost dropped a jellybean. “Oh God... ride... count... drop... gotta count have to... count... complete fuck count yes... so good fuck yessssss...”

Patsy was slipping down on the floor, the strong odor of detergent filling her nose as Natalie’s counting filled her mind and cunt.

As they came, their screams filled the air, heads shaking, bodies lost to convulsions of epileptic proportions. Yammering gave way to muted groans as their tongues stuck to the roofs of their mouths and they took the final leap into ecstasy before collapsing.

They lay for a time, their bodies spent. Long or short, it didn’t matter. It was bliss. Patsy’s head throbbed in pain, as if she’d been kicked by the Mother of All Mules. Natalie woke, shaking her head and uttered the one word that could make Patsy feel better.

“Forty-six,” she said, and moaned.

3.

Life at the Agency was never dull, that was for sure. In her three-year tenure, Tamara had seen her share of bizarre events. There was the time Priscilla Tanner was found giving a blowjob to a fire hose—well, actually, trying to suck a golf ball through it. She’d been sent to investigate a retired Marine drill instructor with telepathic abilities, and it had taken months to get her to quit yelling, “Semper fi! Do or die!” as she went on another sexual rampage.

Then there was the team that had come back believing itself to be the Sapphic Guard of Aphrodite. Tamara had let that one go on for a while, because it was fun to watch them frolic. “Aphrodite” herself, however, was now spending the rest of her natural life in her own private Olympus. She had once been a very clever mathematician at Yale. Go figure.

As for Tamara, she had a sixth sense about mind control. It was as if it showed itself to her.

It wasn’t obvious this morning, but it felt like something was going on. She was irked. It felt like mind control, but she couldn’t point her finger at anything in particular.

No one had taken any suspicious actions, at least that showed, and no one was lacking in their work. It was, in fact, a little unsettling, considering the fact that every agent was usually either fucking with someone’s mind or getting their own mind fucked.

Or just fucking, which sounded like something she might need this morning. She made a mental note to call Patsy in for lunch.

She walked into the building. Her unease wasn’t new. It had increased over the last several weeks. The place was spotless, and everyone was busy, as usual. Most office doors were closed, the agents behind them busy with their cases. Or busy getting laid. After all, Tamara did take recreation and aerobics seriously.

She stopped in front of one particular door and knocked.

“Just a moment!” shouted a muffled voice. Tamara cocked her head to the side as she listened. The footsteps came forward, then backed away—then forward, and away again. This pattern repeated several times before the door clicked and opened.

“Dancing the morning away, are we, Sonja?” asked Tamara.

“Sorry, Director,” said Sonja. Her face turned a little red as she explained. “I was just seeing which... um... which was the shortest way to the door from my desk. Efficiency, you know, trying to be um... more efficient.”

“Efficient,” repeated Tamara, head down and mouth slightly open in a gesture of slight incredulity.

“Well,” continued Sonja, “it’s just kind of a thing I’ve developed. I was interested in time studies when I was younger... I know it seems silly.”

“It seems like you’re bored,” said Tamara, stepping back and smiling a little. “Listen, I need you to coordinate all the reports from the Finchley case and have a detailed prelim performance analysis on my desk by this afternoon, if you aren’t too busy seeing the fastest way to get it done.”

Sonja gave her boss a contrite look. The playful sound of the words didn’t disguise the serious nature—and warning—of the Director’s request.

“You got it, Ma’am. I’ll have it to you before then if I can.”

“That’s what I want to hear. Don’t worry, Sonja. You’re not in trouble. I just don’t want you to be.”

“Yes, Director.”

Tamara closed the door and stood for a moment. Her brow furrowed as she heard the footfalls again, in the opposite direction, repeating the pattern she had heard before.

Odd.

She got to her office, hung up her jacket, and sat down. There were several sealed envelopes waiting on her desk. As was her habit, she reversed the order and lined them up carefully on the left side of her desk. She picked up the top one, which would have been the one that arrived earliest, and pulled out a small sheaf of papers and a CD-R. She placed the CD in her PC and looked at the front page of the classified document. “EYES ONLY” and “Summary” were the only words there.

The CD began to auto-play as she turned the page.

“The six month investigation of Finchley Enterprises and its owner, Diana Nicole Finchley, has concluded with the finding that although there have been reports of coerced behavior indicative of mind control techniques, no evidence has presented, and none has been recovered to suggest any validity to these allegations.”

It was a tad strange to get the summary before the reports were all in, but not completely out of bounds. It just made Sonja’s tardiness in preparing the agent performance analysis look a bit more serious.

Tamara turned and looked at her PC. The CD was taking a long time to open any files—perhaps she needed to call tech support. The sound of the disc spinning was particularly annoying, as if the CD itself was off balance. She decided to call as soon as she finished the summary.

“What seems to be clear is that Finchley is devoted to organizational betterment, and her employees match her devotion with their own devotion based on their particular talents and abilities, to which they are devoted completely.”

Tamara found herself nodding. This was just the kind of philosophy she had tried to bring to the Agency: loyalty and devotion based on excellence and a sense of purpose. Almost obsessive purpose.

“Employees’ talents, what they are devoted to, can be something as arcane as statistical productivity analysis or as simple as common, menial tasks such as housekeeping, envelope stuffing or insect extermination. Ms. Finchley’s support of her employees’ compulsive devotional vocations leads to an unswerving sense of loyalty, devotion and service to Ms. Finchley herself.”

That seemed a bit strange and over-reaching. The whine coming from her PC was making it hard to concentrate, but Tamara decided to read on. She needed to get through this before the final report was delivered this afternoon.

“Ms. Finchley, while being a strict taskmistress, keeps her charges both happy and in awe by finding their hidden talents, and generously devoting herself to allowing them to express their innermost desires. While this is certainly effective motivation, it is definitely not mind control. It is completely natural. I agree.”

I agree? That seemed out of place. The writers of these summations usually left out any first person references. The words seemed to float in front of Tamara, like a pesky gnat. Unconsciously, she waved her hand in front of her face as if swatting away a mosquito. Insect extermination. Her look became more intense as she concentrated. “Damned noise. I agree.”

She smiled a little at her own silliness.

“The most telling indication of Ms. Finchley’s innocence, as well as worthiness of respect, came when she discovered our investigation. Rather than try to close us down, she allowed us free access to her facility so that we could investigate fully. It was, and is, quite disarming. We began to develop an extremely cooperative relationship with her, as we wish all investigations would proceed. Obviously, everything reported by our agents indicates that Ms. Finchley can be trusted fully. I agree.”

Tamara winced as the noise rose in pitch again. She didn’t have time for this. “I agree,” she muttered under her breath.

“She even allowed us to create a Talent Profile for Director Tamara Morgan. She gave us the tools and technology to bring those talents out. It’s very exciting that Tamara will not be able to help being completely devoted to her newly discovered talent. That is because this devotion, this obsession, this overriding compulsion is completely natural. I agree. I agree completely. I agree without question. I agree with Ms. Finchley. I am grateful to Ms. Finchley for allowing this talent to come forth.”

Tamara stared in disbelief at the words. How could anyone possibly know what made her tick? Finchley trusted? It seemed to be quite a leap. Her hand swatted again, and again she didn’t notice. Who could have come up with a profile on her? It didn’t matter. Some things just come naturally. “I agree,” she said. “I agree completely. I agree without question. I agree with Ms. Finchley. I am grateful to Ms. Finchley for allowing this talent to come forth.” She said the words as if she were thinking about something else.

She wondered for a moment what exactly her talent was. The suspense had been building, like a whine in her ears, an obnoxious, whirling buzz that would end when she discovered her purpose.

Her eyes felt hungry. She had to read on—to see, to find out.

“Director Morgan is obsessed with the clean lines, pleats and folds of clothing. She loves to watch the fabric as it conforms under weight and heat. The wet folds, steaming, slick and hot as a pointed instrument moves them aside and glides over them, making them look better. Feel better. Folds. Wet, hot folds.”

Tamara realized she was wet. Dripping, in fact. Wet, hot folds. She moved her fingers under the waistband of her skirt and panties, looking for folds to press.

“Wet, hot folds, and then a button, circling carefully around the button, watching it bob and pop out from under the pressure, feeling it in her brain, like no one else can. She is one with the fabric, the folds, the wetness, the buttons. Circling, pressing, arranging. So good. She does it so well, so good. It is her talent. To iron away the wrinkles in the way. It is a compulsion she must obey. She can’t help herself. It’s just too damned good.”

Tamara let out a loud squeal as her fingers found her clit, pressing and circling, kneading her wanton cuntflesh, bathing in the wetness there. She was the Goddess of Pressing, the Seductress of Steam. She spread her legs wider under her desk as her eyes read on.

“She has no control ever her compulsion. She is completely devoted to it. Anything else is mere distraction. It’s so good that way. So natural. She obeys her compulsion without question. It’s not even a matter of choosing. It simply is all that she is about. And since Ms. Finchley gave her this gift, she is also devoted to Ms. Finchley. Ms. Finchley has shown Tamara her true nature, her true purpose, and so Ms. Finchley, in Tamara’s deepest core, is one and the same with her compulsion. She has no control.

“It is completely natural to obey Ms. Finchley, to please Ms. Finchley, because Ms. Finchley makes Tamara’s folds so hot and wet, and the buttons so playful and good. Obeying Ms. Finchley is just like pressing Tamara’s folds, and circling Tamara’s button. Devotion to Tamara’s pressing is devotion to Ms. Finchley. Obedience to Tamara’s compulsion is obedience to Ms. Finchley. It isn’t mind control. It’s the freedom that Tamara has to be who she is deep inside, deeper than anything else. I agree with all my heart.”

Tamara’s eyes stopped reading as they rolled back into her head, the pleasure of her newfound freedom overwhelming her senses. The music of the CD was so high that Tamara could barely hear it pushing her, moving her on, like the water of the flood that poured from her pussy. Press. Circle. Wet. Hot. Steam. Press.

Lust and bliss poured into her as she screamed in a climax that promised to go on forever...

“I AGREE... WITH... ALL MY... HEART!”

When she recovered, she heard the CD playing, finally. The whine was gone. She licked her finger as she listened to what had to be the most beautiful voice she had ever heard.

It was the voice of her benefactor, Ms. Finchley. It was telling her things... secret things that only she would know. Things she had to do.

She smiled in satisfaction and awe. The woman was no villain. She was brilliant. Wonderful. So incredibly giving.

Tamara felt the words flow through her as she thought casually about which brand of iron she should buy first, and shivered in wanton anticipation.

4.

Tamara carried the large box to her new office. It surprised her how much she had been able to leave behind... all the case files and profiles of employees, informants and workers throughout the United States were still there, as well as her notes on her occasional pleasure drones. Now that Finchley Enterprises was moving in and taking over day-to-day operations, those things were unimportant. Ms. Finchley had said so.

Tamara sighed in shivering pleasure as she thought about how pleased her new employer had been. It was so nice to be such a satisfactory aide. She laughed as she thought about how they had once even considered Ms. Finchley to be involved with mind control.

In fact, the error of that premise was the very thing that had made Tamara decide to put the Agency in Ms. Finchley’s infinitely more competent hands. It was only natural.

She finally reached her destination and opened the door. As she carried the box in and sat it on the table, she looked at her new office mates and smiled.

“Welcome, Pleasure Agent Morgan,” said Patsy.

Tamara felt her cunt flush with arousal. “Thank you for reminding me, Pleasure Agent McClanahan,” she replied.

She glanced over at Natalie, who was busy cleaning a crystal decanter that sat on one end of her desk. It seemed to be full of jellybeans. The ex-director couldn’t help but notice how hot she looked.

Patsy said, “We were just brushing up on some new techniques for helping Ms. Finchley achieve multiple orgasms consistently.”

“I understand,” cooed Tamara. “Before leaving her office Ms. Finchley told me that it was the most pressing matter at hand. She asked me to personally see to it that the details were ironed out.”

Natalie spoke up as the other two women turned to look at her. “I was counting on that,” she said, followed by a soft moan.

Tamara echoed a moan herself, and felt her hands sliding over her belly. She was so glad that she would be sharing a mission with these hot, sexy women. It would not be easy, but both Pleasure Agents were totally devoted, even obsessed, with making sure Ms. Finchley was pleased.

Almost as devoted as Tamara was, herself.

She noticed that the thighs below Natalie’s panties were slick with moisture. She would have folds that needed pressing. She ran her tongue around her lips, sure of what was about to come, lost in the sensual agony of anticipation. Ms. Finchley’s voice echoed beautifully in her mind.

As Tamara and Patsy watched, Natalie opened a second decanter and dropped in a jellybean. Both women quivered in response and waited for Natalie to speak.

“One,” she said.