The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Customer Service (mc, ff) by Madam Kistulot

Sandra sighed as she heard the familiar beep ring out from her head set. Another caller. Another caller, she noted from the read out on her phone, from Maine. They’d been having outages off and on for the past five weeks, and she’d only been working in her call center for about four. Try as she might to do her best, it was hard to come off as helpful to callers who wanted nothing to do with a service that had outages.

Because of course, her company (that she pretended to work for, not the one that handed her pay checks) was the only one having outages due to freak snow storms.

“Welcome to Jameston High Speed Internet Technical Support, my name is Sandra, and how can I help you today?”

It was the same voice she used all day, over, and over, and over again.

“Oh, you can help me by telling me just what you’re wearing. And then taking it off . . .” The woman’s voice, something about it, it slithered into her, and she could feel it deep inside of her mind. She heard another bing, like a phone call, but it was too deep inside of her head for that, far too . . .

“A s-s-kirt... b-blouse and... boots and... nnnn...” She could feel herself gushing as she peeled off her already sodden panties, and she knew that no one would be stealing her chair for once, it was covered with her own lubrication. “nnn... I... who...?”

“Put yourself in meeting on your phone, and come to the manager’s cube... I think I could use some customer service . . .”

Coming to Heel (mc, fd, mf) by Gasman

“My toes are simply throbbing, would you mind terribly kissing them better, sweetheart?”

How dare she be so presumptuous? I was her accountant, not her servant! But as she slipped one petite foot from her silver trimmed sandal and raised it to my eye level the idea stopped seeming so offensive. Maybe this once, and it might get me some leeway when it came to my fee.

I meant to place a peck on her smallest toe, but I miscalculated and it slid right into my mouth. The feel of the small appendage was intriguing and the taste wasn’t at all as unpleasant as I’d have thought. Of course the new tent in my pants distracted me from really considering that.

Confused, I slid my mouth up to the next in line, swirling my tongue this time... definitely not too bad, and my breathing deepened, drawing in a heady scent which both fanned the fire I was feeling in my belly and had me slightly dizzy. But I hadn’t agreed to this... had I?

I slipped up to the middle toe and what little certainty I had started to boil off in my lust for this princess and her wonderful foot. Not just certainty on that, but I wasn’t sure I could tell you my name anymore. The idea of having to make a snap decision caused my heart to pound faster, my breath to come quicker, making me hotter, dizzier, more confused, so I moved up to the next digit in line.

I became aware of a gasping that wasn’t my own and looked up, into her eyes. My heart slowed but deepened, it felt like a bass drum now. I had never felt so warm and safe. I loved this woman, I knew it, it was the only thing I was 100% sure of at this moment. And the expression on her face told me she was enjoying this, which made me so happy I nearly leapt up, but I wasn’t done.

One more to go. I slipped it between my puckered lips and felt a lightning bolt in my head. A new certainty took root and I looked back up at my love, my goddess. I knew that she had every answer I’d ever need, she could tell me the sky was green and green would be what I’d see. I knew that I’d be at her feet for the rest of my days. I lifted my lips from their work for a moment.

“Thank you...”

Mentor Line (mc ff) by Madam Kistulot

Sandra was so excited. She was always excited now. She’d gotten a promotion, a new cube (it even had a window!—which was generally shaded due to glare on a cube mate’s computers, but sometimes it was open!), and a raise. Of course, now she had to deal with supporting agents like she used to be . . . and now she had new responsibilities.

Plus she’d lost her team manager . . . and that made her sad, though she couldn’t quite figure out why.

Either way, she knew that her job was important, and when the phone rang, oh, she was always SO excited . . . so . . . so . . . excited . . .

BING!

“Hello, thank you for calling the mentor line, and how can I help you today Sally?”

“I . . . I . . . She’s having these issues, it seems like it, like it might be a firewall, but she can’t manage to disable it, and, and . . .”

“I’m going to need you to reach down between those pretty thighs of yours, and power cycle. You know how to do that, you’ve been doing that for customers all day. You know what, just take off your panties, and I want you to rub that hot wet little reset button of yours until you feel confident enough to help that customer. And remember to check netfaqs.com. Oh, and did you get that last email I sent out . ..?”

A moan shuddered through the phone, and then a slow, mellow sigh. “Yesssss Sandra... will obey company policy... not step outside of support boundaries... service mentors and team managers... ‘m a good employee... good... nnnn... employee!”

Sandra laughed playfully as she hung up. Oh, she remembered those days. No one would be stealing Sally’s chair tonight.

Scent (mc, ff) by Nymph

Bright beams of morning light pierced the bedroom as Daria walked toward her dresser. A peach silk kimono hung loosely about her body as she gently toweled her curly honey-blond hair dry. ‘Another day—another opportunity to excel’, she thought wryly. Tossing aside the towel and letting her short hair drape gently across her neck, the young woman pulled open the top drawer her dresser to pick out a bra and panty set for the day. A quizzical look crept across her face as she looked down into the drawer.

“Where did these come from?”

A baby blue pair of panties lay open across the top of her drawer. Looking more closely, she saw that they were an incredibly delicate lace—very beautiful, but not hers. Those thoughts melted away, however, as a smell wafted over the petite girl.

Her subconscious recognized it before the rest her did. The first moan slipped out of her mouth almost immediately. It was an earthy scent bringing to mind a nutty piquant taste—almost cinnamon-y in fact. Daria quickly snatched the panties up and took a deeper breath. It was her...it was Susanna’s scent.

The kimono slipped open further as Daria furtively clutched the garment to her bosom. Her sensitive apple-sized breasts peeked out from underneath the robe. Thoughts of work danced away from her, as Daria began to rub the panties over her body. Moaning and quivering even more as she could still feel Susanna’s wetness clinging to the fabric. Her need was almost Pavlovian.

The bait had been taken and Daria’s mind was succumbing quickly to the trap.

As her knees buckled, Daria clasped the dresser firmly with one hand. Her nipples were pointing out quite proudly now. In her mind, Daria could see her partner’s swollen pudenda hanging over her like a ripe fruit. Labial lips pouting open as Susanna prepared to ride Daria’s face. She couldn’t take it any longer; she rubbed her face deep into the panties—trying feverishly to absorb every trace of arousal into her skin.

“AHEM!”

Daria started at the voice behind her. She glanced sheepishly over her shoulder and saw her. Susanna—risen like Venus from the water. Clad in nothing more than a baby blue lace bra, garters and stockings. Only the panties were missing to complete the picture. Susanna’s wide hips framed her copper mound in a devastating fashion; Daria’s remaining resistance crumpled.

“Thank you sweetness, I thought I had lost those, but I see that I’ve just been victimized by a naughty little panty thief.” Daria trembled at Susanna’s mock serious tone. A giggle broke the tension. The red-headed woman purred lightly, “I hope you don’t mind, but I called in sick for you today. I’ve a mind to use my property. And you can’t resist my scent, can you?”

Headset Slave (mc, ff) by Madam Kistulot

Sandra grinned as she leaned back in her fancy chair, in her fancy new cube. It was even bigger than the last one—and she now had the space that four people usually had! Of course, she had an extra computer with which to watch the phones and make sure no one was cycling through the queue, but that was easy. Plus, she got to see who went into the code for the daily morale boosts.

As her eyes scanned over the page, Sandra couldn’t help but wince. What she saw was just unacceptable. Sally hadn’t accrued any morale boosts yet, and she was scheduled for an extra two a day for her ten hour shifts! Sighing, Sandra slid on her headset, and dialed Sally’s extension on an inside line.

“H-hello . . .?” Sally’s voice was worried, tense, and Sandra might have even detected a note of fear. “I’m n-n-not in break . . . my AHT yesterday was 9 minutes, and, and I’ve only had a five minute and a half minute of dead air so far . . .”

“Sally . . .” Sandra sighed out over the phone, stretching out just a little more and curling her toes as she did. “Daily morale boosts. You’ve been skimping on yourself, even if you’ve been doing well for the company, and our customers . . . Now be a good girl Sally. Remember all of our mentor calls . . .?” Sally was unresponsive, and all Sandra heard was faint whimpering. “Put yourself into meeting, and come to my cube, headset slave.”

A loud cry rang out over Sandra’s headset, and Sally’s panties slid off and onto the floor of her cube as she proceeded to Sandra’s desk and kneeled down in front of her between her chair and desk. “H-headset s-s-slave o-beys . . .”

Sandra slowly spread her legs, purring with hooded eyes as she pulled Sally’s head close. “Mmm, but not well enough . . . I think you need to go through some recursive training in my apartment after work . . .”

FPO 6.7 (mc, rb) by miketheFable

...and as though the blinding, soul crushing pain of flying fifty feet beyond a car windshield wasn’t enough, they’d installed her into the wrong replacement body! The creation chamber misted happily behind her, as though it was every bit as confident as the most stubborn machine in the universe, as though it had done everything right and would respond to any accusation of error with “Who, me?”

“Lauren, come out now.” Gina called through the door.

Lauren cowered in the corner of the dressing room, still hugging the body she was given—the wrong robot body she was given—with her arms crossed over her enhanced breasts and her hands on her shoulders. She thought about smashing the mirror that had smashed her blissfully ignorant dream. Back from the dead she may be, but she’d also gone from skinny-slender accountant to apparent whore in the process as well. She specifically remembered writing “closest match possible” in the appropriate space on her In Case of Biological Death card.

She certainly never remembered writing “In case I die, put me in a new body, and make me porn star hawt with, like, super huge boobies and an ass sculpted by the lord of sinful delights.”

And while robot bods were widely regarded as being just as reliable as natural ones, the quad compliment of hyper-parallel processors was wreaking havoc with Lauren’s sense of shame and self-control. Full Possible Orgasm in 6.7 milliseconds was not something she felt she could guard against. She could barely see them coming—she couldn’t see them cumming—and to make things worse, it felt as though her new body was specifically designed for that sort of thing. She could rub her right breast and bring herself off gushing, as the spots on the floor so clearly showed.

“Lauren.” Gina called. She had always been an insistent girl. A harsh rapping shook the changing room door.

“Just a minute.” Lauren replied, in Swedish.

Swedish?

Yes, Swedish.

English, actually; she was speaking with a Swedish accent.

She was a Swedish Robot. A Swedish Stripper Robot! An ethnic fetishists dream?

Her fans whirled, and a climbing pitch of buzzing erupted from her belly. Hard drives spinning? Processors thinking? Transistors and Flocessors humming?

“I’m wearing stockings.” she realized. White ones, with lace trim around the middle of her thighs.

“And shoes.” They hadn’t been there before. Stilettos. Platform stilettos with six inch heels.

Wisps of energetic vapour misted off the newly created garments. And then with no amount of warning or introduction, a pair of boy cut panties materialized around her hips. It too was frilled around the leg holes and waistband and held her ass intimately, lifting her cheeks, causing her to cover her mouth and rise onto her tippy toes; the sensation was so surprising she stifled her breath. She was completely unused to it. A bit restricting... noticeable... impractical.... and oh so hawt being wedged up her butt like that.

“Lauren, what’s the hold up? We’ve got to go!” Gina ordered. Lauren blushed.

“Oh my god!” she realized, experiencing the hint of the blush’s aftermath, the way the vibrations of Gina’s voice rubbed against her ear. 6 milliseconds! She set a new record. And that voice on the other side of the door was simply not helping matters, what with its strength and resolve.

“Lauren! Come out now!” Gina demanded. “We want to see you.”

A thought pushed itself to the front of Lauren’s mind, involuntarily bringing her pause. She felt a charge sizzle through her body and a deeply rooted energization settled in. Yet despite the exhilaration she froze momentarily while diagnostics progressed.

Executing Power On Self Test
Q0>
0>@(#) Cirrus Ultra 128 POST 9.51.x 2110/10/13 16:57
/dat/fw/deffered-source/slaveware_re/post
/post-build-9.51.x/Ultra/Ultra128/integrated  (slaveware_re)
Q0>
0>Start Selftest.....
0>CPUs present in system: 1
0>Test CPU(s)....Done
0>Interrupt Crosscall....Done
Interrupt handlers are set up and checked.
0>Init Memory....Done
0>Test Memory....Done
Q0>
Memory is initialized, phase-locked loops (PLL) are reset,
and memory is re-initialized and tested.
Q0>
0>IO-Bridge Tests....Done
CPU F88-Z ...Proprietary, processes subject to permission...
0>Permissions set
0>Locks set
Q0>
Detecting:
Primary Master..... CM 6L667T Gina
Primary Slave...... SM 227LLF Lauren
0>
POST complete

More whirling. More flocessors flowing. Fans whirling, Lauren kept her cool as she vented heat, hoping that optimal sixty-to-sixty five Celsius margin wasn’t too hard to keep within. She worried her fans would run overtime if things kept up as they were. And what about her coolant? What if she leaked? That wasn’t sweat down there, was it?

“I wanted a replacement me!” she whined to the mirror. Always a worrier, never assertive and so much lacking in that particular trait that she couldn’t even stand up to the looking class, which refused to reflect anything but the reality of her hot, buxom image back at her. She’d be fine under someone else’s wing, for sure. And her neuroses! How would she escape her habit to ruminate with a brain that could process 65,677,548,567,234,123,960,004,452,566 channels per second? She’d most certainly need someone to care for her now.

She could remember each and every thing, too, every bit of information, squirreled away in her new machine’s brain... every jumping, dancing pitch and tangle of Gina’s timbre, echoing endlessly through the pathways of her mind.

Bzzzz, went her body, again—this time more sustained. Her nipples tingled and then with a white sparkling flourish, two hoop piercings sparked into existence. Attached to each piercing sparkled a silver bell. Lauren raised her hand to her mouth and stopped a scream; her large, artificially round breasts rang and tinkled madly as they bounced along with her ragged breath.

On her palm there was a slick lip print. Lauren’s gaze whipped back up to the mirror; she was painted up in bright colours. Slick neon pink lip gloss and bright pink eye shadow. Her eyes were defined with black liner and frame with lashes that shimmered with the lustre of raven feather. She watched in disbelief as her platinum hair moved on its own, braiding itself into pigtails that dangled at her lower back.

She was wearing a new outfit, now, the clothes appearing on her body as if fading into reality, preceded always by a draw on her power supply and a sparkling flourish. She could feel something snug and huggly under her large breasts, wrapping around her waist. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see what she already knew for sure. The requisition orders had been clear, her sub-folders could tell her that; she was wearing a hot pink corset, tied tightly in the back to squeeze her figure, with no cups for her firm, round breasts and straps that she could feel stretching over her ass and thighs to the tops of her stockings. The dressing room air was breezy.

“Lauren,” Gina asked more softly this time, “Are you ready? What’s the big deal—everyone wants to see the new you. The family’s going to be thrilled.”

“Oh god, the family...” Lauren whimpered, trying to suppress the muscular throbbing of her able new body. She belonged to the family. She wanted to go home.

As Lauren walked to the door, guided by LIDAR (she could probably navigate the Minotaur’s maze with her eyes closed at this point), she chanted to herself calmly, going over that one thought again and again and again.

“There is no draft...”

Operating on impulse, Lauren brought a hand from her side to her panties, sliding a finger along the cleft showing through her tight underwear, to chase the chill away and instill a deep, warm fire. The ministrations felt electric. Such unabashed touching was normal behaviour, Lauren computed, and so she thought nothing of it, or the way she massaged one of her braided pigtails lovingly like little girls sometimes do.

So much of her was on automatic.