The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I want one,” Jess barked, watching the model strut around the store, wings fluttering gently in the breeze. She didn’t think she’d ever seen something quite so beautiful, and she had the kind of mind where ‘I want’ was rarely more than a second before an acquisition.

“Of course you do,” a young man with thick-rimmed spectacles appeared at her elbow, almost startling her. She didn’t show it, though, Jessica Guevera never let anyone see her in a moment of weakness. It was one of the reasons she’d got to where she was today, a position of considerable power and wealth.

“Of course you do,” the geek murmured again. He was like every negative stereotype of an engineer rolled into one, she noticed. He even wore a pocket protector! “Could I just ask: What is it you want?”

“The wings. Lovely costume.”

“Ah.” Somehow, despite the obvious nerves and self-effacing posture, he managed to give a single half-voiced syllable a kind of finality. He continued apologetically, wringing his hands: “I’m afraid those wings were custom made for Saundra, my wife you see. They contain fibres that receive nervous impulses and allow her to flex them with a thought, and when you’re plugging electronics directly into your brain, well…”

“How much?” Jess didn’t listen to things she didn’t want to hear, and ‘no’ was always an unacceptable answer

“Maybe you don’t quite understand what you’re looking at,” the inventor persisted, “The F.A.E.R.I. system interfaces directly with the user’s central nervous system, to generate totally natural movement. The wings are—”

“No, you don’t understand. If you need a better lab to get the job done, my company has labs. We got scientists, we got everything you need. So, name your price.” After that, he had no choice but to back down. He still thought the customer didn’t know what they were asking, but he figured it would be easier to let her find that out for herself rather than argue further.

Jess spent the rest of that shopping trip thinking about those wings. They really were beautiful, gossamer wings like some child’s illustration of a fairy growing so naturally from the clerk’s shoulders. The thing that had caught Jess’s attention first was the involuntary gasp of joy that came from the woman’s lips each and every time the delicate material brushed against a shelf or on one of the store’s more mundane costumes. They were orange and gold, with faint violet streaks, like human sized butterfly wings, and the way they twitched and trembled with the owner’s every movement made them look so lifelike. She hadn’t really meant to pay so much for a costume, had got carried away with her usual obstinacy at being denied. But she could tell herself it was worth it, everyone would remember her now.

The rest of the outfit, she couldn’t find anything that really caught her interest. Her assistant, Stepford, picked out a revealing costume that looked like a cross between an arab princess and a gauze-clad harem girl. It had a matching tiara and belt in rubbery material, and Stepford assured her that it would be the envy of all the geeks, inspired by whatever lame 13-part fantasy series was topping the Hollywood charts this year.

Eventually, it came to the day of the party. Jess smiled as she looked at her costume on its mannequin, knowing nobody would be able to keep their eyes off her. First she lifted the crown onto her head, decorated with ridiculous plastic ears; always the problem with dressing up as somebody from fantasy or sci-fi, but that seemed to be what would get her a reputation for fashion in the current climate. Her stylist had adjusted the tiara to fit snugly over her tightly bound hair, so she wouldn’t have to worry about it slipping at least. Then the collar, a band of broad metallic-tinted leather, and the string top that it supported. She kicked off her businesslike miniskirt with reluctance, and cinched a belt in the same golden material. Twin sashes hung down from it at the front and rear, exposing her beautifully bronzed hips. She paused a moment, wondering if it would be obvious she wasn’t wearing underwear today.

Well, she was the CEO, and she could wear what she wanted. If the press wanted to comment on her lack of panties then she could count on her PR people to make any male reporter out to be a disgusting letch, or manipulate enough people on Twitter to generate authentic disapproval of a female detractor’s obvious jealousy.

Sandals, and more bronze bracelets. She was assured that the chain on the collar was a holy symbol representing some character’s family in the movie, but she was in two minds about it. She couldn’t have anything that smacked of slavery, even in jest. And then finally, the wings.

Yes, the beautiful wings. The fabric was grown in a lab, the inventor guy had said. They were actually alive, every pair unique. These were a lustrous marbled effect in yellow and black, and more like butterfly wings than the long slender ones she’d seen that girl Saundra wearing, nearly two months earlier. Much to her surprise, they didn’t come with a harness. The wings hung from fine wires inside a shipping case, and met with a strip of what could have been woven hair, or some kind of course fabric. As she ran her hand over the rough edge, it felt cold to the touch. She shrugged, and turned her back to the hanging wings.

Jess felt the coldness touch her back, too far over to one side. It shifted with a movement of all those tendrils, like a centipede crawling over her skin. She shivered with disgust at the thought, but the sensation itself was unexpectedly pleasant. From the cold edges, a warmth spread through her body wherever the million tendrils touched. And then they were in place, high on her back just a few inches from her spine. The inventor—whose name she still hadn’t bothered to learn—had warned that it could sting a little, and she braced herself for pain. But it was more like a cold burning, stabbing through her skin. Could she really feel the single-molecule thick tentacles exploring inside her body, hunting for the paths they needed to anchor onto her muscles, and dig into her spine? It was probably all in her mind, the only real sensation that burning, that slowly transformed into an almost erotic throbbing.

“Oh!” she stepped forward and felt a twinge from her wings as the wires holding them in the case snapped away. Her knees crossed involuntarily and she found it hard to keep her balance. They’d warned her until she got tired of listening that she’d feel sensation in the wings like they were part of her own body, but they hadn’t given any clear confirmation that her new accessories would be an erogenous zone. She thought back to Saundra’s gasp as a cape rubbed against her wings in the store, all those years ago, and finally understood how the woman could let everyone around treat her like a doormat and still be so content.

When she was a little less careful than she should have been and let the very tip of the wings brush the door frame, her eyes closed involuntarily. She wished for a moment that she’d chosen to wear panties, as she’d be leaving a puddle on the floor if the sensations continued so intense.

By the time she got to the main hall, she was feeling more in control. She still felt a thrill of pleasure from the breeze rushing over her wings, a throbbing delight as they wavered in the air in time to her steps. But she was in control, she could put on her business face and treat every guest to a million-candlepower smile that was one hundred percent polite and not the slimmest trace of the euphoria she was really feeling. She wondered for a moment if there was a mass market for these thing; if she could end up as a trendsetter, the first to follow what would be a very popular path.

Stepford and the scientist were waiting outside the main doors, but her assistant didn’t move to open the door as she approached. They just stood there watching her, wearing identical overstarched penguin suits.

“What are you waiting for?” she sneered, “I need to make a good entrance, this is a very special occasion!”

“Special indeed,” Stepford folded his arms, and she realised for the first time how well toned his lean muscles were under that tux. She was hot she realised, and the unfamiliar influx of hormones was making it hard to keep up her iconic glare of icy detachment. She hadn’t known it would feel like this, she hadn’t realised all the secondary effects that the sensations would trigger in her brain and in her loins. Maybe they’d told her, and for the first time in her life she wished she’d actually listened to the deferential posturing of people who disagreed with one of her plans. As her gaze scanned the assistant’s body and rose to meet his eyes again, he continued: “It’s not every day you get the boss to suck you off.”

Jess blinked. A big part of her professional reputation was built on not showing surprise, but this was so far beyond belief that she couldn’t stop her mouth hanging open for a second. This was Stepford! The most reliable, most attentive, most boring graduate she’d ever had the good fortune to encounter. He’d done everything she asked, taken care of matters both legal and illegal. He was utterly devoted to her, she knew he’d do anything she said, and he’d never, ever asked for anything in return. Until now.

“How dare you!” she yelled, her face red with rage. She hoped the anger would conceal the blush rising, putting everything into an assertive screech as if that would hide her arousal. She was always ready to play the queen bitch, but this bitch was in heat. “How dare you speak to me like that, you fucking creep. I’m going to—”

The scientist reached out and grasped the bottom of her wings as she turned to face her servant. It proved a very effective way of shutting her up, and he took his chance to speak as she came: “I told you, the wings have a biological microprocessor that hooks into your central nervous system. I told you, but you didn’t want to understand as long as you get what you want.”

Stepford’s hand was on her shoulder now, forcing her to the ground with no apparent effort while he unzipped his trousers with the other hand.

“As I understand it,” he gloated, “the wings can override your motor cortex if they’re horny enough. The only choice your human brain has now is how many times you cum, and how hard.”

Jess shivered, struggling against the invasive force that now controlled her, but unable to even think past her arousal. She was vaguely aware of the scientist’s hands stopping their molestation of her wings, but the craving that swept over her was even more distracting than the touch.

“Suck it,” Stepford held his throbbing member in front of her face. A gasp, an unconscious whisper of pleasure escaped her lips as the tiny hairs along the upper edge of her wings responded to the sound. She swore, but her body didn’t respond. The wings leaned forward eagerly, taking his cock in her mouth and beginning to flick her tongue back and forth across the tip.

Jess was a passenger, a helplessly horny prisoner in her own body as the wings bobbed her head, sucking and licking in response to Stepford’s every command. He came quickly, and told the wings to swallow.

“So what now?” the scientist asked, ignoring the woman lying at their feet.

“What did you do? With your wife, I mean.”

“Oh, it was her idea to make it work like this. She loves it.”

Stepford thought for a moment, “Well, she’s not going to like being treated like that, I thought you had some way to make her forget or something?”

Jess looked up, suddenly afraid of what they might do to keep her from going to the police. Fear was a new feeling to her as well, but her heart was racing too fast to think clearly.

“Maybe,” she muttered, not even sure what she was saying, “If you fuck my brains out enough, I could get addicted and then I’d have to do whatever you want?” The two men met each other’s eyes; Stepford raised an eyebrow and the inventor shrugged. The party was starting already, so they’d all be fashionably late. But in the absence of any other plans, it had to be worth a try.