The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Strange things happen in Chrystal Heights.

Now, some residents would take issue with this statement. Many people live their whole lives in Chrystal Heights and never notice anything unusual. They find Chrystal Heights to be everything the brochure says it is, and these folk sleep soundly every night.

This story is not about them.

A city is ultimately defined by its citizens. The good, the bad, the in-between. Sometimes, however, a city is defined by a small group of residents. This is the case in Chrystal Heights.

Every city has its mysteries, its persons of intrigue, its dark secrets. More rarely, a city will have beings of power.

Chrystal Heights has more than its share.

There are many reasons for this. Some of these reasons are common knowledge, which will be discussed another time. Some of these reasons are known only to a select few, and for good reason. These, too, will be discussed another time. The point, however, remains…there are beings of various levels of power within Chrystal Heights.

Some people might feel this is an obvious statement. And they’d be right. But the point isn’t about beings with power. The point is actually a question.

What is that question, you ask? Simply, What happens when a being of power has no mental, moral or ethical restraints?

The Chrystal Heights Mental Health Clinic is located in an older-looking two story building.

The first floor is primarily for storage and offices of those who don’t deal directly with the public, such as the head of custodial services and the security office. The second floor is much nicer, as it houses the offices of the various psychologists and psychiatrists who staff the clinic.

The psychologists serve a purpose in the sense of giving the clinic a visible presence. They serve in a consultative and advisory role and many troubled teens and professionals swear by them. They are the face of the Chrystal Heights Mental Health Clinic.

It’s a front. Or, at least, it isn’t their only purpose, or even their most important. That distinction lays in their underground basement facility.

The underground basement facility is designed to detain those residents who have the dual distinction of displaying both a psionic ability of some sort and a psychiatric condition severe enough to warrant separation from society as a whole. The underground facility is designed to be fully secure, of course, but the occasional escape is still attempted periodically.

Rarely…very rarely…the attempt succeeds.

Officer Arlene Turner was a Chrystal Heights police officer working as a security presence for the Clinic. She was aware of the nature of the basement facility, so when the elevator doors to the lower levels slid open and a lithely muscular man in an orange jumpsuit emerged, Turner immediately drew her nightstick.

“On your knees now, Bobby!” said the officer, “and put your hands behind your head!”

The escaped prisoner’s eyes glittered. “Sure, Turner,” said Bobby. “That’s going to happen.”

Turner was no fool and she didn’t wait for Bobby to comply. Athletic and strong, she knew her way around a brawl. She stepped forward and swung her nightstick.

It should have ended the fight right there, but Bobby ducked beneath the blow and whirled into a reverse roundhouse kick, striking Officer Turner in her midsection. Caught flat-footed, Turner’s breath whooshed from her body as she flew back from the force of the blow.

It had been a hard kick and Turner was hurt. It wasn’t enough to put her down, however. Still gripping the nightstick in her right hand, she stepped forward and again swung at Bobby’s head. Bobby leaned to his left and she missed, but then Turner brought the club back again in a vicious backhand.

Bobby took a step forward and forearm blocked Turner’s backhand. His left hand formed a fist with an extended knuckle, which he drove into Turner’s tricep. Turner yelped and her hand opened reflexively, causing her to drop the nightstick.

Bobby rotated his hips and snapped a kick into Turner’s already sore midsection. She grunted and bent over slightly. Bobby’s shoulders had swung around from the momentum of the kick, but he swung his arm back and backhanded the police officer across the cheek.

Turner stumbled back. She was hurting, but she had gotten the separation she needed. Her hand slid down to her holster and she drew her stun gun. It was time to end this.

“Say goodnight, Bobby,” she said.

Bobby’s eyes glittered and his pupils seemed to shrink. “Oh, I don’t think so, Turner.” He said.

Not one to waste words, Turner pointed the stun gun at Bobby and tried to pull the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Turner’s fingers were numb and useless. She couldn’t pull the trigger. Panic beginning to set in, she switched the gun to her other hand.

“Stupid fucking cop,” said Bobby.

Turner aimed the stun gun at the escaping convict with a surprisingly steady hand. For a moment, the officer thought she had succeeded. Then she realized with a sudden spike of dismay that her hand was slowly turning the weapon in her direction.

Her eyes widened slowly. “Okay…stop,” she said, as the weapon aimed itself at her midsection. “Please don’t—“ She was unable to finish her sentence, as her finger then pulled the trigger.

The tazer projectile struck and her stomach muscles locked. Every muscle in her body contracted as her body short-circuited. Moments later, the stun gun rolled from nerveless fingers and Officer Turner dropped to the ground.

Bobby reached down and grabbed Turner by her hair with one hand and her belt with the other. He picked up the officer with seemingly no effort and dropped her onto a nearby rolling gurney. He removed her belt and strapped her into the gurney. Then he used her handcuffs to lock her wrists over her head to the metal apparatus.

“Hey!” said a voice. “What the hell are you doing?”

Bobby turned. A male nurse, dressed in green scrubs, stared at him incredulously.

Bobby didn’t have time for this. His pupils shrank. “Strip,” he said.

The nurse blinked. Then his eyes widened as his hands began stripping off his uniform. Finally, he stood naked in front of Bobby, unable to move.

Bobby nodded. “Fine,” he said. “Grab your clothes and follow me.”

Bobby pushed the gurney into a nearby storage room. The naked nurse followed him inside. Bobby closed the door and stripped off his orange jumpsuit.

The escaped patient knew he only had a few minutes left before they realized he was no longer in the underground facility. As tempting as the helpless officer looked, Bobby didn’t have the time. He could still leave her a present, however.

There was a metal tray with surgical instruments on the other side of the room. He retrieved a scalpel and deftly sliced apart Turner’s uniform. He removed the scraps of cloth and tossed them to the side. As he did so, Officer Turner began to stir.

“All right, Turner,” said Bobby. “I don’t like cops, and you’re no exception.”

Turner blinked, apparently trying to gather her thoughts.

Bobby lay his hand across Turner’s mouth. Then he reached out and put his other hand on the male nurse’s chest. He closed his eyes then and concentrated. After several seconds, Bobby opened his eyes and stepped back. He nodded and smiled, his eyes bright.

“There we go,” he said.

Turner’s eyes widened slightly as she realized two things. The first was that her lips had swelled into huge, thick pillows. The second was that she couldn’t talk.

“That’s right, cop,” said Bobby. “You can’t talk. You drool beautifully, though.”

Bobby turned then as the nurse began grunting and shifting from foot-to-foot.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Bobby. “You’re cock is hard as a fucking steel bar and your balls hurt ‘cuz they’re so fucking full. I know. Now shut the fuck up,”

Bobby talked to the secured and naked Turner as he gathered the male nurse’s outfit. “I’ve shut down most of this guy’s voluntary thinking processes,” he said, tilting his head toward the nurse, “except his sex drive, which I magnified. All his primitive little brain wants right now is a wet hole…your mouth, specifically.”

The nurse began climbing onto the gurney.

Bobby arranged the scrubs. They looked like a pretty good fit. “His cock and your mouth fit together perfectly now,” he said to Turner. “You won’t be able to do anything except suck his cock. Your mouth will automatically suck, no matter what your stupid cop brain tries to do to interfere.”

Bobby slid his legs into the nurse’s pants. He and the male nurse were close to the same size.

“I altered him, by the way,” said Bobby. “Instead of that wimpy little tablespoon of cum, his cock now produces about sixteen ounces per shot. Yes, the size of a soft drink. So, you better swallow fast when he shoots or you’ll have it all over your face, cop. And he’ll produce that every fifteen minutes or so. You’re going to be pretty fucking full when they eventually find you.”

The nurse scrambled across Turner’s body, then straddled her chest. He grunted, then pressed his hard cock against her swollen lower lip. Turner’s thick lips twitched and parted, allowing the nurse deeper access. The nurse’s cock slid fully into Turner’s mouth then and he began to fuck the officer’s mouth with abandon.

Bobby finished dressing. He looked the part of a male nurse.

“I adjusted your vocal cords just enough to make sure you can’t make a sound,” said Bobby, “so it should be several hours or even a day before they find you. The gallon or so of cum in your belly should be a treat for your digestive system, sweetheart. Good luck with that.”

The nurse’s pumping increased in intensity. His heavy balls pressed against her chin and his cock slid into her throat without causing gagging. Her lips were wrapped tightly around his stroking shaft.

Bobby leaned on the rail of the gurney and stared down at the naked Turner. “Oh, one last thing, cop,” said Bobby. “A little thank you for all the meds you people kept me on. You get a prescription of your own. An addiction to cum. Enjoy.”

Turner’s attention had been directed at Bobby, but suddenly her eyes widened as the nurse began emptying his swelled balls into her mouth.

The nurse never stopped pumping as semen flooded Turner’s mouth. Turner’s eyes glazed as she helplessly swallowed the endless flow, her belly filling. Then, as the flow began slowing, Turner began to orgasm.

The officer writhed helplessly from the non-consensual explosion of heated pleasure, unable to stop it. She wriggled in silence, the nurse straddling her chest, gazing at her in blank confusion.

Bobby smiled, his eyes glittering. “I have to go, Turner,” he said. “Charley is coming. But have a nice day.” Then he turned and left the room.

The man closed his eyes and leaned back in his executive chair. It had been a difficult day and it wasn’t over yet. Of course, most days were difficult for the Director of the Chrystal Heights Mental Health Clinic.

After a minute, he opened his eyes and sighed. Then he reached out and pressed a button on his phone.

“Francine, send in Jackson.”

Less than a minute later, there was a knock on his door. “You called, sir?”

“Yes, Jackson,” said the man. “Come in and give me a status update.”

Jackson entered and stood in front of the desk. “It’s been six hours since Bobby Beau’s escape,” he said. “The female officer and the male nurse were discovered about an hour ago. Nurse Franklin has apparently been reduced to a more primitive state of mind. He is sedated at present, until we can figure out what to do for him.”

The Director nodded. “And the officer?”

Jackson shrugged. “She’s doing as well as can be expected,” he said, “but the fact is she ingested well over three hundred ounces of semen, and we have no idea yet how to fix her vocal cords. Her medical personnel are saying that Bobby made her addicted to the substance as well, so we are dealing with multiple issues in her case. Bobby doesn’t like police officers.”

“And we still have no idea where he is?”

“No, sir,” said Jackson. “We don’t.”

“Great,” said the Director. “Wonderful. One of the most dangerous psi-paths in Chrystal Heights is running free, and we have no idea where he is.”

“No, sir.”

“All right,” said the Director. “Continue running out the search parties. Make sure everybody else is accounted for.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jackson. He turned and left.

The Director sighed, then picked up the phone. He pressed a series of buttons.

“Hello, Colonel? Yes, it’s Pinkerton, from the Mental Health Clinic. Yeah, I know. I’m sorry to bother you with this, but Bobby Beau has escaped. I need Hunter.”