The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The process of evolution is based upon the foundations of natural selection and the idea of spontaneous mutation. While survival of the fittest is an easy concept to understand, the other is less tenable. The study of how genetic mutations affect the course of evolution is a fascinating field of research.

My name is Janet Adams and I’m an evolutionary biologist. Now that the Human Genome Project is nearly complete, I have been part of the next phase. Human DNA is manipulated to turn genes “on” that have been suppressed in modern man. The work is tedious. Expose a sample to radiation, electricity, viruses and other environmental variables then view the results. The method that works best so far involves using designer genes to infect the parent DNA. This reality leads me to the genesis of my story.

It was a cool Spring morning, which upset me since the labs were sealed from the outside. I sat in front of the bench looking out the triple-pane windows and sighed. I turned back to the microscope, my glasses tapping against the eyepiece. Kind of a cliché actually, the scientist with the white lab coat and glasses, long brown hair tied in a ponytail. It’s practical and I’m not going to jam a piece of pharmaceutical grade plastic against my cornea, especially with all the chemicals in the air.

I picked up the next sample with the tongs and placed the plastic cylinder in the test apparatus. It’s basically a sealed glass box with electronic measuring equipment. The samples are recombinant DNA strands that have dubious genetic significance. Currently, I observe and monitor the genetic material for useful differences.

I looked at the label and began the tape. “Sample A-621. Marker 16-42—71-23. Exposed to factor... 29845.” I said, using the controls to move the sample inside the apparatus. I continued “Examining base-pair integrity at 14:30 hours. I moved the robotic arm to a detector module. Just a little more. Damn! The glass cracked and that means a containment breach. After cursing a little more I hit the button.

The button is the manual trigger for the alarm system, in the unlikely event that the sensors did not pick up a breach. Most of the building was washed in red flashing lights and blaring sirens. My lab locked while everyone else evacuated. The intercom crackled into life. It was Bill.

“Janet? Are you ambulatory?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I said, embarrassed.

“Go to Decontamination Room B.” There are 6 bio labs with potentially dangerous substances. Three sets of two are connected to rooms A, B and C. After that, they end in a place everyone calls the Outbreak room. Of course, ours only provides level 3 containment.

I opened the interior door to Decontamination Room B. Basically, it was a short hallway with sprinklers, very cold sprinklers. My clothes were soaking wet but they wouldn’t stay on for long. I removed my wire rims and put them on the shelf. My red sweater and black shoes went into the hamper, unlikely to ever be worn again. I gave the gray slacks about a fifty-fifty chance as I tossed them in. Down to my underwear, I went over to put on the biohazard suit. Since the previous containment breaches we lab drones usually wore our best non-kinky undergarments just in case.

Here I was, in a stuffy, wet biosuit. When I got to the examination area there was a handful of similarly dressed but much drier medical personnel to check me over. Once I got undressed for them I went through a six hour battery of tests that made me regret my stupid accident, accepting this job in the first place and being so out of shape over the last few winter months. By evening I was tired, cranky, hungry and had a splitting headache.

Bill came over. “How are you, kid?” He asked in his ‘sympathetic’ voice.

“Well, I’ve fulfilled my dream of becoming a lab rat. And this makeshift cot is doing wonders for my spine. When do I get out of here?” I asked, impatiently.

“Now.” Bill said, handing me my glasses. “But take a day off, you won’t be able to get anything from the lab anyway.

I left the building with a budding migraine. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. I felt better by morning and decided to spend Wednesday napping. At the time I thought everything was all right.

I walked into the building the next day as a minor celebrity; the heroine who saved them from three hours of work. As I entered the break room and saw the white board it spelled out in red marker “Days since last biohazard: 1”. I groaned inwardly and then outwardly when some of the staff gave me a round of applause. “Thanks a lot.” I said, dripping with sarcasm. Suddenly I heard someone say that they would like to see me stripping in the containment room. I looked over and realized that not only did I not know where the remark came from, I couldn’t identify the voice. There was no tone, pitch, or accent. It was like words in my mind. I shook my head and went to my locker.

The lab section was pretty normal except for the cleaning crew. As I rounded the corner an impression came to me. I didn’t hear or see anything, but I was sure Karen and Jennifer in the next corridor. Even though Jennifer almost never came to this part of the building. When I actually saw them I was a little surprised.

“Hi, Janet.” Jennifer said.

“Hello. What are you doing in the laboratory.” I asked, putting comic emphasis on the last word. Jen worked in Personnel and rarely went anywhere near the gorier areas.

“Just wanted to see if you were, you know, still human.” she joked.

“Yes, except for the laser eye beams.” I said, lowering my glasses. “Nah, I have to get to the lab.”

“You’re not going back to the lab already, are you?” Karen asked. She was the secretary. In her early 30s, Karen’s pleasant face and warm demeanor perfectly matched her position as de facto den mother for the absent minded professors that filled the facility.

“No, just doing paperwork until they sweep it.” I said, going to the computer room. Once there I began to organize the data I let slide over the past few weeks. Though there were only two other people around I had the sense of something all around just out of reach. By lunchtime I was getting on edge.

It actually seemed more isolated and comfortable for me in the break room despite the greater number of people. Sam was telling a joke and I started laughing... before he said the punch line. “Sorry, must have heard it before.” I said, almost certain I hadn’t. I guess one’s focus sharpens after an experience like mine.

By the next day my people reading skills were getting incredible. I always believed in woman’s intuition, mostly because men’s perceptions are frequently obscured by thoughts of sex. This, however, was ridiculous. I walked around that afternoon feeling bored and restless. I was, of course, but I felt it outside myself as well. There were subtle shades of impatience; the desire to go home, to go drink, to sleep, to go out. It’s like I was psychic.

Oh God, maybe that’s it. I could had been contaminated in the accident. Somehow, I was imbued with an empathic ability. So, do I tell the doctors and get whisked away to a secret government torture chamber or do I investigate it myself. I chose the latter.

By Friday I had worked out a model for the sample A-621, finding the affected gene structures. I was also increasingly distracted by impressions of those around me. I sat in the computer room watching my colleagues. Paula was typing, but she was thinking about something... romantic. Her boyfriend Jim, I guess. I think Tom was looking at pornography. Glenn’s thoughts were serious, he may actually be working. I was concerned.

I went home that weekend still thinking it was all in my head, so to speak. I certainly couldn’t read minds. There were those with a talent for ‘reading’ people. At the very least I would need some scientific confirmation. In my apartment I couldn’t scan my building or the people outside. Tonight I’ll be able to take my mind off things.

I’d been seeing Steve on and off for a month now. Jen introduced me to him believing that I “never go out, never do anything, or anyone.” To his credit, Steve was polite and didn’t mind being with a strong smart woman. He also seemed to enjoy me paying. But he was cute. Steve could be a model, at least for a department store catalog.

I heard a knock. He was here. I opened the door and said hello.

“Hello, Dr. Adams.” Steve said formally. I liked that. “Shall we go?”

“Of course, Mr. Gibson.” I said, grabbing my purse. I was a little keyed up, but I didn’t get any strange vibes.

The restaurant was nice and I relaxed. In fact, I felt a little happy and intoxicated. I started eating provocatively, my tongue playing with each morsel. By dessert Steve leaned over and asked if this was leading somewhere. I told him it was leading to my place.

The car ride home was an eternity. Steve drove with one hand and slid the other up my dress. We were both swept away running up to my apartment. I pulled him in by the tie as he pushed me up against the wall. I unbuttoned his shirt. He ran his fingers through my hair and removed my glasses. He placed them on the table and proceeded to unzip my dress. As we ripped off each other’s clothes he looked me up and down. The thought occurred to me that I should jog more often.

By the time we got to the bedroom I was soaking wet. Steve ravished me. There was no foreplay, no trepidation. We were perfectly in sync. Our bodies moved as one. With every stroke I arched forward. We came together, twice, and fell asleep in each others arms.

In the morning I woke to find Steve getting dressed to leave. At first I was upset but soon realized that it wasn’t exactly a night of bonding and cuddling. He bent down and kissed me, saying “You were great. Can I see you again tonight?”

“Sorry” I said, trying to maintain some shred of aloofness. “I’ll call you this week.” I added with a grin. Besides obsessing over that night, I also reasoned over it. It was like we had a mental connection. Usually I don’t go in for that wham-bam stuff. I was overdue, but it was still a little like a guy’s version of lovemaking. I was tending toward the lab accident suspicion again.

I researched what I could at home that weekend. By Monday I was stressed enough to go for a run before work. The weather was more favorable and I felt like a big pig lately. As I jogged around the park a new level of absurdity occurred. The impressions I found last week became words and phrases.

{Uh oh, dog crap.}

{My heart’s gonna explode.}

{She’s hot.}

{All the guys here are way too fat.}

{Charlie horse, Charlie horse.}

I ran to work as fast as I could. Just like last week I had these sensations of moods and feelings. It was like a group conversation, just a collection of indistinguishable sounds. I had to quantify my wild guesses. I went to one of the rooms to get the cards. Then I found Karen.

“Hi, Dr. Adams. Do you need me?” She asked, brushing blond bangs out of her blue eyes.

“If you don’t mind.” I said. “Just come in here for a moment.” We went into the usually empty medical library. I showed her the deck and explained. “These cards are used to measure ESP ability. I just want to take a baseline.” I directed Karen toward a table with a chair at each end and a divider in the middle. I handed her the cards, saying “They have pictures on them: waves, triangle, circle, square and a plus sign. Just hold one up, concentrate on it and I’ll try to sense what it is.”

“Does that really work?” Karen asked incredulously.

“Jury’s still out.” I said. “Random guessing can get about 20 to 30 right answers. More than that may mean something.”

“They don’t have a room for this here?”

“Not in this complex. I don’t want to wait on the paperwork for a simple test.” I also didn’t need the amount of observation if the results were positive.

“Okay, I understand.”

So it went: a card, a guess, a wrong answer. I focused but couldn’t see anything. A blue pattern on the back was all there was. About 40 cards in I was disappointed and relieved. Then it hit me.

{Square.}

“What?” I said.

“What what?” Karen asked. “New card.”

“Square.” I blurted out.

“Uh, huh.” She said, holding up a new card.

{Waves.}

“Waves.” I said.

“Wow!” Karen exclaimed. “You’re on a roll.”

This experiment was unscientific as hell, but getting 50 straight would clue in anyone. I kept track of what I heard and threw in mostly wrong answers. At the end I said “Thanks a lot.”

Karen gave the deck back to me. “Thirty-five out of one hundred. Keep at it.” She joked.

I checked the cards when she left. I got all but two of the last half deck. I got back to my office. The sample A-621 was causing a reaction that allowed me to tune in on others’ thoughts like a radio receiver. From the information I had, the condition was not getting any more severe. My perception was growing as I learned to use the abilities I had.

At lunch I did some more unscientific tests. I tried to read some people in the cafeteria. Focusing took about a minute but I could soon hear internal conversations one at a time.

{My research is going nowhere.}

{The Practice was pretty good last night.}

{I ran out of office supplies to steal.}

{Cool. Janet Adams is looking at me. She’s cute.}

That was a little unexpected. I wasn’t sure who thought that. Maybe he’s one of the stockroom guys. My admittedly prurient interest kept me listening.

{Look at those lips. Oh yeah, I’d like to see them wrapped around}

Ick. This glimpse inside people’s minds was making me wish I hadn’t made this scientific leap. I sipped my Snapple bottle and picked up some thoughts again.

{Yeah, baby. Take that bottle in your mouth.}

I can’t believe what some men spend their time thinking about. Now he’s staring at me. What the...? Oh my God, I had the bottle halfway down my throat! That was it. The psychic equivalent of a two way radio. I could hear thoughts but I was also influenced by them. I looked away quickly and went back to the lab. This was terrible. I had to get out of here.

I flew out of the complex. On the way home monologues went on all around me. Avoiding eye contact and reciting poems in my mind seemed to weaken the effect. I felt lucky to make it back to my apartment building.

As I bounded up the stairs, I ran into Harry. He was a quiet loner, the type of person you might expect to eventually be caught by the police with bodies stacked in the closet like cordwood.

“Uh, hi.” He blurted out.

“Hey.” I responded. “I’ll see you around.” I quickly unlocked my door. Too late. I froze and heard.

{I could get her if I really wanted to.}

He could, now.

“Having a problem?” Harry asked.

“I, um, don’t know.” My head was swimming. It was hard to find the words.

“Why don’t you come over to my place?” He propositioned.

{Yeah, she wants it.}

“Sure.” Dammit! I couldn’t believe this, especially when I saw myself walking toward his apartment. When we got in he asked me if I wanted a beer. I declined. I did it of my own free will! I might be able to get out of this yet.

“OK.” Harry said nervously.

I still wanted him pretty bad, but I think I could break myself away from the lessening grip. “Maybe I should go now.”

“Uh...” Harry said. His thoughts, however, were more composed.

{Just blow me and leave.}

Wasn’t getting out of it. I dropped to my knees in front of the couch and unzipped his pants. My experience was doubly disgusting with the running commentary.

{Gently, gently. Oh yeah. Nice and slow. Don’t forget the other guys. Faster, faster. Deeper. Suck, suck. Oh yeah, that’s it. I’m gonna spurt. Uhhhh.}

Harry unceremoniously passed out. I left as fast as I could. I went back to my apartment and gargled every alcoholic beverage I had. After taking the longest shower ever I knew something had to be done. The only way to keep from becoming a virtual slave lay in breaking concentration. The rest of the night I played annoying rock music to distract me until I could devise a better defense.

I had to get back to work for a solution. I ran to my office wearing small headphones and large sunglasses. I might worry what people would think, but I already knew.

{Janet’s gone off the deep end.}

{She snapped.}

{Freaky chick. Cool.}

There was a zone of about 10 meters where I couldn’t hear anything. As long as I was alone everything would be fine. From my data a counter agent would take months to develop. The best I could do was curb the symptoms. Block the receptors. Maybe an anti-psychotic. I wrote out a script but I wasn’t sure if I could get to a drugstore. I needed help.

I dialed the phone. “Karen, could you come to the lab?” I asked. She agreed.

Karen walked in as I tried to think of some excuse that would get her to pick up a controlled substance for me.

“Um, Dr. Adams, are you alright?” She asked, concerned.

“Not really.” I confessed. “I really need your help. Do you trust me?”

{Trust you? I love you!}

Arrgh! No one is safe. Defeated, I dropped my head into my hand. Karen’s eyes widened.

{She can tell! Please don’t let her know what I’m thinking.}

“I trust you.” She squeaked.

Great. But at what cost? After pitying myself for a minute, I realized something. I wasn’t getting any more thoughts. Wait. She didn’t want me to hear her thoughts. It couldn’t be that simple. I brightened up. Now I just had to convince her. I placed my hand over hers and leaned in close. “I can’t be seen doing this myself. I need you to have this prescription filled.” I placed the paper in her front pocket, letting my hand linger. “Will you do it for me?”

“Yes.” She said breathlessly. “I’ll be back soon.”

I blew her a kiss, which was probably overkill. She took it and placed over her lips, though. An hour passed, then two. Karen came back with a translucent orange-brown bottle. She held out two of the pills asking, “What are they for?”

“A little problem.” I answered, examining the capsules. They were the right ones. I swallowed them. They likely would not take effect for hours. I just had to wait. There was also Karen to deal with. She looked different somehow, a little disheveled. “Karen, dear, it might be best for you to go back to work for a while.”

Karen deflated slightly. “Oh. I guess so. Just one thing, Janet. Hear my thoughts again.”

My heart stopped. “What?!”

{Kiss me.}

I walked over and kissed her full on the mouth. I turned away, grimacing.

“I’m not doing this right, am I?” She said. Karen furrowed her brow.

{Janet, you’re a horny dyke and you want me bad.}

An electric jolt came over me. I didn’t just have to do what she thought, I wanted to do all those things I’ve heard that lesbians do. I pulled Karen over to my chair and started to molest her. In between kisses I asked, “How did you know? Why are you doing this?”

“The why should be obvious.” She panted. “How? I guess I watch a lot of those paranormal shows. Besides, I saw some of the signs. The accident, the cards, that thing with the bottle all tipped me off. Now you’re reading my mind and getting powerful drugs. I took a chance.” I heard most of it while pushing her skirt up. “Okay, stop it.” She said. I proceeded to pull down her panties.

{Stop, stop, stop. You’re not horny anymore. Now sit in that chair.}

“I keep forgetting.” Karen said, composing herself. “Guess it’s like riding a bike. The pills were meant to stop this, um, situation?”

{Tell the truth.}

“Yes, I think so.” I explained. “It takes hours to work, though.”

“Good thing the Valium in those pills I gave you works quicker.” She said, smiling.

I pleaded, “What are you doing to me?”

“Oh, I was trying to use this to my advantage. As soon as you’re out I’ll take you to a more... isolated location. Then you can have the real prescription. But how do I get you to cooperate afterward?” She mused aloud.

{Look in my eyes, Janet}

I stared into her suddenly very deep blue eyes.

{You’re very relaxed, very tired. Your eyelids are heavy, very heavy. Close your eyes.}

The world went black. The drugs were also starting to take effect. As I drifted off I heard her voice in my mind.

{I’m very important to you. You feel a great desire to do what I ask. Your purpose is to please and pleasure me in any way I choose. You are my loyal servant.}

I woke up at her place a few hours later. It turns out the medication was effective. Eight hours a day I was a committed scientist. Nights and weekends I was Mistress Karen’s pussy slave. She didn’t want me to loose control during work time, so I worked out a dose that kept me normal until ‘play time’. The hypnotic triggers kept me from telling anyone, like they would believe me. I guess it’s just a good thing she doesn’t know about the new formula I developed.