The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The bar was dark as Will sat down. His latest session with Dr. Mistledine, his therapist, had been quite emotionally draining. He took off the mirrored glasses he wore for driving and ordered a beer. He had barely taken a sip when an attractive young woman sat down on the stool next to him. Will tried to look at her without appearing to. She was of Oriental origin, probably Japanese American, with very soft-looking, smooth skin and a very nice figure. Her dark hair was mostly short, except for two tendrils about an inch wide that came down to chin level on either side of her face. When he caught sight of the scars on her wrists, his eyes filled with sympathy. She gave him an irritated glance, which became somewhat puzzled when she noticed he was unconsciously running his fingers on his own set of wrist-scars. She sipped distractedly at the Zima she had ordered.

“So, what’s your story?” Will asked, trying to make conversation.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” the woman said.

“What’s your name?” Will asked, unwilling to be shot down before he’d even taken off. She glared at him for a second, then apparently decided it was a reasonable question.

“Meiko.” she said.

“I’m Will.” he replied. Meiko didn’t seem interested. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing you can help with.” Meiko replied. “Now finish your beer before it goes flat.” Will finished the last of his beer. He knew he was going to regret drinking it so fast. Meiko put a five on the bar and told the bartender to keep the change. She carried the half-finished bottle with her. Wondering if it was something he’d said, Will paid for his drink and followed her.

She wasn’t driving, which indicated she lived nearby. As he followed her at a discreet distance, someone came out of an alley and grabbed her from behind. Will rounded the corner as the large man began cutting at her clothing. Her bottle had already shattered on the pavement. Will grabbed a nearby two-by-four and broke it over the man’s head. He went down quickly. Meiko clutched what remained of her blouse to her chest.

“Are you alright?” Will asked. Meiko nodded. He began looking her over, checking for cuts.

“I’m fine!” Meiko snapped. Her expression softened. “I’m fine.” she said, more softly.

“I’m glad.” Will said. He walked her the rest of the way to her apartment, only one more block downt he street. At the door, she said her goodbyes and started searching her pocket for the keys. Will leaned in and gave her a goodnight kiss. As their lips touched, she seemed to panic, but her resistance melted away and she returned the kiss passionately, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her body against his.

“I suppose you might as well come in now, Master.” Meiko said sadly as the kiss ended.

“Huh?” Will asked. He followed her in and she closed and locked the door.

“This is why I tried to commit suicide so many times.” Meiko said.

“I’m not sure I understand.” Will said. “Why did you call me ‘Master’?”

“Because I am now your slave.” She looked like she was going to cry.

“Why?”

“Because of my previous master.” Meiko said. “He captured me when I was barely thirteen, drugged me, and used my drug-induced mental helplessness to turn me into his private slut slave.” The tears came then, and Will, not knowing what else to do, pulled Meiko to him in what he hoped was a comforting hug. “I was forced to do whatever that twisted pervert commanded until he died, or I died. So for eight years I was little more than a puppet...until I finally was able to kill him.”

“He never commanded you not to kill him, I guess.” Will said. “How do I release you?”

“Kill me.” Meiko said. The expression on her face was pleading.

“How about if I try to undo the programming?”

“You’d do that?” Meiko asked. Will nodded. Meiko looked as though she’d watched him go from frog to prince.

“I can try.” Will said. “If I could get you into a trance, maybe...”

“All you have to do is command me to go into a trance, and my mind is yours.” Meiko said.

“Alright. Meiko, go into a trance.” As soon as he had said it, Meiko went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut. Luckily, Will still had his arms around her. He sat her unresponding body in a recliner. When he had her comfortably positioned, he found his voice again. “Meiko, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Master.” Meiko replied softly. Will thought for a second how to proceed. His wandering eyes found a computer reasonably near the recliner. He quickly located a word processor program and started a new file.

“Meiko, I want you to tell me exactly how your first master enslaved you.” Will said. As Meiko verbally relived the rewriting of her mind by her first master, Will keyed it in. When she was finished, Will looked over what he’d typed. Whoever this guy was, he was clever, as well as cruel to the nth power. He had devised several safety mechanisms (if one could call it that) designed to prevent future masters from liberating their new slave if Meiko outlived him. Or ‘slaves.’ Will thought to himself. He enslaved Meiko, maybe he made himself a whole harem. He would have to think more on that later. He didn’t have the skills to fulfill the hope of freedom he had unwisely given Meiko. He looked over the program a second time. He spent almost an entire hour thinking about his next move. Finally he came to the conclusion that if he could not give Meiko her freedom, he would at least try to improve the quality of her life.

“Meiko, listen carefully.” he began. “Whenever your master gives you a command, you will do it eagerly.”

“Yes, Master.” Meiko replied.

“When your master indicates that you have done well, you will be filled with great joy.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You will have no conscious memory of the events of any previous enslavement.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You can never reveal to any master the instructions of how you were enslaved.” he added, almost as an afterthought. It wouldn’t do to have her telling other masters (if he died) how to make new slaves.

“Yes, Master.” Meiko replied.

“Now, Meiko, did your previous master have any other slaves?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Who were they?”

“Mitsy Prescott, Veronica Goode, Monet List, and Angie Smile.” Meiko said.

“Thank you, Meiko. You’ve done well.” Will smiled as he saw Meiko’s mouth curve upward happily. “Meiko, I’m going to count backwards from ten, and when I reach one, you will awaken refreshed and feeling better.”

“Yes, Master.” Meiko said.

“Ten...nine...eight...” Will began. When he reached “one,” Meiko’s eyes fluttered open. “Sorry I couldn’t set you free, Meiko.” he said. “Your previous master put in some kind of mental security system.”

“Strange...” Meiko muttered. “I remember being distressed about some bad memories, but I can’t call the memories to mind. It’s like...like the bad part of my life has been cut out. It’s like I’m starting a new life.”

“I hope this one’s a happy one, Meiko.” Will said. Meiko rose from the recliner and approached Will. She tenderly laid a hand on his cheek.

“I feel better than I have in four years.” Meiko said. “Thank you, Master.” She kissed him hungrily, passionately, and he returned the kiss with equal passion. She pressed herself against him. The feeling of her lithe, firm body pressed against his aroused him. She felt his growing arousal and her kiss became all the more passionate. Will felt her hands going for his fly, and he did not resist.

Will woke to the sound of a strange alarm clock. He reached over to turn it off, and his arm encountered the nude form of Meiko. Happy memories came flowing back as consciousness returned. His happy reverie was shattered when he notied the time.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, vaulting out of bed and disturbing Meiko. “I’m supposed to be at work in half an hour!” He grabbed his clothes and put them on in less than a minute. Meiko had picked up on his hurry and dressed quickly as well. Will dashed for the door, having remembered somewhere during the process of putting on his pants that he had left his car at the bar.

“You got a car at the bar?” Meiko asked.

“Yep.” Will replied.

“Come on.” Meiko said, grabbing her purse. They ran downstairs, and climbed into a ‘96 Nissan car—Will didn’t take the time to guess what kind it was. In less than a minute, they covered the short distance to the bar. Will climbed out of Meiko’s car and into his own. Meiko followed him to his apartment, where he changed clothes and put on cologne to cover the fact that he hadn’t showered. Meiko warmed up some Pop Tarts, which she wrapped in a napkin and handed to him as he headed for the door.

“There’s a spare key in the basket on the counter.” he said. “Powder’s probably either hiding or asleep, but she should be okay.”

“Powder?” Meiko asked, closing, but not locking, the door, and following Will to his car.

“My cat.” Will replied. “She won’t bite. She’s almost twenty, she was declawed before I got her, and she’s only got one tooth left. But she really likes people, so if you end up with a white ball of fur in your lap the first time you sit down, don’t be too surprised.” Meiko chuckled. Will gave her a kiss before getting into his own ‘89 Civic and heading off for work. Meiko headed back upstairs. As she opened the door to Will’s apartment, she caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. She closed the door and looked at the top of the bookcase to her left, and discovered Powder perching there.

“Well hello, there!” Meiko said in greeting.

“Mao?” Powder mewed. Meiko found the cans of cat food sitting on the counter. She opened one and put it in Powder’s bowl. The fluffy, white feline dashed as fast as her paws would carry her to the food bowl, purring loudly. Meiko sat down in the nearest recliner—and found it to be the most comfortable one she’d ever had the pleasure of sitting in. She didn’t realize she had dozed off until Powder hopped into her lap. She stroked the affectionate feline absently, wondering about Will’s scars. Why had he felt the need to kill himself? She knew her own reasons, but hadn’t a clue about his. She’d been too busy “thanking” him for his kindness to ask. She sighed happily as memories of the night before resurfaced. She pulled on the lever to recline the chair and enjoy, and apparently Powder didn’t like that, for she jumped out of Meiko’s lap and padded away to some part of the apartment she hadn’t seen yet. Meiko remembered telling someone how she’d been fucked so many times that orgasm no longer brought her any pleasure. But last night, as she had made love to her new Master, she’d had a series of powerful, screaming orgasms that had left her feeling happy as she had drifted off to sleep. She remembered the tenderness in Will’s eyes as he’d held her after their lovemaking.

“Mao?” Powder called. Meiko returned the recliner to its upright position and followed the voice. Powder was sitting daintily in the middle of a small guest bedroom, grooming herself. She set one of her tiny paws on a book that lay on the floor. “Myao.” she declared, inclinig her head slightly. Meiko picked up the book and scratched Powder behind the ears. Powder thrust her head upward, forcing Meiko to scratch harder.

“Okay, be that way, pussycat.” Meiko said, smiling. She retreated to the living room and sat down in the recliner. Opening the book, she discovered it was a journal, which Will kept at the request of his therapist. At least, that’s what it said on Page 1. Meiko felt guilty reading it, but her curiosity would not be denied. Apparently when he’d first started seeing this therapist, he’d lived in his late mother’s house. Twelve rooms, three stories, and not a soul anywhere. She was crying as she read of long nights spent alone in that house, of his constant search for a companion, of the hideous dreams of empty cities, or of desolate icescapes, featureless except for the snowdrifts, or of faceless masses pushing and shoving, always going in the opposite direction from where he faced as he followed (or tried to) the one person in the dream who was different. She read of his first attempted suicide and of the loneliness he’d been feeling at the time, and of the second attempt, which had landed him in therapy in the first place. She read of the time he gave up on wrist-slitting and consumed an entire bottle of Tylenol. She read about the heartache as one girlfriend after another took advantage of his innate sensitivity for her own gain. She read about the transition to his new therapist when his old one had died suddenly of a heart attack. She read his rememberances of family members who had died—apparently this emphasis had been triggered by the sudden death of the therapist. It started out naturally enough, with the deaths of grandparents, and his mother’s explanation that death was a natural part of growing old. Then she came to the part where his sister had drowned while the family was at the beach for his birthday party, and the journal went downhill from there. Two months later, his older brother had overdosed on heroin, which drove their father away. His mother had dared not let him attend the funerals of the rest of the family. Then she had died, and he was alone, his only other living relatives having gone to jail or the crazy house. He had been seventeen at the time. She set the journal aside, unable to read any further. She cried until almost noon. Then she remembered what time it was and called her office.

“Rosa? It’s Meiko.”

“Meiko?” the voice on the other end asked. ”Madre de Dios, Meiko, you sound horrible!”

“Just calling to tell you...”

“Don’t bother coming in, Meiko.” Rosa said. “Whatever it is you’ve got, I don’t want it. You know how my immune system is.” Meiko managed a weak smile.

“Okay, Rosa.” Meiko said. Rosa hung up. Meiko went to the ‘fridge and found half of a chocolate cake. She cut off a piece and brought it to the table. When she had finished, she felt better—or at least, she hurt less. She returned to the journal, ready for anything. She found a reiteration of his quest for a companion, peppered with several jobs lost due to his own unending depression. She reflected that he could have sued for that, if he’d had the spirit. She read about how he’d tried to hold down three jobs simultaneously to pay for his therapy, antidepressants, and the hospital bills which had piled up from his many suicide attempts—by the time she’d finished, she’d read about eight of them, four of them resulting in scarred wrists. At page 107 the journal began to describe his latest job—and his turn to chocolate addiction. Meiko could identify with that. She’d gone to chocolate soon after killing her previous master. However, her programming required that she remain sexy, so she was compelled to exercise away the calories. Meiko wiped away the tears that had flowed again despite the dulling effect of the chocolate, and her mental preparations. Over the course of the last eight months’ worth of entries, which took her only a little over an hour to read, Meiko had learned to hate one Lionel Kelley, Will’s supervisor, who was constantly battering down his already flagging morale. Meiko flipped through blank pages, then closed the journal and lay back on the bed.

What could he possibly have done in a previous life to deserve this? Meiko thought angrily. How could fate have dealt such a horrid hand to someone so sensitive, so caring, so absolutely...

Meiko stopped herself. Her glance fell once again on the journal. The events of which she had read made her own troubles seem insignificant. And it was clear he needed her. That thought warmed her, and she realized how much she had come to love him. An idea came to her, and she headed for the telephone.

Will opened the door to his apartment and trudged inside. Meiko smiled tenderly at him as he entered. She set down the chocolate cake in her hands and walked over to hug him. She remained in his arms for quite some time before she began to kiss him.

“What brought that on?” Will asked.

“We’ll talk about it later, sweet Master.” Meiko said softly. “Come on, I was just about to ice it.” She brought him over to the table, where the freshly-baked triple chocolate fudge cake sat on the cookie pan she had flipped it onto. Cartons of chocolate icing in five varieties, none of which Will remembered buying, sat beside it, along with a bag of chocolate chips.

“It’s a rather big cake.” Will remarked as they began to ice it together. The dark chocolate went on the cake itself, then Meiko began scooping the other kinds into something that looked like a modified version of an old-fashioned bellows (Will didn’t remember buying THAT either). She squeezed the bag end and milk chocolate icing began coming out the front end. Meiko made a decorative border around it, then picked up another of the odd contraptions and put a different kind of icing into it. Over and over she did this, until each of the five kinds of chocolate were represented on the cake. Then she began to sprinkle on chocolate chips.

“Would you please open the ‘fridge for me, Master?” Meiko asked. Will opened the refrigerator, and Meiko put the cake inside, next to his little round one. Once the cake had been put away, Meiko took Will’s hand and began to lead him toward the bedroom, where four young women sat on the bed.

“What’s going on?” Will asked.

“These are my former co-slaves.” Meiko said. “I told them what you did for me, and they wanted to meet you.” A curvacious blonde stood and approached him.

“My name’s Mitsy.” she said. The next to rise was a mousy girl—she couldn’t have been older than nineteen—with brown hair and brown eyes.

“I’m Angie.” she said, rather sheepishly. Rather than approach, she simply returned to her place on the bed, leaning back against the wall. The next was a sensuous-looking African American woman with a smooth, chocolatey complection.

“My name is Monet.” she said, her voice as smooth as her skin.

“Veronica.” said the fourth, who simply steepled her fingers and gazed at them as though she were trying to make a fireball at her fingertips.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you.” Will said.

“We can see that.” Veronica said, gesturing with her little finger at his bulging erection. Will quickly untucked his shirt to cover it. Veronica chuckled.

“Leave him alone.” Monet said. “You’ll have to excuse Veronica. She’s become something of a millitant feminist since Meiko released us by killing our Master.”

“His name was Edwin.” Veronica snarled. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t refer to him, even in past tense, as Master. It’s downright degrading. As if it wasn’t bad enough our programming forces us to use that word after we’ve been kissed.”

“Alright, well...I suppose we’d better get down to business.” Will said.

“What business?” Veronica demanded.

“To see if I can help you.” Will said.

“What makes you think we want your help?” Veronica retorted.

“Veronica, please!” Monet snapped. “We came here in response to Meiko’s call. It’s only natural that he assumed we had come to be helped as he has helped Meiko.”

“I figured you’d want to help them.” Meiko said, smiling lovingly at him. “I brought along something to help.” She handed him a vial of the kind he’d seen used for injections, as well as four sterile syringes. She had a bag of cotton and a bottle of alcohol as well.

“Thanks.” Will said.

“Where’d you get a bottle of Mentalax?” Veronica demanded.

“That’s not really any of your business.” Meiko replied. She inserted one of the four syringes into the top of the vial and extracted a dose, then squirted out the excess. She repeated the process with the other three. When he turned, Will noticed that Angie had moved to the office chair and was rolling up her sleeve. She was shaking visibly.

“I just want to get this over with.” Angie said as Meiko swabbed her arm down. “I hate shots.”

“It’s okay.” Will said, getting her attention. “I hate shots, too. But you know what? There’s a trick to it.”

“What trick?” Angie asked.

“Don’t think about it.” Will replied.

“Done.” Meiko said. “Thanks for distracting her while I stuck her.”

“Huh?” Angie asked. “That didn’t hurt at all.”

“Of course not.” Meiko replied. “Why do you think I spent four long years in nursing school? So I could wear skimpy, white clothes?”

Angie took just a little under two minutes to go under. Meiko said the effects would last about half an hour. Her body was completely limp, her chest barely moving. Likewise, according to Meiko, her mind was completely open to any suggestion—or command. Will gave her the same treatment he’d given Meiko, with one major difference.

“Angie, the only type of kiss which will enslave you to another person is a hot, passionate one initiated by you with the intention of surrendering yourself to this person. Otherwise, the kiss will have no more effect on you than a pat on the backside. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Angie replied.

“All right, Angie.” Will said. “I’m going to pick you up and put you on the couch in the living room. I want you to relax, and dream happily until the drug wears off.”

“Okay.” Angie said softly, her lips already curving upward as the dream began. Will carried her limp body into the living room and lay her down on the couch, pillowing her head with an extra cushion. He returned to the bedroom to find Monet sitting in the chair which had been vacated by Angie. Meiko was already swabbing down her arm. The look in her eyes was that of someone who, after trusting no one for four years, was putting all her trust into him. Will silently vowed to be true to that trust. When he was through with the programming add-on, he carried her much heavier body into the living room and put her on the love seat. Mitsy had already taken the shot when he returned. Will put her in the recliner, much to the dismay of Powder, whom he had to shoo away. Veronica was still sitting insolently on the bed as Meiko tried to persuade her to take the treatment.

“Leave her alone, Meiko.” Will said.

“Yes, Master.” Meiko replied, her program kicking into action immediately.

“Veronica knows what she wants.” Will said. “Unlike some people, I’m not going to force her into doing what she doesn’t want to do.” He took the syringe from Meiko and set it down on the nightstand, plunger toward Veronica. He and Meiko then left the room. Meiko put the used syringes in a biohazard box and brought the box out with her. They spent the next half hour in silence, afraid to say anything—especially an imperative sentence—around the mentally helpless young ladies. Finally Angie awoke, and she was quiet too as she waited with Will and Meiko for the others to awaken.

Angie, Mitsy and Monet had been gone for five minutes when Veronica emerged from the bedroom. She sat down in the recliner and injected herself with the syringe. Will smiled, glad she had finally decided to trust him.

The cake was rich, creamy and VERY chocolate. Will was in heaven. He barely reflected on the seven mile walk he was going to have to take later if he wanted to keep in shape. Veronica appeared in the doorway leading out from the bedroom.

“Good evening, Veronica.” he said pleasantly. She didn’t reply. She merely approached him, her expression unreadable. “Want a piece?” he asked, gesturing to the cake in front of him. She declined. He stood, wondering what more she could want. He was surprised when she threw her arms around him and began to weep on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” she sobbed. She repeated it over an over again as she continued to cry. When she had finished, she was smiling. “Thank you for giving me back to myself.” With that, she turned and left.

Lionel Kelley glared at Will over the desk. This entire situation was completely out of character for the skinny, twentyish man who looked as though he only ate when someone reminded him that it was a necessary bodily function—and even then, whatever he ate usually had chocolate somewhere on it, in it, or somewhere to the side. Generally Will just did what he was told, took his repremands like a sinner before the Pope, and spent whatever free time he had staring at the scars on his wrists.

“You want to know why you keep getting passed over for promotion?” Lionel asked, as though he hadn’t heard right.

“That’s what I said.” Will replied calmly. Lionel stared without appearing to. There seemed to be a life to him that wasn’t there before.

“I’ll be honest with you, Will.” Lionel said. “You do what you’re told, take your repremands like a sinner before the Pope, and spend whatever free time you happen to get staring at the scars on your wrists. That’s not the type of person we need in the upper echelons.”

“Things change.” Will said. “People change.”

“So I’ve seen.” Lionel replied. “But just because you’re acting more like a person doesn’t make you the RIGHT person for the next promotion.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Kelley.” Will said. “I’ve heard that Mr. Turner will be leaving the company in a month. Who’s going to replace him?”

“We don’t know yet.” Lionel replied. “But I doubt they’ll be coming from way down where you are.”

“But it’s not unthinkable.”

“No.” Lionel admitted.

“I can see you’re uncomfortable, Mr. Kelley, so why don’t I change the subject.” Will said. “I heard our company was trying to accquire Cherry Pharmaceutical Research, Inc.”

“True.”

“Have you ever met Art Cherry, Mr. Kelley?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I was at a fundraiser his company held last month.” Will said. “He’s an ornery, independent-minded Texan, as well as a Vietnam vet. He’s also crafty, and a major control freak. He was still barking orders to the decorators when the guests started arriving. My point is, Mr. Kelley, Art Cherry will never submit to another company’s control. He’s at the top in his company, and he intends to stay there.”

“So you don’t think we can take Cherry?”

“He would more likely take us.” Will said. “However, if you ask nicely enough, Amazonia R&D might agree to a merger.”

“Amazonia, you mean the all-women company?”

“They’re the only other decent take, but it must be handled gently.” Will said. “Their board of directors is mostly composed of former rape victims, millitant superfeminists, and lesbian dominatrixes. It would require that a female delegate be sent to negotiate the deal, and most likely one who wouldn’t be afraid to do some of her negotiating from a bound position.” Lionel adjusted himself in his pants, already picturing the negotiations in his mind.

“I’ll consider your proposal.” Lionel said.

“Thank you, Mr. Kelley.” Will replied respectfully. As soon as he had shut the door, Lionel Kelley rushed to the restroom. The images evoked by the last part of Will’s proposal had given him a raging erection. Even as he left the restroom, drying his hands on a towel, images of leather-clad women spanking a bound female whose face he was already beginning to picture in his mind continued to flitter through his mind.

“I thought he had some rather interesting ideas, don’t you, Kelley?” asked Fiona Richards, the company C.E.O.

“Ms. Richards!” Lionel exclaimed, wondering if she had heard him masturbating in the restroom. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“So, already thinking of someone to handle the negotiations, are you?” Fiona asked.