The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In the Cage, a memory.

It felt like a long time ago, now—but you always remember the first time, don’t you?

She always naturally found herself in this position, it seemed, and this was how everybody seemed to want her—unless it was on her knees. So positioned, she had felt the User’s fingers as he traced the lines of the tattoo on the small of her back. She hoped he would understand.

He’d very much been looking forward to meeting her, he’d said.

He asked her about the tattoo, and how to download the controls. PermaLocked and Muted, she could say nothing, of course, and there was one thing and only one thing on her mind. She raised her firm ass higher in invitation. He slapped it, hard. He had called her a fucktoy.

If she could have spoken, she might have argued with that.

She could explain! She could have explained everything, if she could only speak! She would have explained her plan, and what she had done, and what it meant, and what she wanted, and what he could do…

But the User had his own ideas. Utilising the steel cuffs at her wrists and ankles, he had already secured her firmly to the bed.

An overwhelming wave of heat washed through her body. She was on fire. She had never felt so sexually charged, so dirty, so wet, so ready for anything.

She felt his erection brush her buttocks and shivered. Why was he not plunging his wonderful cock into her, like this, right now?

A soft movement behind her as he reached for something. She wriggled harder, hoping to attract him to her. A steady default pulse of luscious arousal from the System.

“My, my,” said the User, as he examined the downloads on his smartphone. “This looks very interesting indeed.” He waved the screen in front of her face. “What does all this do? Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t speak, can you. Silly me.”

He laughed, mocking her in her muteness. He did not appear to find the situation at all strange. There was a cool intelligence behind his green eyes. He looked at the apps, scrolled, read.

“I think this is for fun, isn’t it?” he said. “I think this … does something … to you. With you. Am I right?”

She nodded. Yes. She trembled with anticipation. The first time, at last.

He eyed the screen again. “It seems I’ve been designated User #1,” he said. “I shall try to live up to that expectation.”

The User laid the smartphone on the bed, just in front of her, just out of reach, mocking her bondage. She eyed the familiar list of apps. She didn’t mind what he used—whatever it took to get him inside her.

“Would you like to demonstrate, just for me? Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t move, can you? Well, I’m sure you won’t mind if I try a few things out.”

How naïve she had been.

Takeshi peered closely at her main screen and stabbed at her keypad. Here, in the looking glass world of the web, was a possible social media match for Dancing Slut.

West Coast, check, dark bob, blue eyes, right age group, check, also seemed to fit the artist’s impression pretty well. Takeshi automatically hacked the subject’s Facebook and scrolled through images. There were many similarities with the description in her brief.

And she looked exactly like the girl in the film.

The breasts were wrong, however. He had definitely described a stand-out rack like Dancing Slut’s, and this girl—Sara something—was much too small. Still, Takeshi supposed the subject could have had enhancements since these pictures were taken … but if so, why not update the profile?

Takeshi checked out her own small, shapely breasts. It was warm this evening and she was sitting, working, in just her panties. This was not unusual as a project gathered momentum and Takeshi started to invest in it. She felt pleasantly aroused at the sight of the girl.

Wandering through the subject’s account she clocked a few interesting things. This girl had been a very regular social media user, several times a day, for years—and then nothing at all for the last few months. There were various messages from friends or acquaintances, of the “where are you?” variety, all unanswered. The account looked dead.

Seek and find. Cross reference checking account. Reflections of reflections.

Some time ago the subject had been gainfully employed. Regular payments going into her account from an anonymous numbered account for a few months, then nothing. Nothing at all.

Cross reference cellphone records. Nothing for weeks. Scan signal, GPS. Nil. Phone dead or off.

Cross reference email—nothing. A stack of unreads and SPAM, not even worth scrolling.

Perhaps Dancing Slut was dead?

Cross reference state records. No—still alive, as far as Takeshi could tell. She had simply vanished, and probably by choice.

Takeshi rubbed her eyes and pinned the file to the top of the list of almost identical looking girls in the “possibles”, and with a swipe pushed the others back into “maybe”.

This was clearly the very same girl, and Takeshi’s souped up facial recognition software ID’d her to the last percentile of uncertainty. A lead-pipe cinch, as the Americans say.

In the Cage, she could hardly think. Her mind was full up, and there was simply no space.

The System had done its work better than she could have naively imagined; when she wasn’t thinking of her lips around her User, she was thinking of being penetrated by same. When she wasn’t thinking of that, she was asleep, dreaming about same.

She had almost stopped thinking about anything else, except fleetingly. There was just not enough processing power available. She felt as if everything else was being overwritten by the never ending cycles of the System.

Mute, she was sure she had never felt so wet.

Of course, the constant stimulation from the System kept her wet all the time.

She danced, precisely as programmed.

Stupid girl, came a passing thought, as she cupped her breasts and pouted. She had underestimated the power of the thing. From the moment she had first locked it into place and felt the erogenous thrill of hitherto unknown pleasures, the path had been set. Her actions had consequences, and then more consequences. She had nobody to blame but herself.

The User had been a quick study, and her controls held no secrets for him now.

The one that had brought her to orgasm at once, chained on all fours, her pussy throbbing and throbbing, out of control.

The one that had made her scream, silently, locked in agony, while he laughed and scrolled on for the next fun thing to try.

The one that made her dance. And the next one, and the next, and the next.

She had not left the User’s apartment since that first night. Initially, it was a matter of chains, secured to her collar or cuffs. Later, he had built the Cage. She wondered when he would let her go. If he would let her go. She had no idea where he had put her stuff, and certainly, he showed no sign of tiring of this.

And, of course, there were the upgrades.

Start slow. Hands above her head.

She pushed out her chest as she knew he liked her to do, and began to swivel her hips in liquid rotation. He pressed a key on his smartphone and she was rewarded instantly with a deep vibe through her pussy. Moving faster and wider in her arc, she found the pulses of reward came faster too. Her hands dropped slightly in response and—SHOCK.

The User watched, smiling.

Keep your arms up. Move this way, that way. She always did as she was told.

She danced on, to the throb of reward and punishment.

Turn and shimmy. A stab of pain. Faster. Wilder.

Again, she felt the sharp electric pain in her nipples and clit that signalled a switch in the routine. As she began to move, the rewards began to come, with ever increasing stimulation. A beat out of time or a sway the wrong way, and a SHOCK kept her on track. Reward, punishment, reward.

At the correct moment in the programme, she reached for the dildo and slid it into its warm wet home—she threw back her head and gasped, silently, at its girth. She began to work it, and as she did, the System pulsed with arousal. Reward.

The delicious thrill of its rigid ribbed length under her very own control…

A pulse of SHOCK reminded her that doing her own thing was out of bounds, and needing to move just so, in this rhythm, turning, bending, she writhed her ass sinuously to the unheard music, and was rewarded appropriately. She moved, to the relentless beat of the System. Reward, punishment, reward.

She pushed the dildo harder, deeper, faster, as she danced. Close so close so CLOSE.

Her eyes wide, staring straight at the User as the precious orgasm finally came.

In the Cage, her arousal spiked again as she wriggled slightly at the memory, and she was suddenly very conscious of the heat in her belly.

Takeshi pondered the challenge. At least, now there were real photographic images to go on, an ID of sorts. This would help, a little.

Assumed living, the subject was off the grid. Gone. A Blank.

Maybe, maybe not.

People don’t just vanish, Takeshi knew. There’s always a trail, a trace, a glimpse, reflected however obliquely somewhere in the internet’s wide mirror.

This is the 21st Century, after all.