The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Two people. There is no sound. A console, the subdued light of displays making patterns on their white coats; the rest of the room in darkness. They sit, watching for a long time, not talking. And then:

“This seems highly unusual.”

“As in ‘cruel and unusual’?” Humor in the voice, but not in the thin smile.

“No, not that. Just...”

“Just what? Justice both legal and poetic, I would say.”

“Do you know what they could do to you for that?”

Claudia tried to sink into the chair, to disappear among the soft, light plastic cushions. “I... I know... but...”

Bastian stared at her, his face going from pale to red as his temper built. “But what? But what? What could possibly make you do something that stupid? You, of all people?”

Huge, dark eyes stared at him. “Bas’, we both wanted it. We went through all the procedures, all the paperwork, all the waiting, everything, and then...” She took a deep breath, her temper starting to build in turn. “And then some stupid little bureaucrat tells us no because we’re too old. Too old by five days!” She was yelling, now. “Those were the five days they delayed the appointment!” She stared at him, shaking, as if she were balancing on top of a platform, ready to fall.

And she fell, onto the floor, racked with sobs. “And that’s it! It’s all over! No children for us, nothing, no matter what!” A tear-stained face looked up. “You know why I did it!”

The tall, blond man sat down heavily, looking at spot on the wall. His face was empty, as if there was only enough emotion in the world for one of them. A long pause.

“I know, Claudia. I wanted it too. I wanted it more than anything. But you know what they’ll do to us if they find out? They track those embryos as if they were gold. They’ll find out one is missing.”

The woman with the long, black hair lifted her head. “They won’t, Bas’. The lab was disposing of that lot.”

“Disposing of them?” Now, his turn for the anger. “Disposing of them? What the hell did you implant in yourself? Some kind of experiment?”

“No. The project was canceled. It’s rare for a project to get canned while it still has unused embryos in inventory, but it happens. Once the embryos get assigned to a project, they can’t be sent back. The strain is perfect.”

“Perfect? How can you know?”

Her huge, almond eyes narrowed. Her voice regained the composed, arrogant, slightly patronizing tone that he had always found, paradoxically, so arousing. “I know, Bas’. I know. It’s my job.”

Bastian sighed. “It was a stupid question, Claudia. Sorry.” He collapsed back. “But they might still find out. And what happens when you show up pregnant? How are you going to explain that?”

Claudia slid back up into the chair, cool, in command of the situation. “They won’t find out. By the time I start to show, I’ll have the Medal, and no one at the Institute will dare question it. Officially, I’m a marginal fertility case, anyway; I could have just gotten knocked up the old-fashioned way.”

The blond man, his eyes huge and blue; she regarded him like she was an exotic cat, not domesticated but, for now, satiated. Her ability to turn her emotions on and off always terrified him, and the terror was very arousing. “Now what?”

The woman stood, and reached behind her. The dress washed off like soap in a shower. She walked towards him, her full breasts offering, her hips swaying. “Now, we pretend I got knocked up the old-fashioned way.”

He was already hard before he stood.

“Dr. Pollan?”

Claudia sat, relaxed but still respectful. The man across from her stared at her, eyes boring into her. Although he was not Claudia’s supervisor, he commanded such respect in the Institute that deference was always expected.

“Yes. Dr. Michaels. I’m very glad that you came to see me at such short notice.”

Claudia waved her hand. It was nothing.

“I think that I have some information which, if used properly, would benefit us both.”

A raised eyebrow. “Our areas of research do not...”

“... overlap greatly. Absolutely true. But there is an area which all of us must keep firmly, constantly in forefront,” a finger stabbed the air, “the forefront of our research.”

“Yes?”

“The Provisional Military Government, of course. The Council.”

Claudia could feel herself become even paler than her normal, pale, pale skin, the lovely translucent skin that attracted so many, men and women both. “Of course... Colonel Doctor,” she said (full titles suddenly seemed appropriate), her voice even and casual. “Of course.”

“Captain Doctor Michaels, you stole an embryo from a disposal sequence. I assume you implanted it in yourself. True or false?”

Claudia’s vision narrowed, a tunnel through which she could barely see anything. She stared at Pollan. Eternity passed.

Her lips were thin, bloodless. “True, Colonel Doctor. I assume you have the MPs waiting outside?”

Pollan shook his head, surprised. “No, of course not, Claudia. If I had decided on that course, I would have simply sent the information along to them when I noticed the protein count in the disposal was low. I can understand,” he said, “that you might not have known about the protein counter. It didn’t seem necessary to inform everyone.”

Claudia was certain she could hear her heart beat.

“So?”

“So, I have an offer.”

“Colonel Doctor Pollan, if you are planning to make the crudest sort of pass imaginable, I suggest you call the MPs.”

Pollan laughed a rich laugh. “You flatter yourself, Claudia, both that you would actually turn down such a small service to save your career, if not your life, and that I would settle for... that. You are a very beautiful woman, but that’s not the offer. I need a subject.”

Claudia shook her head. “Then order one. The camps are overflowing, from the rumors I hear.”

Pollan looked through her. “The camps are filled with people stupid enough to be caught. I need someone intelligent. And you, although you displayed considerable laxity in this last little indiscretion, you are certainly that. The Order Restoration Council Science Medal is yours except for some final paperwork, those are the rumors I hear.”

“I won’t do it, of course.”

“And, of course, dear, you will. You know what they would do to you if I turn you in?” He paused. “Heard from your brother lately?”

“My brother?” She had seen the photographs that the government helpfully sent to her father, as he awaited execution. They looked like stills from old, bad horror movies, except that wasn’t makeup on what was left of her brother. The parts they had left him were still living when the photos were taken. They hadn’t sent the pictures to Claudia, although she’d gotten copies anyway through her own contacts. She was above suspicion. After all, hadn’t she turned both of them in?

She pulled herself straight. “That was unnecessary, Colonel Doctor.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. I have been accused of having a cruel streak.”

“I could report you for this conversation.”

“You could. My word against yours, and I have the evidence from the protein counter. With your family, that might not be wise. Genius has its limits, politically.”

She turned her head quickly, mechanically. She studied the photographs of Pollan shaking hands with Chairman-Marshal Steele, Marshal Quinn, General Tabor, Police General Lee, all on the Council, then and still. Above suspicion? She wasn’t. No one was.

Still studying the pictures, she said, “I suppose there is tremendous risk to this experiment.”

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I don’t want to lose my most valuable researcher to either an experimental misadventure, or the MP.”

Her head snapped back. “I suppose we should schedule our first appointment. At your convenience, Colonel Doctor.”

He nodded, and tapped on his monitor for his date book.

One looked at the other, the other returned the gaze. “It was a great loss.”

“Yes. And so avoidable. An action of passion.”

“Losing a brilliant research scientist was difficult, but.”

“We allow our stellar scientists some license, but not all license. Evading justice, of course, we can never allow.”

“Of course.”

Eyes returned to the monitors, glowing softly in the dark.

The many contacts of the metal headpiece dug uncomfortably into Claudia’s scalp. She stared into the darkness, knowing that Pollan was in the next room, watching her. She waited, and waited. Finally: “Now what, Colonel Doctor?”

“Think,” came his voice.

“Think? About what?”

“About anything. Your work. Just think.”

She grimaced, and closed her eyes. Images swam before her, graphs, tracings, the output from a thousand instruments in her own lab. Embryos like a million motes of dust. And one particular embryo.

She was now very aware of her womb, as if it were a shape implanted in her. She could feel the embryo, buried deep in the uterine wall, dividing, growing. She could feel everything, the ovaries (useless except for the routine squirt of hormones), the fallopian tubes, the uterus, down through the cervix to her vagina.

Her vagina. Her cunt.

She remembered the first time Bastian had gone down on her. She had felt like that then, feeling each part of her, each individual organ and fold and wrinkle as if they were pieces, assembled, stuck together and taped and glued into a whole. Like she was made from a kit..

And she remembered Bastian’s tongue, probing and licking and sucking and caressing. She got wet, she was getting wet, she was swimming in her own juices, her own fluid running from deep within her vagina and lubricating her. Lubricating her cunt.

Getting her cunt wet.

She shook her head. There was a voice, and it wasn’t Bas’.

“Captain Doctor, that will be all for today. Remove the headset carefully, and then you can go.”

She stood, her legs shaking. She could feel a small trickle of moisture dampen a thigh as she walked towards the door.

“Think. About anything.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the headset dig in for the fourth time. She thought back to last night, she had come home, directly from Pollan’s lab. Bastian was there, reading. He stood, as he always did when she walked in; an incredibly charming habit of his, one of the first things she’d noticed once they moved in together, years ago.

She had walked over to him. She was going to give him a hug, feel his tall, thin body against hers. She wanted it, wanted him; she had nearly stopped to masturbate on the way home.

But she didn’t. And she didn’t hug him. Instead, her eyes were locked on his crotch as she approached. She knelt, the first time she had ever done such a thing, with anyone, man or woman. She unzipped him, and took out his cock. He was protesting, but she knew that he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He wanted his cock sucked.

And she did it. Her mouth did it, on its own. She could feel her lips, her teeth, her tongue, each working together, each a separate part. One of the parts that made her up. Her eyes, her hair, her lips, her mouth, her boobs (left and right, nicely symmetrical, both large), her legs, her pussy. Her cunt. Her cunt with its wet, wet vagina. Her ass with its asshole.

She sucked. She got wet. She broke off, for just a moment, and said to him, “I’m getting wet from sucking on your cock,” and returned to sucking, in and out. It didn’t take him much time to come. Of course not: he loves having his cock sucked, she thought as she walked to the bathroom to clean up, to wash the cum off her lips, mouth and a little bit from her tits, where it had fallen from her chin, to her cleavage, where a couple of buttons that she never used to keep unbuttoned were, in fact, undone.

They fucked that night. She let him fuck her from behind; she knew he loved that position, loved watching her tits bounce as he pounded into her hot, wet cunt. It didn’t surprise her when she said, “I bet you love watching my big tits bounce as you fuck my hot, wet cunt,” and he came. She never talked dirty, and she knew he loved it.

Two pairs of eyes watched the monitors. On the largest, a huge concrete room. High windows letting in dirty light. Standing in the pool of light, as if it were a spotlight, Claudia stood. Grinding and bumping to inaudible music. Wearing just a black bra and panties, high heels. She ground, bent over, played with her pussy and tits through the underwear, squatted.

The audience watched. The audience, held on the other side of electric bars, was from one of the camps. Not political criminals, these; these were here for basic murder, rape, arson. All men, all naked. They watched.

Claudia’s mouth offered. Her hips offered. Her breasts, her legs, all offered them anything.

Her eyes begged for anything else. Her eyes said that her body’s actions were not hers, were not what she wanted. But her body was in control. She knew exactly what had been done to her, and what she would always be.

And then the power to the bars was cut. They lifted. And the men were on her, twenty or more. The underwear was torn off, she was forced onto her hands and knees.

A raised eyebrow. “She’ll be killed.”

A shrug. “Perhaps, perhaps not. There’s always another time.”

A week later, she was staring at the console in her office. Embryo counts, embryo implantation rates, successes, failures, numbers and graphs and charts swam like dust in front of her. Motes. Thousand and millions and billions of embryos. And one inside of her. In her womb. Her womb, above her cunt.

She lifted her short skirt, and spread her legs. She looked down; she could feel her womb, very clearly. She had shaved off her pubic hair so that she could feel and see it more clearly. She reached down, ran a long, manicured finger (useless for typing) over her hot, wet cunt. Wet, always wet.

The console beeped; she jumped, lowering her skirt quickly. The numbers continued to swim, until she picked out the important one: 15:45. Nearly 4pm. Nearly time for her visit to Pollan’s lab.

She rose, balancing on her high heels, useless for the false floor with all its cutouts, and walked slowly to the lab.

She stared at the ceiling, into the blackness. She lay on the table, her legs spread wide. She knew that Pollan was standing just beyond the foot of the table, but she continued staring at the ceiling. She was thinking about her mouth, her tits, her cunt, her asshole. Thinking about her parts. Thinking of all the things she can do with her parts.

“Can you hear me, Claudia?”

“Yes, Doctor Pollan.” A flat monotone. Someone else answering for her, while she thought about cocks in her cunt, cocks in her mouth, cocks between her tits. Her parts. All of her parts.

“Have you been practicing anal sex?”

“Yes, Doctor Pollan. My boyfriend now fucks me up the ass every night.”

Hands, fondling her tit-parts. “And then?”

“I have him come on my tits, Doctor Pollan.”

A cock, slowly being guided into her cunt-part. Which is what it was there for: to have a man’s cock inside of it. The cock was fucking her cunt-part hard, her tit-parts were being kneaded and mauled. “And what do you say?”

“Thank you for coming on my tits.”

The cock started coming. She could tell. Men always like to come in her cunt-part, and her cunt-part had gotten very good at milking a man’s cum out of his cock into her. Into her cunt. “Thank you for coming in my hot, wet cunt,” she added, remembering now what to say.

“Clean up on the way out, Claudia,” was all he said.

She stared at the wall, sitting on the soft, plastic chair. Bastian was sitting across from her. He was getting angry; he always looked into her eyes, instead of at her tits or her cunt, when he was angry. He was getting red, too.

“What is going on, Claudia? We never talk anymore, we just fuck.”

She nodded. “Right. We just fuck.”

“This isn’t a relationship. I feel like I’m just meat.”

No, she started to say, no, you’re a man. I’m just meat. I’m just meat-parts to be fucked, to suck. But she had been told not to say things like that.

“No, Bas’, you’re not just meat. I’ve been busy.”

He slammed his palm down on the couch. “Busy is not the problem, Claudia. You’ve been leaving home later each morning, so we can fuck. You’ve been getting home earlier each night, so we can fuck. You don’t talk about anything, you don’t do anything except fuck me, masturbate with some toy, or sleep. You never talk about your work, I don’t know what you do at work anymore. You’re some kind of nymphomaniac sex toy yourself.”

She bit her lip, softly. She hoped that it looked like she was unhappy, since she knew that he wasn’t trying to turn her on by saying that. It was so hard to remember. She loved being called things like that.

“I, I don’t know what to say.”

He stood. She could tell he was very, very angry. “I know. You never do, anymore.” He walked to the closet, got his coat. He turned, looked at her.

She looked up, smiled. “Um, do you wanna...?” Her hands moved to cup her tits; men love it when she cupped her big jugs.

He walked out, the door closing softly, as it always did. She stared at the door a long time before finding her largest dildo to masturbate with.

She walked into Pollan’s office, a confident stride now that she had the hang of the heels. Ever since Bastian had moved out, she had been getting to work early so that she would be there when Pollan arrived. He finished typing on his console, pushed his chair back. “Ah, Claudia, right on time.” He gestured.

Her legs, with the hot, wet cunt between them, took her over to in front of him. Her jugs, exposed through the thin, white blouse (bra carefully tucked into her purse), swayed as her legs strutted. Her knees dropped her down, her hands carefully surrounded the base of his cock, her wet, very red mouth (expensive permanent lipstick finished just two days earlier) swallowed his cock down. In and out, in and out, her mouth sucked on his cock. He came very quickly.

Pollan reached down, lifted her face to look into his. Her tongue licked her lips, her hands fingered her slit, her boobs. “You’re just my little nymphomaniac slut, aren’t you?” he said, conversationally.

Her cunt clenched as it sent an orgasm through the rest of her parts. “Yes, I am your little nymphomaniac slut,” she managed to gasp out.

He nodded, gesturing her away. She stood, adjusting her skirt to barely cover her hot, wet cunt. “Final session, 4pm today,” he said absently, zipping his pants as he turned back to the console. She nodded, off to the bathroom to replace her bra and to play with her hot, wet cunt.

She lay on the table, feeling pulses of pleasure run through her body. Through all of her parts. She knew that was what she was, a collection of parts designed to give pleasure to men. She would fuck, and suck, and be come on, and come in, forever.

“Now, Claudia, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Doctor Pollan,” she said, her voice now strong and clear.

“That’s very good. Now, tell me exactly what you are feeling, right now.”

“I’m feeling my cunt. It’s hot and wet. My nipples are hard. I’m ready to be fucked.”

Suddenly, her mind felt full.

“And now?”

“I...”

She remembered Bastian leaving. A sob.

“My boyfriend left me... because I...”

“Because why?”

“I wanted to fuck all the time.”

“Do you?”

She remembered coming here the first time.

“No... yes. I want to fuck all the time. But I...”

A wave of pleasure. She remembered the second time. And the third time.

“Pollan... you did this! You made me...” Another wave of pleasure. “You made me someone else.”

“And will you fuck me?”

A wave of pleasure. Her mind felt white, her vision getting washed out, fuzzy. “I will fuck you. I will suck you.” Who said that?

“You are Doctor Claudia Michaels, aren’t you?”

Embryos. Results. Her papers. Her promotions. The forthcoming Medal.

“Yes! Damn it, yes, stop this.” A wave of pleasure. She couldn’t move.

“And you are also my obedient little fucktoy.”

Another wave of pleasure. Her mind was white. “I am your obedient little fucktoy. My parts exist to please you.”

Another wave of pleasure. She could move. The headpiece dropped with a smash onto the floor. Heels clicking on the floor, a steady rhythm. Doors opening. Pollan sitting at the console, smiling.

“You... you are going to burn!” Her voice was angry, but her composure absolute. “I am going to make sure that you fry the same way they cooked my brother.”

Pollan examined her. She stopped, watched him. His composure unnerved her.

“No, you won’t. Suck my cock, Claudia.”

Claudia looked at him, her vision blanched out, white. Tunneled. She walked over to him, her hips swaying, her cunt wet between her long, long legs. She dropped down to her knees, and unzipped his pants. “No... stop it... I don’t...” But she did. She had to. Her mouth-part was for sucking a man, getting him to come on in her mouth, on her face, her tits.

Pollan watched her, amused. “Best of both worlds: a top-notch researcher, and my private blow-job doll. It was easy... as easy as making a mid-level bureaucrat delay an appointment by a few days.”

She didn’t think about what he was saying. She just sucked. It was all she was for, sucking and fucking, and being her carrier for the tit-parts and mouth-parts and cunt-parts and asshole-parts.

She didn’t react when she felt Pollan stiffen; men often stiffen right before they come. Anyone would also stiffen when an MP Commander walks into his or her laboratory unannounced. A gray-eyed, gray-haired woman in the bottle-green uniform of the Provisional Government’s Military Police had just done exactly that, staring at Claudia’s spread legs, her wide open cunt, as she masturbated while sucking on Pollan.

“The MP Commander wanted to discuss the protein deficit, since Pollan hadn’t reported it.”

“How did the Military Police find out?”

“They had installed their own counter downline. None of the Institute staff knew, of course.”

“Of course. No one is above suspicion.”

On the screen, Claudia seemed to scream as she was penetrated by another man.

The two watched.

“She was so concerned about her little indiscretion with the embryo, I’m certain that she thought the MP had come for her, when she noticed her standing there.”

“She had suffered enough for that minor crime.”

“Finding and returning Bastian to her was a magnanimous gesture. As was letting her keep the child.”

“It seemed the least we could do for a winner of the Council Medal. Loyalty must be rewarded.”

A man was forcing a very, very large cock into Claudia’s asshole. She appeared to be begging him to continue, despite the bleeding.

“Are the rumors that...”

“... certain members of the Council know about her, ah, condition? And perhaps use this information? Those rumors, you mean? I couldn’t say.”

A long pause. Claudia was being gagged by a dick, as another pounded into her from behind; cum had already matted her long, black hair.

“And Pollan?”

A gesture at a different screen. Pollan, naked, lay on a table, headsets, wires, tubes, probes all inserted. He was pale, clammy, covered with foaming sweat. “I think putting him through this in Claudia’s role was an artistic touch on the part of the Council. As I said, poetic justice. Especially when you consider that it was Pollan’s work that made it possible.”

“For how long?”

“How long will we keep him here? People live a long time these days, if they stay out of the camps.”

“So, about those rumors?”

“I’m not going to comment about rumors about the morality of the Council. They are, by definition, above morality.”

“Oh, come now, my old friend.”

“No. Nothing more. No one is above suspicion.”

They rise, they leave. The consoles still glow. There is no sound.