The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As the two goons stomped down the dark corridor, Yma scrambled to her feet in her grimy cell. By the time they’d wheeled the metal prisoner’s chair to the first set of cage bars, she’d composed her usual defiant sneer.

One goon pushed a button to lift the bars, rolled the chair to the second set of bars—the ones Yma waited behind—then stepped back and lowered the first bars again. The double-barred cell design ensured one layer of iron always separated them from Yma and her fighting skills. The psycho who ran this place knew how to deal with dangerous prisoners.

Not that her skills had helped much. Since her capture, she’d been either caged, restrained in a chair, or unconscious, and her captor never seemed to run out of patience or make a mistake.

“Get in the chair,” one goon said, as always, and as always, Yma said “Go fuck yourself.”

They asked twice more, Yma refused, as always, and they pressed another button on the wall. Plexiglas walls lowered around her cell, and knock-out gas began pumping through the narrow vent on the ceiling. Yma held her breath as long as she could, but eventually she breathed in, and the clogging-sweet gas stuck to her throat, until she blacked out.

She woke up groggy and angry, as usual, restrained in the chair with tight bands around her wrists, ankles, torso, and forehead. In front of her was the instruments table and the bare white walls of what she’d come to think of as the interrogation room.

And by the table, the boss himself: the madman who’d trapped her here and was quickly making a joke of her years-long reputation as one of the world’s most skilled corporate spies.

His smile made Yma snarl.

“You’re running up my gas bill, my dear. And upsetting my security staff. They hate having to wait out the gas, then drag you out...Why, just now, they asked for a raise.”

Yma spat at him. It didn’t land, but it made her feel better anyway. She hated how composed and genial he always was; like countless weeks failing to break her didn’t bother him at all.

“So hostile.” He chuckled, leaning into the table. “I look forward to the day I make you mine.”

“And I look forward to the day I put a knife through your throat.”

Once, in the beginning, she’d copied his smooth act. They’d traded quips for many sessions. But captivity had exhausted and angered her, and resisting his weird mind games robbed her of her patience. Now all she had were threats and dogged refusals to cooperate.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said, annoyingly calm. “Just like you’ll never escape. If you had any chance, it would’ve happened already. You know it, I know it—so why this charade? Soon your mind will fold, and all those skills you keep threatening me with shall be mine, as well.”

Yma scoffed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“I admit, I thought you’d break faster. But I’m finding your resistance...titillating. I love learning new ways to ensnare the mind.”

“You sound like a comic-book villain,” she spat.

She hated how she kept talking, responding to him. But she’d tried stony silence, and he just talked at her, his creepy ramblings getting inside her head, throwing her off-balance. Talking back kept her alert, at least.

“I’m more skilled than most comic-book villains,” grinned the man. “And my methods to break my enemies’ minds are far more effective.”

“Are they? So far all I’ve gotten is drugged and bored.”

He laughed. “How delightful you are. This temper is precisely why I’m taking my time with you, my sweet spy. I don’t want your mind wiped. I want it intact...and in my service.”

“Good luck with that,” sneered Yma, though his words, as always, filled her with unease.

When she’d taken this job, she’d expected some sort of kidnapping ring. The people who’d hired her suspected some lost heiress had been brought here, and they’d wanted Yma to find her. But though she’d found a dungeon with a dozen cells holding oddly passive prisoners, the rest of the mansion and grounds seemed more a high-end couples’ resort. Pools. Tennis courts. Ballrooms. Garden parties. Staff in spa-white uniforms and scores of well-dressed men and women getting frisky around the amenities—and none seemingly against their will.

Then after his too-good security had snared her, her captor had revealed he was running a brainwashing cult. And he’d decided to add Yma to his...followers.

Luckily, so far his tricks had really been comic-book-like. Metronomes, spirals, nonsense like that. But he might eventually go to drugs. Yma had worked long enough to know even the toughest spy could be turned into a vegetable if you shot them up with enough psychotropics.

“I don’t need luck,” he said. “I have time and patience. And I believe I’ve finally found a way to annihilate your resistance.”

He turned to the table behind him, covered in boxes and knick-knacks. It was that table that had made Yma dub this the interrogation room, though he never really asked her questions. All he did was talk, in the low, soothing baritone he was using now, full of odd inflections.

“I’ve had this idea a while. Since you resisted my audiovisual inductions so long, and building a rapport has been slow...Most of my guests need only a handful of sessions before they slip nicely into a trance for me, you know,” he added, almost chidingly. “The induction tools distract them, and my training does the rest. I’m quite skilled at talking people into an altered state of consciousness. But your mind proved stubborn...”

He turned back around, holding a covered silver platter in his hands. His gaze slipped to Yma’s clenched fists, and he smiled.

“It can’t fully resist, of course. You might have noticed how you let me talk you into silence more and more often. Your mind is softening. But you’ve learned just enough from our sessions to keep from slipping completely under my influence...”

“You’re crazy,” Yma growled, digging her nails into her palms. The pain always helped ground her, when his chatter muddied her thoughts. Pain and talking back, breaking his rhythm.

He chuckled. “You must realize you’re falling back on the same lines, over and over, each session. ‘You’re crazy.’ ‘This won’t work.’ ‘I’m bored.’ Hmm...or do you realize that?” He gave her a curious look. “Perhaps our sessions are mixing together in your memory, and you can’t recall clearly what was said and done in each. As I said...even your mind can’t resist all I do. You’re well-primed to open it for me, aren’t you?”

Yma gritted her teeth. “What I am is bored already. Why don’t you just knock me out like you always do, so I can go back to my day.”

“I will.” He smiled. “Even if I capture your mind today, it’ll take more sessions to bring you to true surrender. Still, it’ll be a delight to finally see some progress, mm? Shall we begin?”

He held up the platter, and Yma scoffed. “What’s that, room service?”

“Close.” He tapped the silver lid. “You see, my dear, if you ask people what senses they rely on most, most will tell you sight or hearing. We’re most aware of those two senses. That’s why inductions that ensnare them work well. The mind is conditioned to pay attention to what it sees and hears. If I distract it with the right audiovisual input, I can slip past its defenses and—”

“Bo-ring.” Yma faked a loud yawn. “This whole demented professor thing is getting old.”

“You’re good,” he said. “I see when your mind starts to relax—and then you pull yourself right out of it. My guess is you’ve trained yourself to pay attention to so many things at once, your mind can parse out levels of input that overwhelm most people.” He grinned. “A cute trick.”

“Why don’t you untie my hands and I’ll show you other tricks I know?”

“Soon.” His smile widened. “Very soon. Once your mind opens for me, you’ll be on your way to becoming mine entirely...And then you will show me all the tricks you know.”

“You’re cra—” Yma cut herself off. “Just get on with it. You’re wasting my time.”

“Very well. Behold...my way to your heart. Or rather, your mind.”

He lifted the platter’s lid, revealing a pile of fresh, glistening strawberries covered in thin plastic wrap.

Unwillingly, Yma swallowed. Since her capture, she’d been fed only stale bread and water. Her stomach rumbled and ached at the thought of fresh, tender berries. Even with layers of wrapping blocking the smell, she could almost feel it. Almost taste them.

“You see, my dear,” he said. “I believe that, like most people, you rely on sight and hearing as your main senses. You’re just much better at multitasking. So I had to...get creative.”

Yma gritted her teeth and forced herself to look away from the tempting platter. “You think dessert’s gonna break me?”

“It’s hard to look away from it, isn’t it? And what most people don’t realize is our brains are wired to pay attention to other senses even more strongly than sight and smell. Since we don’t train those other senses, it’s much, much easier to overwhelm them...”

He brought the platter closer, and Yma’s mouth watered. She growled and squeezed her eyes shut. Damn it, she wasn’t going to give in to a plate of fruit! Even if her deprived body craved those soft, dewy strawberries more than she ever remembered craving any food...

A rustling noise came from two inches before her.

“Breathe in,” whispered the man in her ear. Yma jolted in her restraints, as the scent of fresh strawberries assaulted her. Her eyes flew open: the platter, its wraps removed, was inches from her face. Without realizing it, she took a greedy breath, then moaned at the sweet smell.

“The power of scent is always stronger when we’re hungry, or deprived,” murmured the man. “Especially scents we find hard to resist, like fresh, fragrant fruit. Do you like strawberries, my dear?”

Yma moaned again, then closed her eyes and tried to hold her breath. But the fragrance had already drifted down to her taste buds, and it lingered. Her mouth watered yearningly.

“Everyone loves strawberries,” he said. “You love them too, don’t you? Come now, don’t deny yourself. Just a whiff, what harm can it do? They’re sweet and fresh—take a breath.”

A hand pressed against her ribs, pinching her, and Yma gasped and breathed in—and her body strained instinctively toward the platter, as the berries’ fragrance enveloped her again.

“Good. Breathe in. You want these, don’t you? You want the tart taste on your lips. This sweet fragrance on your tongue. You’ve had nothing like this in so long. You’re so tired of plain bread and water. You want something better...something sweeter...to end the yearning at last...”

He moved the platter closer to her, waving it slightly to help the fragrance drift her way. Yma swallowed, whimpering low in her throat.

“Bastard,” she hissed. “You...think...torture...will help you?”

“Not torture. Temptation. Distraction. See, I had to wait to try this method...” A dewy, bright-red fruit touched her lips, but he pulled it back almost instantly. “Wait for you to grow hungry enough to focus intently on this treat. And wait for you to grow sufficiently accustomed to my voice so you don’t pay attention as it slips past your mental guards. No, no, don’t startle—”

Another berry brushed her lips, a drop of sweet juice dripping on her tongue. Yma moaned—

“—just enjoy the sweet, wonderful, fleeting taste. So delightful. So pleasantly distracting. That’s right. How sweet this is. How intensely you feel it. You don’t need to pay attention to what I’m saying. It’s just mindless chatter. Don’t focus on my voice, just enjoy the treat...”

“Stop,” she stammered, her heart pounding. “I—I don’t—Stop...Mmmnnn—”

She’d closed her eyes again, but another berry pressed briefly against her lips. Her tongue darted out unbidden, stealing a taste of juicy tartness.

“Shh. That’s right. What a special treat, isn’t it? Worth letting it distract you for a little while. You don’t want it to end just yet. Here you go...bite in.”

This time, the fruit lingered on her lips, and Yma took a bite, moaning as the flavor spread from her tastebuds straight to her brain, sinking her into—

“—sweet, wonderful, perfect distraction. That’s right. That’s good. You want more, don’t you? Take a breath. You’re too tense. You can’t enjoy this treat if you’re so tense. Breathe in the fragrance—perfect. Let it distract you into calm, carefree enjoyment. There’s nothing to worry about. Bite in, my dear...good. Feel the sweetness on your tongue. Feel it reach deep into your mind, seep into your thoughts. Breathe in. Taste. Swallow. No need to think about my words. It’s easier when you’re so perfectly distracted. My voice will keep you safe. Let it in. No need to think about it. Take another bite. Very good. Look at me.”

Yma blinked hazily. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, slowly. She loved strawberries. They were worth a brief distraction. Just a taste. She could indulge herself. Just one more breath...

“—and another. Good. It feels so good to let yourself get distracted like this. Doesn’t it? You want more. Tell me if you want more. Just say ‘more’, and you can enjoy this for longer...”

“Mmm.” Yma strained for another taste, her body and mind focused singularly on the fragrant berries. “More,” she mumbled, them moaned as another fruit touched her lips. So sweet. So wonderful. So—

“—distracting. You’re doing very well. Taste another. You don’t realize you’re hearing my voice anymore; it’s bypassed your conscious thought. Breathe in. Very good. See how pleasant it feels to let down your guard and allow yourself to become distracted? Bite. Lick. Good. As long as you let me in, you will always feel like this. Keep looking into my eyes. Deep breath. Taste. Good. I’m going to count down from ten. You’ll sink deeper into distraction with each number. Don’t worry about my voice. You can’t hear it; I’m speaking directly to your mind. You can follow my words without registering them. Ten. Breathe deeply. Relax. Nine. Focus only on taste and smell. My voice can reach your mind without obstacle. Eight...Seven... No thoughts. No awareness. Six. Five. Four. You don’t know my voice is in your mind. Three... Two... One...”

Yma breathed in again, then licked the sweet juice off her lips. So good. She was—

“—perfectly distracted now. You can repeat my words without registering them. Focus only on the sweet perfume and taste. Your mind is—”

“—unguarded and open,” she mumbled, around a mouthful of strawberry. “I can repeat your words without registering them. I’m not paying attention to anything. I’m perfectly distracted. Your voice—”

“—slipped past your defenses. It speaks directly to your mind now. Breathe in. Good. You can repeat my words and know that they are true. You don’t know you’re speaking. You can’t process—”

“—anything I see or hear. My senses have been overwhelmed. My awareness is gone. My mind is open to you.”

“Good. Breathe in. Your mind is open.”

“My mind is open.”

“Your mind is open.”

“My mind is—”

“—open. Breathe. Taste. Your mind is—”

“—open. My mind is open. My mind is...open. My mind...is...open... My... mind...”

The Boss smiled as the woman’s voice began to slur, then trailed off entirely. Her mouth fell slack, and her eyes, which had been staring into his, lost focus and rolled into her head. Her eyelids fluttered to half-mast.

“Very good,” he told her. “Your mind is fully open to me now. My voice is inside your mind. It is your mind. There is nothing outside my voice but silent darkness. You exist only when I speak to you.”

She made no more response. He hadn’t expected her to. The first time a mind allowed him in completely, it became...disconnected. Soon, she’d slip from her perfect trance into unconsciousness, then into heavy slumber, and until then, she’d likely be capable of few external responses, even as her mind soaked up all his commands.

He trailed a finger along her moist lower lip, wiping the dripping red juice. Then he put his finger inside her slack mouth.

“Lick.”

Her tongue moved against him in even, mindless rhythm. Only a few times—then it stilled, and her hazy eyes rolled all the way into her head as her eyelids fell shut.

The Boss grinned. “Worth the effort, my delightful spy. I can’t wait for our next session.”

He pulled back his finger, passed his thumb over her red lips one more time, then chuckled to himself. Soon he’d put those lips and that nimble tongue to better, much better use. He’d delight in taking her mind the rest of the way to utter surrender...

But not yet.

He glanced to his guards. “Back to her cell—and knock her out as usual before you undo the restraints. Unlikely that she’ll wake up on her own so quickly, but I’d rather not take chances. This one’s a sly one, and snuffing out her awareness like this is only the first step.”

He stepped back as one of the guards gripped the chair’s handles.

“I want her back in forty-eight hours. No stimulation in the meantime, as usual. Let her sit in her cell and ponder what happened today. It’ll only soften her mind better for next time.”

They acknowledged his orders, then wheeled out the chair with his unconscious spy. The Boss allowed himself another satisfied smile, while he put away the platter with the last few strawberries. He was already wondering how he could work them into the things he planned to do with her, once she was fully his...

A knock on the door heralded the beginning of his next session. He cleared his workspace, then turned as a different guard wheeled in another woman. This one was awake, her frightened eyes large in her pale face. One of the more cooperative ones: she didn’t need to be knocked out to be brought to him, and only her wrists were restrained by the chair.

She didn’t make nearly as entertaining a target—but still, he gave each of his subjects perfect individualized attention, of course.

“Hello, my dear. Welcome back. Are you ready to surrender to me completely again?”

She babbled pleading nonsense while the guard fixed the chair in place in the middle of the room. The Boss walked to put a hand on her cheek, smiling as her breath caught.

“Look into my eyes, and let your mind calm down. There’s nothing to fear. You’re safe here. I won’t hurt you. You can trust me. You can let go of all your fear. This is a safe and quiet place...”

Her voice faded as soon as he touched her. This was her sixth session, and she’d long let him into her mind. As he spoke, the panic in her gaze softened first to alarm, then to confusion. She blinked...

“You trust me to keep you safe, don’t you?”

Her mouth moved, but she said nothing. He stroked her cheek, holding her foggy gaze.

“Breathe, my dear. This is a safe and quiet place. You trust me to keep you safe.” He stroked her again, matching his movements to the inflections of his voice. “We’re going to count down from ten, to help you let go of your fear. Ten...your mind is calm and quiet. Nine...your mind is safe with me...Eight...”

By the time he reached one, her expression had slackened. She stared up vacantly, her pupils dilated.

“I trust you to keep me safe,” she said tonelessly.

“Your mind is open to my commands.”

“My mind is open to your commands.”

He smiled. This one was ready for the market. Some lucky client would have her soon.

But—well. Wouldn’t hurt to test her training a bit more. His previous session had left him satisfied in all ways but one.

He signaled the guard to undo her straps. She remained still, even as he trailed a hand up her thigh. She was already wearing the simple black dress all subjects wore, once they were obedient enough to do so without resisting. It made training simpler. Gave him better access.

“You trust me to bring you pleasure,” he said, and she parroted the words with quiet conviction.

His hand slipped under her dress. She wore no panties, but she showed no reaction as his fingers stroked her soft flesh. Good. He’d trained her body to react only to commands.

“My touch brings you pleasure,” he said huskily, and she gasped the next time he stroked her. “Don’t move unless you’re told, but feel the arousal growing.”

Her breaths became ragged, uneven. Her mouth opened, working silently as he rubbed her ever-wetter pussy. She didn’t move a muscle—save for the muscles that contracted under his touch each time his fingers dipped teasingly into her.

His cock strained in his pants. He loved his job.

“Stand up,” he commanded, and as she flowed to her feet in a smooth move, he unzipped the dress and let it fall to the floor. “You want to please me. You care about nothing else in the world.”

As she simpered eagerly, he motioned the guard to leave, then he let the woman unzip his pants. She was skilled and responded perfectly to commands even the throes of arousal. But he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering a little—and he dreamed of his stubborn spy, and the day her body would tremble, mindless and begging, below his.

Soon, he told himself, as the vacant little dove before him brought him to orgasm. Soon, the spy would be all his, eager and perfectly pliant—and he had a feeling he wouldn’t let that one go.