The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My name is Michael Shore. And if you have found this document, hidden in this goddamn heirloom wristwatch, and you are an adult male, you are Michael Shore too. Only you don’t know it, because you’ve been mindwiped and reconditioned to think you’re someone else. This is your story.

Michael—or whatever you think your name is—don’t stop reading. You’ve been duped. You are living in your own personal Truman Show.

I was born near London. (And so were you. Don’t tell me that you’re American, or Swiss or something—I was there, and I know.) I had an unremarkable youth, except that in my late teens I developed telepathic powers. Specifically, what we in the psibiz call “short-range real-time verbal Receiving”. I can overhear the superficial thoughts of anyone near me. It’s a lot less interesting—and useful—than you might think. I can only do one person at a time—it takes a lot of effort on my part—and I can only Receive verbal thoughts. Visual images, sensory memories, emotions, and so forth are a painful jumble, like getting really bad reception on your TV. The researchers tell me it’s because each of us has very different internal coding for nonverbal thoughts; but I think they’re just guessing. Anyway, I can Receive that small percentage of thoughts—or aspects of thoughts—that are verbal in nature.

After a few bad experiences I had the good sense to keep shtum about my talent. Most people think they have never met a Receiver, and don’t want to. And the Psi Police were getting organised.

After University I couldn’t think of any vocation where my talent would be a great asset—professional Botticelli player?—so I drifted into the Private Investigator business. I’m not brave enough to be a cop, and not smart enough to be a lawyer. But my talent gives me an edge when I’m interviewing someone.

I never found out how Henri Soleil learned about me. I certainly don’t advertise it, now that most psionic abilities are technically illegal. (It’s weird how something can be illegal that the government won’t even acknowledge exists. Like witchcraft.) He rang me out of the blue and said, “Good morning, Mr Shore. Can you tell what I am thinking? ”

“Not over the phone, " I said.

“Good. I would like to engage you. Please come to my office at 11 and we can discuss it further.”

And so our business association began. Soleil had me attend his office from time to time—he had a beautiful suite of rooms near the Tate Modern on the South Bank—and sit in on interviews. When he needed a chauffeur, a secretary, or a cook I would sit with him while he asked them the usual questions about their background and skills. He was concerned that the Psi Police might send an agent to spy on him. I was to read the candidate’s mind and signal Soleil if there was anything suspicious. If so, then Soleil would either dismiss them or take control of them. That was his talent.

On this occasion Soleil needed a temporary Personal Assistant to replace his usual girl, who had left for a better job in the City. We were interviewing a Miss Roxy Deegan. Miss Deegan was young and bright, barely five feet tall in her high heels, and dressed in a nice blue suit and frilly white blouse. Soliel conducted the interview while I observed her superficial thoughts. There wasn’t much there of interest. “I’m glad the traffic wasn’t too heavy this morning... I hope they like me... Another sunny day... Nice carpet... I need the money...”

It went on like this. I told you that Receiving was usually boring. But I try to earn my keep, so I continued listening in case something turned up. After five minutes, I heard: “I’m glad the traffic wasn’t too heavy this morning... I hope they like me... Another sunny day...” As it continued, I smelt a rat. I paid more attention now. Another five minutes, and: “... I hope they like me... Another sunny day... Nice carpet... I need the money...”

I nonchalantly tugged my right earlobe. Soleil caught the signal.

“I know who you are,” he said abruptly. “What is the name of your supervisor?”

As she replied, he took advantage of her momentary confusion and slipped into her mind so smoothly that she experienced no trauma or even surprise. The syntax of her sentence was unbroken. “You mean my contact at the secretarial agency? I believe you spoke to her on the phone. Her name is... William Fairfax, the London deputy controller for the MindCrime Investigation Department of MI6.” She paused, then smiled. “How very pleasant this is! I had no idea.”

“I’m glad you like it... Roxy? Is that your real name?”

“Yes, Mr Soleil. My mother was a Brian Ferry fan.” We all smiled.

“Roxy, are we under any surveillance at this moment?”

“No. Mr Fairfax thought that you would probably detect any passive electronic surveillance. And the department is short of long-range Receivers. You aren’t a priority target. He doesn’t know that you’re a Controller. That’s what’s happened, right? You’re Controlling me.”

“Correct. Well then, Roxy, would you please go and make us some tea? The kitchen is over there. Milk, no sugar. Have one yourself.” She went.

“You see,” Soleil said, “how simple it is. She will send back false reports to her masters that I am not dangerous. They are relieved, we are safe, she is content, everyone is happy. If she turns out to be competent I may keep her. She can resign from MI6.”

The clinking of tea things was accompanied by occasional bursts of laughter.

“Why does she laugh?”

“She has the impulse to think her way out of the compliant state she’s in, but she discovers that her logic goes in circles, which she finds humorous. After a few more days of control, those impulses will end and she will enter a state of serene acceptance. She will remember her previous condition of freedom, but she will no longer miss it or seek to regain it.”

“How often do you need to—top her up?”

“Initially it will wear off in a couple of hours if it isn’t reinforced. That is inconvenient, since it means I have to see her at frequent intervals. However, she is very susceptible to post-control suggestions. They will ensure she doesn’t remember what happened to her, and that she will come back tomorrow. After a few daya the conditioning will no longer wear off. It will become an addiction.”

“That’s amazing. And a bit scary. Why do you need me here? And how do I know you won’t do the same to me? ”

“I need you because I can’t read minds. As you see with Roxy, I have to use speech to communicate with her. All I’ve done is to instil in her an absolute loyalty to me. That’s my only talent. And as for Controlling you, well, you’ll know if I ever do it. But I hope I won’t need to. I pay you enough, don’t I? In the long run that is a more convenient way of insuring someone’s... co-operation. And of course it’s legal. I really don’t want an army of people under my Control. I’d be a bit too visible.”

Roxy returned with three cups of tea. I tasted mine. Like Mother used to make.

“Roxy, how do you feel?”

“Fine. Happy. Relaxed.”

“How did you feel when you arrived here?”

“I was excited and a bit tense. I was afraid you would rumble me. I never imagined that you would be able to take Control of me. I’ve been thoroughly trained against that.”

“But your training didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t, did it!” She laughed. “You took me too quickly!”

“What kinds of defences have you learned?”

“Well, if I sense a read-only probe I can put up a first-level mind shield. I did that with Michael. The shield is difficult to detect, and I can continue thinking behind it. In front of it is a program of innocuous thoughts. About the weather, the morning traffic, and so forth. It fools most read-only attacks. If someone tries to exert control, I have a second-level shield that covers the entire mind. I get sensory data only.”

“Do you yourself have any Control ability? Or other psionic abilities?”

“I’m not a Controller. I have total recall, and I’m a sending telepath, but only with people I’m very close to. And when I’m drunk I can levitate small objects, about the mass of a penny.”

“I’d like to try a little test with you, Roxy. Here’s what I want you to do. At the word “Go”, you may put up your mind shield. The second-level one. At the word “Exit”, you will drop it. Understand?”

“OK.”

“Go.”

There was a pause. A look of horror came over Roxy’s face. She jumped to her feet and ran toward the door.

“Exit.” Said Soliel. Roxy stopped as though she had hit a wall. “That was awful,” she said. “Please don’t do that again. I was afraid of you, and ashamed at what I had done, and I just wanted to get out and report back to my boss.”

“Once more. Go.”

She clapped her hands over her ears, shot for the door, ran through it, and into the hall. I expected to hear the outside door open and slam. But nothing. “Come back, Roxy,” said Soleil. Roxy walked back into the room, looking distraught.

“What happened?” I said.

“I was at the door . There was a sign that said ‘Exit’. I dropped my shield and Soliel took Control again. Please, Soleil, no more. I don’t want to be out of your Control ever again. It feels awful.”

“Of course, my dear. Now, I want to test your other skills. Lets see—the levitation—well, I guess that won’t be very useful. How about the short-range sending. Can you do it now?”

She dropped her eyes. “I have to be in an—um—intimate situation with someone,” she said. “I only discovered it one night when I was with my boyfriend, who works for the Service, so he suggested that I join as well.”

“Well, it would be interesting to test it out. And we have plenty of time. Michael, I have to make some calls. Will you take Roxy into the bedroom and make love to her? Then have her demonstrate her ability.”

I was startled. Soleil had a habit of suggesting remarkable acts as though he were asking someone to take tea. Roxy was staring open-mouthed at him, then at me. “Soleil, I just met her. Are you sure...”

“What! Don’t you find her attractive?”

I did, actually. Roxy was petite and chocolate-skinned, not a type I normally go for, but she had a cute gamine face, masses of curling brown hair, and a figure like Jessica Rabbit. Her CV said she was 25, which meant nothing, and she looked about five years younger. “I suppose I do,” I said, re-appraising her. “And of course she won’t mind.”

Soleil looked her in the eyes. I could feel her thoughts scatter before the force of his Control. “Roxy, you feel extremely randy, and you find Michael here devastatingly attractive. You have no compunctions about having intercourse with him. And you want to give him the best time he’s ever had. Clear?”

“But I don’t ... um... well...sure. I’d like to...” Roxy laughed. Her teeth were very white. “Come on, Michael,” she said, taking my hand. “I’ll show you what little girls are made of.”

Roxy wasn’t the most skilful lover I’ve ever had, but she must rank as the most dedicated. And inventive. For an hour and a half she devoted herself to making me feel good. About halfway along, when she and I were conjoined in a position for which there is no number, I heard her say “Oh God, I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

The acoustics were odd. I looked at her, craning my neck. Her eyes were closed and she was panting. “What did you say?” quoth I. Clever repartee is difficult when you’re approaching another serial orgasm.

“Uh? Nothing.. Oh, I must have been Sending. Oh, oh, oh.”

“Try it again,” I said.

A moment later I heard her say “Is that OK? Do you like it if I press my fingertips hard right there?”

I craned my neck again. Her lips weren’t moving. “Yes. I said. “Move them in a circle. Oh.”

“Do you like that? And that?”

“Yes. No. Ouch. The first way. . Can you.. uh... can you project anything besides your voice? Soething nonverbal?”

“Sometimes.”

“Show me.”

“Show you... ohhh... OK, put your toes just there and... that’s right... oh...”

And then she sent me a sensation I don’t care to describe, except that it was very physical, and anatomically impossible. For a man. She carried on Sending for a while. It was like the Feelies. Then the next orgasm made her lose her concentration a bit—it certainly did wonders for mine—and she stopped Sending. When we both became capable of speech, I said, “That was pretty incredible. What else can you do with it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried anything. Do you suppose anyone else overheard it?”

Good question. “OK, let’s try this. In the office, just through that wall, is Arienne. You met her when you arrived. See if you can send to her. " Arienne is Soleil’s mother.

“I need to be more on the boil, I think. Let me do this to you for a while and then we’ll see.”

“Uh! I mean, yes, sure.”

In a while the windows were steaming up again, and Roxy said “OK. Now.” From the office in the next room I heard a little shriek and the sound of something dropping to the floor. Crockery broke. I guessed that Arienne had received the transmission. In a moment Roxy received my own transmission, and then there was another long pause for recuperation.

I was thinking that I had had enough of galloping over the moors with Roxy. I like sex as much as anyone, but I prefer to have a reason as well as an opportunity. We showered and dressed, and returned to the office. Soleil was just coming off the telephone.

“I’ve been chatting with a few colleagues who also have received job applicants sent by Mr William Fairfax. We’ve decided that something must be done to draw his attention elsewhere. We have a plan...”