The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Blake realized later that he should have known the second small sample of the corrective wouldn’t hold Myra for very long. On the Monday after he gave it to her, he came to work a few minutes early to find his lab door unlocked. She was inside, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. “Where is it?” she demanded, turning on him like a tigress. “I need more!”

“There isn’t any more,” he said quietly, closing the lab door behind him. “I told you last Thursday that I was giving you all that I could spare.”

She tossed the papers down, strode toward him, and grabbed him by the lapels. “I need more . . . Blake.” She was panting. Her fierce look faded, and she smiled at him instead, smiled seductively. “I could be real nice to you. You’d like that.”

Staring into her green eyes, Blake began to wonder about her. He quickly reached up and, before she could stop him, he yanked the glasses from her face. She smiled. “You like me without glasses? Okay, great. What would you like me to do to you—what are you doing?”

Because Blake had slipped the glasses on himself and was peering at her through them. His eyebrows rose in mock astonishment. “They’re fake,” he said. “No real lenses, just plain glass. Why do you wear them?” He handed the glasses back to Myra, who, red-faced, put them back in place.

She sniffed. “You’re wrong, Blake. It’s a very light prescription,” she began.

“You will tell me the truth,” Blake said firmly.

Myra blinked, her green eyes opening wide in surprise. Almost automatically, she said, “Glasses give me a more intimidating presence. I like to keep the people I interview off balance, so I wear the glasses to make sure I can more easily project a sense of authority over others.”

Blake shook his head. “Pathetic.”

“You don’t like them? Fine!” Myra whipped off the glasses and tossed them into a waste can, where they clanked. “I’ll never wear them again.” She grabbed Blake’s arm, squeezing so tightly that he winced. “But for God’s sake, give me some more of the stuff.”

Blake disengaged his arm and backed away from her, his face stony. “I told you, I can’t. I’ve got barely enough left for my work, and it takes six or eight weeks to collect any appreciable amount.”

“I can get your budget boosted,” Myra said eagerly. She swept a hand in a wide gesture toward the buzzing hives. “Buy more of your damn bees. That would help, wouldn’t it?”

But he shook his head. “I’ve bred these bees over several generations. New ones would dilute the gene pool, and I’m not sure what that would do to the compound. You’ll just have to wait.”

“I can’t wait,” she moaned. “That stuff, don’t sell it as a makeup, sell it as a goddam aphrodisiac! If I just touch my clit with a tiny smear of it, I come and come and come! Jesus, men will pay thousands for it! Women will pay thousands! Come on, please give me some more, just a little.”

“I need every bit that I have, and anyway, it wouldn’t end there. You’d be back in a couple of days demanding another refill. Unless—no, you couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?” she asked.

Blake pressed his lips together and shook his head again. “No, it would work, but it’s a really bad idea. Forget it.”

She pulled him to her, flattening her breasts against his chest, pressing her hot mouth against his. She kissed him deeply, open-mouthed, sucking his tongue into her mouth, nibbling it gently. He was sure that she was waiting to feel his erection, and the moment he began to get hard, she dropped to her knees and clawed at his zipper. “Don’t do that! The door’s not even locked!” he protested.

She looked up, her eyes wild, her face red. “I can’t help it. I have to have more of the stuff. Let me suck you cock. I’ll drink your cum, let you fuck me any way you want, I’ll do anything, as long as you give me more!”

He backed away, reached for her hands, pulled her to up her feet. “There’s one way,” he said in a slow and reluctant voice. “But it has a catch. You know how . . . aroused you feel now right after you use the stuff?”

“Not just then,” Myra cooed. “It lasts for hours. I get so horny, I can’t stand it. I start craving cock—your cock, Blake.

“Yes, that comes from a topical application. I told you it would last a few days, then wear off. You don’t want to feel aroused all the—”

“Oh, yes, I do. I feel sooo sexy,” she corrected with an evil smile. “I feel deliciously nasty.”

Blake shrugged. “That’s the catch I was talking about. Yes, I could fix it so that you didn’t need a constant supply of the stuff. Just one dose would do it, and then you’d feel that way all the time. There’s no antidote. You’d be constantly aroused, Myra.”

She chuckled. “I can handle that.”

“But remember, this compound has other effects, too. It’s how the queen bee gains the absolute loyalty of her workers. What do you know about bees?”

A sheen of perspiration gleamed on Myra’s forehead and upper lip. She was breathing hard. She shrugged and replied, “They sting, they make honey.”

Blake led her to one of the Plexiglas hives. “Look at this, Myra. What do you see?”

She didn’t seem to want to look, but she gave it a glance. “A bunch of bees.”

Blake leaned in close, his eyes on the stirring, roiling mass inside the hive, creeping over the honeycombs, clustering around the precious queen bee. “No. You see an organism. What you need to understand, what you have to understand, is that a hive isn’t a bunch of individual bees, as you put it, but one living entity. Think of the worker bees as cells. The queen is the nerve center, the brain, the heart, the center that keeps the whole thing going. They’re all female, you know, the queen, her workers. The queen lays eggs by the hundreds, and the workers care for them and raise the young. The new bees always become workers when they mature. Except at certain times. When the hive becomes overcrowded, or sometimes when the queen produces fewer eggs than usual, the workers will select certain of the young and feed them royal jelly. That’s a substance that changes them, makes them morph into a different form and causes them to become queens instead of infertile workers. Do you know what happens when a new queen hatches out?”

Myra stared at the buzzing, roiling mass of insects, at the constant stream of worker bees coming and going through the long Plexiglas tubes. “What? The hive gets bigger?”

Blake tapped gently on the hive. A cluster of workers instantly moved to make sure he wasn’t a threat, furiously creeping on the other side of the Plexiglas. “No. What happens next is one of two things: the old queen fights the new to the death. One of them has to die. A hive can’t have two queens, two brains. That happens when the reigning queen is old. Sometimes she wins another year of life, more often she’s killed by her daughter, who takes her place as queen. But if the fight begins, one of them has to die.”

“What’s the other thing that could happen?”

Blake straightened up, ran his hand over the tube that led to the outside world, watched the bees leaving to find nectar, or coming back already laden with the rich source of their food. “The new queen gathers the workers that have raised her, and they swarm out of the hive. Some of the young have developed into males by that time—drones—and the drones have only one purpose: to mate with the new queen. One or more of them does, and the queen collects enough sperm to lay fertile eggs for the rest of her life. The workers usually don’t even allow the drones into the hive, and all the males normally die in a day or two. The new queen leads her swarm to a place where they can build a new hive, and the cycle is complete.”

Blake could hear the frustrated rasp of Myra’s breath. She was getting edgier, bitchier. “So? They’re goddam bugs!”

Blake kept his face deliberately blank, not reminding Myra that these bugs were his life’s work, the source of the substance she craved so badly. “I’m trying to make you understand. The powder that is the heart of the corrective comes from secretions of queens, or of her special guard, the worker bees that always surround her. Only she and they can create the stuff, and they produce very little, because they don’t need much. The pheromones, enzymes, and proteins in the powder have a weird kind of hypnotic effect on the other bees in the hive. The stuff produces the absolute blind loyalty of the workers. A worker bee will let herself be killed rather than disobey the queen. She has no life of her own. She is just an extension of what’s good for the queen.”

Myra turned to embrace him again. “I don’t care about that,” she said, her breath warm on his cheek, fragrant with some minty toothpaste. She nibbled his ear, rubbed against him, and whispered, “You said you could fix it so I always feel this . . . this yummy. How, Blake? Tell me how, do it for me, and I’ll fuck you, I’ll make you so happy you’ll think you’re the luckiest man alive.”

“Take the powder internally,” Blake told her. There. He’d said it.

She moved back and stared up at him, her chin tilted, her green eyes intent and greedy. “Internally? Swallow it?”

“Or inhale it.”

A slow, wicked smile spread on her face. “Snort it? Like coke?”

“I guess. It’s not a drug, though. It won’t wear off. You’d be changing yourself, Myra. You won’t need more than one hit, not ever.”

“Okay,” she said.

“But understand, please. This is forever. You can’t go back and—”

Myra unbuttoned her jacket and dropped it to the lab floor. She tugged her pale yellow blouse loose from her skirt and opened it, showing Blake that she wore no bra. She shrugged out of the blouse and let Blake admire her breasts, firm and shapely. Her nipples were swollen and deeply pink. “I don’t want to go back,” she said huskily, slowly, lazily stroking a finger over her right nipple. She licked her lips and gave him a meaningful look. “Lock the door.”

He did, and by the time he returned, she was naked. “Do you like my body?” she purred. “Not bad, is it? Not too bad?” She was running her palms over her belly, over her tits, over her thighs, stroking her dark, trimmed pubic patch. She took a languid step toward him, then another, moving with the liquid grace of a snake until she was only inches away. She drew him to her, and when he bent to nuzzle and kiss her breasts, she threw her head back and growled. “Oh, yeahhh, that’s right. Suck them, bite them! Oh, God, Blake, I want you inside me. But first could I have what you promised? Please? I’ll be so good to you, sooooo good . . . .”

“Okay,” Blake said, his own voice thick with lust. He went to the refrigerator and carefully took out the small vial of golden powder. Attentively, critically, he spilled about half of the remainder in a Petri dish. He took it back to Myra, who was fingering herself in her excitement, sitting in his office chair, ass forward on the seat, legs spread lewdly, swollen pussy on shameless display. “Here,” he said.

“Mmm, thanks, baby,” she murmured. She reached for the glass container with fingers glistening with pussy juice. “Is this all?” she asked in a pouting tone.

He could smell her, could smell the sharp tang of her lust. “It’s plenty.”

She arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Eat it or . . . sniff it?”

He shrugged. “Whichever, it doesn’t matter. It’ll work the same in your lungs or in your stomach.”

“Okay, then.” She bent her head forward, so that her brown hair fell softly to each side of her face, two dark wings. She pressed one nostril shut and took in a sharp, quick breath. She giggled like a teenager drinking her first glass of champagne. “It tingles!”

“Finish it all.”

“I mean to.” With a practiced movement that suggested to Blake she had been to her share of drug parties, Myra tilted her head, changed nostrils, and sniffed up the last few grains of the powder. “I don’t feel any . . . different. Except my nose tingles.”

“It takes time,” Blake said. He reached to cup her chin and tilted her head back. “Now . . . you asked me to fuck you?”

“Mmm, yeah,” she said. “Hurry. God, I’m incredibly horny. Only don’t—”

“Don’t come inside you, I know,” Blake said, thinking that would change soon enough.

He stripped and knelt on the floor his feet folded beneath his ass, and he pulled her down so she straddled him. She was wet and ready. His cock sank instantly into the hot grip of her pussy, and she gasped as they joined. “Oh, God, this feels so good,” she said with a gasp, beginning to pound his cock, pistoning up and down. “Play with my tits! Oh, this feels so good! Fuck me, Blake! Fuck me hard!”

His hip muscles clenched as he thrust into her. He heard the sucking sound of her pussy as she rose and sank, felt its rippling hot walls caress and clench his rod. He thumbed her nipples, making them even harder, and she shuddered. “Oh, yeah, suck my tits, baby, suck my tits.” She cradled his head, pulling his lips to her stiff nipples. He sucked and kissed them, polished them with his tongue, driving her wild.

“I’m gonna come,” she said. “I’m already gonna—ohhhhh!”

She jerked and quivered, her pale skin flushing pink in orgasm. “More,” she panted. She pulled herself off him, went down on all fours, and said, “Do me doggy style! Do me while I play with my clit!”

Blake rose to his knees, thrust into her, and held onto her magnificent ass. She drove herself back against him, her firm ass cheeks slapping against his belly and thighs, and he felt her fingers stroking and teasing her clit, working herself up to another orgasm. He pressed a thumb against her puckered asshole, and she shuddered. “Ohh. . . I don’t . . . I don’t do that . . . .” But as if she couldn’t resist, she raised her ass and thrust back harder, so his thumb slipped inside the tight ring of her sphincter, and she groaned. “Ohhh, that’s nice, so . . . so tight. . . nobody’s ever done me in the ass . . . maybe . . . I’ll let you . . . aahhh, I’m coming again!”

He pulled out, close to his own climax already, and she turned around, reaching for his cock. She lay on her stomach as he lay on his back, the cold floor hard under his back and ass, and she pumped his rigid cock with her hand, her eyes rapt on the purple head, and he was so excited that he shot his load almost at once. The hot white fountain of cum jetted up a foot or more, and Myra giggled. A loop of it fell back over the back of her hand, and she licked it off, her eyes on Blake the whole time. “Mmm, it’s so creamy.” She crawled forward on all fours, squirmed down to lie on top of him, and pressed her mouth against his in a hungry kiss. He cradled her, stroking her back, feeling the wild hammering of her heart.

They nestled together for a few moments. Then she rolled off him, stretched and said, “I have to get to work, lover. I’ve got some recommendations to make to the company.”

“All right,” he said, sitting and then standing up. “There’s a shower through that door if you want to clean up.”

“I don’t want,” she said. “I like to have your smell and your cum all over me. Clean up? No, I wanna get even dirtier,” she giggled. “But maybe later, okay?”

“Sure,” Blake told her.

When they had dressed and straightened their clothes up, she paused at the lab door. With some urgency, she demanded, “Are you sure this stuff is going to make any difference? I feel just the same.”

Blake nodded. “You can tell a difference in a few days. Trust me on this.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you soon.”

She unlocked the door, but he put his hand over hers, stopping her from leaving. “Myra. This weekend—do you want to come and spend it with me?”

She bit her lip and shook her head, the wings of brown hair swinging beside her face. “I’m sorry. I’ve just got so much to do. Rain check?”

He gave her a quirky grin. “Sure. Only one thing: Recommend that my research be fully funded. In fact, I deserve a nice bonus.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

He spoke more slowly, putting an edge of command in his voice: Recommend that my research be fully funded, Myra. Recommend a bonus.”

“Sure, lover,” she said carelessly. She gave him a quick peck of a goodbye kiss and was gone.

She still doesn’t know what the compound will do. I told her, but she didn’t listen. Oh, well, she’ll find out soon enough, Blake thought. His smile became positively wicked. The hum of his bees drew him out of his daydream, and he began the day’s work.

Myra felt wonderful as she rode the elevator up to the top floor, full of life, bursting with energy, and beautifully sated. Damn, she hadn’t been fucked that well in—well, come to think of it, never. She supposed that geeks saved it up. Blake probably practiced a lot when he was alone, she told herself.

Her receptionist gave her the day’s schedule, no appointments, just the first batch of reports to write. Myra sighed. Her job here would be wrapping up in another month, after her final round of interviews and reports. She wouldn’t be sorry to leave Cosmagico and go on to her next assignment. Blake, the creepy bee guy, might think she had the hots for him, but to her he was just a convenient prick. And a dickhead, not to notice how she was manipulating him. That stuff he made, God, it was like a drug, making her so aware of her body, of its sweet possibilities. Too bad its creator was such a dork. Still, he fucked really well. Maybe if the stuff she had sniffed really kicked in, she’d even give him a goodbye fuck, just a thank you for giving her the stuff.

She sat at her desk drawing deep breaths for a few minutes, feeling the lingering tingling sensation work its way down into her chest. Come on, magic bee dust, do your stuff.

As she switched on her computer, Myra realized that the very first report she had to write was on Blake Rogers and his projects. “Evaluation of Employee Revenue Potential.” She glanced at her notes:

Rogers has had successes in the past, but his work is slow and costly. Recommend termination.

She smiled. Oh, shit, dear Blake, looks like you’re going to lose your job. Tough, but those are the breaks, darlin’. I’ll cry for you in the middle of the nights, while I’m screwing some hunk. Myra bit her lip. Well, go on and write the report, she told herself. They won’t act on it for at least two months, and I’ll be long gone by then, I won’t have to hear Blake whine about his job or his damn bees. Myra pulled the keyboard out from its recess beneath the desk, and then with the rapid strokes of a practiced typist she entered Blake’s employee identification number in the system, pulled up the evaluation screen, and typed in his name.

Then the fill-in-the-blank square popped up, the one that summarized her findings in a few sentences, so the idiots who ran the company would actually ta

Myra typed, “Blake Rogers is a researcher who has worked with Cosmagico for eight years. In the past hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

She jerked her hands away from the keyboard. Her finger had become. . . stuck, as if glued down to the “h” key. Frowning, she backspaced over the row of h’s. Then she poised her hands to enter the data, to tell the bosses that Blake could be dispensed with.

Her fingers would not move.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered, feeling a rising panic. Her fingers began to twitch, out of her control. She watched them type, “. . . past he has been a major contributor to Cosmagico’s success, and his current project is more than promising. If given ample time and funding, Mr. Rogers will earn the company millions and will revolutionize the Cosmagico product line.”

“I didn’t type that,” Myra said fiercely. She tied to backspace. He fingers wouldn’t obey her mind. She fought the strange feeling for a few seconds, and then felt dizzy. She became dimly aware that she was typing again. When her hands stopped, as if they had minds of their own, she read the report in growing fear and frustration.

She had recommended that Blake’s budget be increased by twenty per cent, that new lab equipment be ordered as he required it, and that he receive a ten thousand dollar bonus for his services to the company in the past and for the promise of his new experimental work on a corrective makeup product.

“What the hell did he do to me?” she asked herself. She had to erase that nonsense, had to.

She reached to the keyboard and her traitorous finger hit two keys and saved the information to a distribution list. Too late to call it back now, the bigwigs would all have copies on their computers.

For a weird second, Myra thought she was about to faint. She heard a buzzing in her ears, gasped as the air in the room seemed to become hot and heavy, and felt her head spin. The feeling passed as abruptly as it had begun. She sat vaguely puzzled for a few minutes, then reached for her notebook. She had no trouble at all entering the remainder of her reports. By the time she had finished with them, she couldn’t even remember being upset with what she had typed in about Blake.

In fact, she was happy with the report as she had sent it. Blake needed the money, after all, and he needed the reward, and it was such a small thing to make the recommendation that would make Blake happy. Increase his funding, give him a bonus, give him the equipment and support he needed, all that made sense. Blake deserved it. Of course he did. She was only doing her job.

Only doing what she . . . had to do.