The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I visited Becky at the restaurant on my way home. She was ecstatic. I had to remind her not to call me Master in public. She did her best not to appear to be playing favorites, conscientiously taking care of other customers in between visits to my table. She had also brought me a new story to read. It certainly wasn’t anything I’d expect a mind-controlled sex slave to write. I smiled and began to think that maybe I hadn’t completely eradicated her personality with the Pen. She had certainly taken my advice to heart, allowing the characters to interact with their environment, adding more description (and doing it without slowing the pace of the story) and paying more attention to the personalities of the characters. I wrote a few helpful hints here and there with a regular pen and placed it on the table for her to read when she had a break.

Absently I twirled the Pen around in my writing hand, wondering how I was going to get some extra money. After all, it wasn’t going to just be me and Becky anymore after she found our apartment. With the extra two dozen sex slaves, and only two paychecks, neither of them much more than minimum wage, it would be hard to make ends meet. I considered using the Pen to get Becky and myself better, higher-paying jobs. I considered writing up a windfall for myself that would hold us for a few years at least, even if I accidentally netted others. I considered a great many things, and it was only after my watch beeped to let me know it was nearly four that I realized I had been scribbling out my brainstorms. I have GOT to start paying more attention to what I’m doing. I thought. I left Becky a tip, and gave her a kiss on the way out. She acted surprised, probably because the manager was watching, or maybe because I was leaving so soon. I told her I had some things to take care of before she came over. She nodded, understanding. I made my way around the tables to the exit, paid my check and left.

When I got home I found a laptop sitting on my desk, all plugged in and started up and ready to go. It had a 3 ½″ floppy drive, a 100MB ZIP drive, and all the other stuff I’d been drooling over as I watched Mom hog the computer, catching her sleep when I wasn’t home, getting dinner started before I got back, returning to the computer, then coming out just long enough to get dinner out of the oven before it burned if it wasn’t done before I got home.

“Woo-hoo!” I exclaimed. Dad emerged from my closet and snapped a picture.

“I take it you like your birthday present.” Dad said.

“It’s not my birthday.” I replied.

“I know, but something always happens a few weeks before your birthday so I can’t get you the present I want you to have, so I decided to get it for you early this year.” I hugged my Dad and he left me to my own devices, silently shaking the Polaroid he had got of my little leap of joy (which was actually kind of like the ones the actors used to perform in the old Toyota commercials from the eighties).

As soon as the door was closed, I immediately set about personalizing my new toy. The first thing I did was use a little Pen power to cause a satellite modem to appear in my desk drawer. After I had installed that (fortunately it was Plug & Play compatible), I went online, amazing myself with the blazing speed, and managed to find an Anime desktop theme, which I downloaded. After I disconnected from the ‘net, I installed my new theme and deleted the old ones, .WAV files and annoying screen savers and all. I deleted Solitaire and Free Cell because I knew I could get a Solitaire package from Wes, including both games and ninety-nine more, which would take up less space than those two programs. I tried Minesweeper to see if I liked it, and eventually decided to keep it, on a probationary basis. It was almost six by the time I finished my digital cleansing, and I had gone from having just shy of one gigabyte free to just barely shy of four.

With Internet access and a word processor, I had the opportunity to do my report early. Long habit of working at computers with short time limits had trained me to type quickly and with a modicam of accuracy. With the help of about twelve websites and the Encyclopedia Americana downstairs, I finished in record time. I ran it through the spell-checker, and it only found two errors, and those were both proper names. I added my own name to it, then saved my work. It was getting close to seven, so I emailed a copy of it as a file attachment to a friend of mine in San Juan so he could beta-read it, also sending carbon copies to Wes and Sally. It was always better to have several sets of eyes looking something over, so that more errors could be caught.

The doorbell rang. I knew Dad would be in the garage, trying to repair the distributor on his car, and Mom was...well, Mom...and besides, it was nearly seven, so I went to get the door. Sure enough, my cheerleading slavegirls were right on time. I led them upstairs, and before I had even finished closing the door, they were disrobing. They presented themselves for inspection in a double-rank, one line of twelve facing the other. I shut down my computer so I could oblige them. They kept their faces blank and expressionless as I inspected them, getting a major wood as I did so. Testing their discipline, I tweaked, pinched and bit their nipples, but they remained unresponsive, save for a little extra moisture downstairs. I went to my dresser and got out the box of laytex gloves, noticing I needed to buy more before too long, and began a more thorough inspection. It quickly became apparent that many of them were holding back the desire to eliminate. “You didn’t use the restroom before you came over, did you?” I asked.

“No, Master.” they replied in unison, ashamed at having displeased me. I removed my gloves.

“We can’t have this.” I told them. “From now on I want you to defecate and urinate before you come over. That way we can get right down to business. You do want to get down to business as soon as possible, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master.” they replied in unison.

“Alright, then. I want you to form one line leading to the bathroom over there, and when it’s your turn at the toilet, I want you to sit down and empty yourselves into the toilet, flush it, then go into the shower and clean yourselves up, and clean yourselves good. The shower is big enough for three. That’s how many I want in there at a time. Use the buddy system and clean each other up.” I went into the bathroom to make sure the toilet seat was down while they formed a line. As soon as the line was formed, they marched in like robots in a production line. They were well-conditioned, requiring only seconds to defecate and urinate now that they knew it was their Master’s wish. The shower ran as the first of the brainwashed cheerleaders finished eliminating and stepped into the shower.

Mindful of people who might come in and see the line of naked mindslaves doing their business, I got out some of my extra fishing line and ran it from my curtain rod to the first loose nail I found in the wall. I pulled an old sheet out of the closet and draped this over the line so the two squads couldn’t be seen from the doorway. I went outside to the linen closet, almost breaking my neck as the rug skidded beneath my feet (like always), grabbed towels for the girls, and ran back to my room. I was just in time; the first of the cheerleaders was emerging. I had her dry herself off, then hand out towels to the rest as they emerged. My prick was harder than it had ever been before. I was on a power-trip and I knew it. I looked through my junk drawer to see if I had any of those FunSaver cameras left. Sure enough, there was a whole box with sixty of them in it. Each camera had thirty exposures available. I smiled. As the last of them finished her cleansing, I got out the gloves again and got on with the inspection. I was enjoying their thorough arousal almost as much as they were enjoying being poked and prodded and probed like pieces of meat. They were too well-conditioned to do more than grow more aroused as I moved down the line. I was almost finished when eight o’clock rolled around and Becky rang the doorbell. I took the time to inspect the last one, then removed my gloves and ran downstairs.

“Becky, hi.” I said. “Have you used the restroom yet?”

“Um, not yet.” Becky replied.

“From now on I want you to use the restroom before you come over, so we can get down to business right away.” I told her.

“Yes, Master.” she whispered, careful of anyone who might hear her.

“Use the downstairs restroom, then come up to my room...” I whispered the last part to her. “...and prepare for inspection.” I had a wicked grin on my face as I said this. Her face flushed with arousal as she made her subservient acknowledgement and followed my gesture to the last door on the left. I went back upstairs and wondered what I could do to make the moment perfect. I decided to have them wrap their towels around themselves, tucking it just right so it didn’t fall, and then slump their heads forward, eyes closed, face slack, arms limp.

Becky paused behind the sheet, closing and locking the door before disrobing, assuming the sheet was so she could make her own little presentation. I snapped a picture of her look of surprise when she walked around the sheet and found such a powerfully submissive scene before her.

“Slave Becky.” I said, pointing to the floor at my feet. She approached me, her arousal growing. She knelt at my feet, head down, eyes lowered, knees apart, lacing her fingers behind her head. “Shower thoroughly, then prepare for inspection.” I said, stepping out of her way. She climbed into the shower and started the water running. I left the room and went to the linen closet. There were few large towels left, but I managed to find one. I returned and awaited Becky’s emergence. I toweled her off with a tenderness that belied my commanding tone of only minutes ago. As I gave her the inspection I had given the cheerleaders, she quivered with desire. Juices flowed down her thighs as she stood there. Her eyes glazed with need. She held her arms steadfast at her side to keep the temptation to pleasure herself at bay. “You’re a good girl.” I whispered into her ear after I had finished, and wrapped her demurely in the towel just like the others. She shuddered with a little orgasm as I praised her. I called for the others’ attention.

“This is Becky.” I said. “She is my slave, as you are. She is also your Mistress. You are to obey her as you would me. You are to call her Mistress whenever you are sure no one is watching who does not live here with us, and Ma’am or Becky at other times.” I put Becky at the head of the first line, the one that was next to my bed. “Now, then, to the business at hand. You may have noticed the cameras on the desk, which I have divided into two piles, one of thirty, and one of twenty-nine. The thirtieth, or I suppose I should say the first, of the second pile is here in my hand. The picture I took was of her surprised face, and didn’t show anything truly offensive, so we’ll use it for soft core stuff. That’s why you’re wearing the towels. We are going to use up the film in those cameras taking pictures of you twenty-five in various poses. That means thirty-six pictures of each of you, or thirty-five and some group shots. You can use your own imaginations, but remember to keep the all-important vagina and nipples covered. A flash of areola is okay. The other pile we shall use for hardcore material. Pictures of you girls in full nudity and performing various sex acts with each other and with me.” They shivered with desire. I went right to it, directing my harem like a professional photographer, getting their expressions just so and their poses precisely thus. To keep track of who was who, I rotated them in order, placing them in a pose, snapping a picture, then moving on to the next one. I had taken almost forty pictures when the phone rang. I passed the camera off to Becky and told her to continue, using whoever came before her to snap her picture if her turn came around before I got back. I went out to the living room and answered it, glad I had not yet disrobed.

“Hey, Charlie!” Sally said as I picked up the phone.

“Hey, Sally!” I replied, already picturing her auburn locks in my mind. I had once had the biggest crush on her, but was too shy to admit it. That was before desire for Becky had driven her out of my mind. Now my thoughts were on haremizing, and I found my mind drifting over her sensuous curves, the firm young body I had caught a view of one evening when I had been writing by the lake, and she had gone skinny-dipping, the always-smiling lips. The Pen dug into my back pocket, threatening to put a hole in the bottom and escape. I pulled it out and twirled it in my hand.

“So, how’re things going with the Pen?” she asked.

“Just fine.” I said. “I had a couple of accidents, me and my scribbly self.” I let a bit of a smirk creep into my usually shy voice.

“Oh? What kind of ‘accidents?’” Sally asked, her eternally curious nature getting the better of her. Numerous people who had thought their secrets safe had ended up being written into characters in her unpublished stories—a character trait here, a situation there, nothing blatantly obvious except to the person being portrayed.

“Oh, well, first there was when I accidentally turned that pretty waitress, Becky, into my love slave with a flirty note.” I said.

“Becky? Didn’t she drop out last year because she missed too many days and she was going to fail?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” I said.

“Then what?” Sally asked.

“Well, I accidentally turned the Varsity and JV cheerleading squads into brainwashed sex slaves during an MC story brainstorming session.”

“Oooh, you’re bad.” Sally said, teasingly. “No one would ever think of brainwashing the cheerleaders.”

“Sarcasm not appreciated, hon.” I said, keeping a smile in my voice so she knew I was playing...so she wouldn’t freak and think I would use the Pen to get revenge on her.

“So then what happened?”

“I was brainstorming ways to make ends meet. You know, keeping twenty-five sex slaves isn’t cheap.” I said. “And I kind of wrote everything down.”

“Is that it?” Sally asked. “Man, I’d be writing MC stories right out the wazoo. Bill Gates would suddenly feel compelled to donate his money to one Sally Pepper. Men and women would be jumping out of television screens to become my devoted love-slaves.” There was a pause at both ends. I hadn’t known Sally was bi. “Did...did I say women?”

“That’s what it sounded like from over here.” I said.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” she said, panicked.

“No one will find out from me.” I promised. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, really. At least I know you understand when I talk about some of certain women’s more attractive qualities.”

“Charlie, please, let’s not talk about this over the phone.” Sally whispered.

“Alright. Not another word from me.” I promised.

“If Daddy knew, he’d do his damnedest to beat the Devil out of me.” she whispered.

“Who’s home?” I asked.

“Just me and Mom.” she said. I scribbled out a quick paragraph to help keep Sally’s mother from divulging any of her secrets to the man of the house, then crammed the paper into my left pocket.

“So anyway, you were saying men would be jumping out of the television screen to become your devoted love-slaves.” I prompted. She sighed with relief and continued. As she spoke, I began to write, choosing my words carefully. She paused, mid-sentence.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I...please...” She paused. “Can...can I come over and talk with you?” she asked, as I wrote the dialogue, complete with the pause.

“You know you can.” I said.

“This isn’t a very nice thing to do.” Sally said, hanging up. She would be over soon, and we would have a nice heart-to-heart. I wouldn’t use the pen to control her any further unless absolutely necessary. I just felt she needed to talk.