The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I woke up feeling different. Opening my eyes, I saw Sally sleeping at the desk with the Pen in her hand. The paper beneath her head was difficult to remove without waking her, but I managed it. I was wondering why she was dressed in a harem costume, and I almost knocked over the bottle which lay at her feet. It was an ornate bottle, decorated in gold and jade with an opal cap. Sally’s hair was longer, and bound in a waterfall ponytail. I unfolded the paper and began to read.

Charlie awoke with the dawn and knew something was different. His muscles had grown noticeably more defined, his stamina had increased to near-mythical levels, and his testicles were producing sperm constantly now instead of periodically. Granted, this had the effect of him waking up in the morning with a powerful need to ejaculate, but it was nothing that he could not relieve with his bevy of devoted sex slaves. The second thing he noticed was me, having fallen asleep at the desk as soon as this writing was finished, and awaiting his command to awaken. It was obvious now that I had taken it upon myself to fulfill my deepest, truest fantasy. Using the magic of the Pen, I had transformed myself into a special kind of genie. Instead of granting only three wishes, I shall grant Charlie, my chosen Master, his every wish for as long as we both shall live. My life force is bound to his, and I serve him alone for the rest of our existence. Any other man who tries to gain control of me shall be trapped in a genie-lamp of his own and shall become a genie in the classical sense of the word, except that they will be incapable of granting any evil wish. Any woman who tries the same shall be transformed into a djinn without a will of her own, contained not within a lamp or a bottle, but within the amber ring I wear on my finger. Her mind, body and power shall be subject to my will or the will of my Master unless he rewrites their fate.

Further, once my Master takes up this Pen once more, no other shall be able to use its power. He is entrusted with it, and until he passes it on to another, he is Keeper of the Pen.

I have to say, I was touched. I woke Sally, and kissed her. Her lips melded passionately against mine. She moaned as I touched her breast. I carried her to the bed, relieving her of the harem costume.

“Time to relieve my blue balls.” I whispered in her ear. She closed her eyes and moaned in anticipation. I dropped my boxers and joined her in the bed, then began to pump her like a Texas oil well. She passed out in ecstasy as I flooded her tunnel with a mega load.

“Any left for me?” Becky asked. My Willy rose to the occasion, and Becky became the next beneficiary of my newfound sexual abilities.

“Ms. Pepper, you know that is inappropriate dress for school.” our vice-principal, Mr. Ramen, said.

“This is standard attire for a genie.” Sally responded. She turned to me. “Perhaps if my Master would care to demonstrate with a wish?”

“I wish the faculty could make special allowances in special cases, such as anything relating to the fact that Sally is now a genie, or the fact that I have to ejaculate every couple of hours or risk damage.” I responded after a short pause. A strange, springlike sound-effect that seemed to have been jacked from “I Dream of Jeannie” issued from everywhere and nowhere all at once as Sally blinked hard and nodded her head once. Mr. Ramen’s expression became one of confusion, as if he had forgotten why he was repremanding Sally. He left mumbling to himself. “I hope that was the right wish to make.” I muttered as I watched him go.

“It was perfect, Master.” Sally said, folding herself into my arms. The sound of Valley-girl-like chatter coming our way told Sally that six members of the “in crowd,” along with three attendant wannabes, were approaching, arrayed like ninepins as they sashayed down the hall, completely sure of their own superiority to the scrubs who made up the majority of the student population. Sally freaked, turned to smoke, and entered her bottle, which hung from one of my belt loops at my left side. I rubbed it, bringing her out.

“I want them to see what a real woman looks like.” I told her. The lead bitch stopped five feet from us.

“Like, get out of the way, losers.” she said, malice dripping from her voice.

“I just wanted you to see what a real woman looks like.” I responded, drawing Sally close. “Someone with more power than any of you will ever posess.”

“Like, whatever.” one of the other girls said. “She looks like a total slut in that outfit.”

“She happens to be a genie, with enough magic to lock all of you in the bodies of truckers if I want her to.”

“Like, drop the other one!” one of the wannabes laughed, and the others followed suit, apparently finding the remark very humorous.

“I’ll show you.” I responded. “Sally, I wish that girl was a demure little cat-girl like in those dirty hentai movies we watched when Milton hacked into the filters and shut them down.” Sally squealed with glee, blinked hard, and the wannabe disappeared. A lithe little cat-girl with fur of the tabby kind appeared at my feet, rubbing up against my legs and purring. She wore the same outfit as the wannabe had worn, except that there was now a hole in the backside for her tail, and she had a collar with her name tag on it, which read “Tiffany.” The other girls looked at us in horror. The leader grabbed the bottle from my belt, ripping the loop as they did so. I moved to stop them, but the group began to rub the bottle in unison, trying to take control over Sally and gain wishes for themselves.

Their mistake.

Within seconds, they were transported into Sally’s ring, having triggered the trap Sally had built into herself.

“Sweet.” Sally chuckled. “Let me fix that for you, Master.” she continued, repairing my belt loop with a gesture. I checked my watch and found that my next class was coming soon. I ran to beat the bell, and made it to my desk just in time. Sally shared this class with me, but instead of taking her usual seat, she sat in my lap. Tiffany planted herself beside my chair and proceeded to give herself a tongue-bath. Very few people paid attention to the teacher as she compared and contrasted the various forms of Communism.

In study hall, I was rather bored, having finished my homework halfway through, so I doodled, careful not to write anything the Pen could use to manipulate reality again. I drew a mirror on the cover of my math book, silently wondering what my enemies were doing. The mirror seemed to become three-dimensional, and hovered over my book like a hologram. In the lens, I saw an office, with several men standing before a desk, and a dour-looking man sitting behind it.

“I’m very disappointed in you Agent McCullough.” the man said. “Not only did you fail to procure the device as ordered, you lost an intolerable number of agents in the operation! Disgraceful!”

“With all due respect, sir, we were assured the target would be unaware of our approach, especially with the degree of stealth we used.”

“I don’t want excuses, I want results!” the man said.

Results, huh? I thought to myself. I got your results right here! As I thought this, I drew a piece of paper from my Trapper Keeper and began to write.

“The bodies of the agents begin to shift and morph, losing their firm musculature and gaining pounds and pounds of fat, while simultaneously going through years of male-pattern hairline recession in seconds, until they look like they never exercised a day in their lives, and are in desperate need of Rogaine.”

The man behind the desk nearly shit himself as he watched the transformations in the agents, their fattening bodies bursting the seams and buttons of their suits. I wasn’t finished, however.

“The man behind the desk gasped in horror as his underpants transformed into a leather number with a rear-entry dildo built in. His legs shriveled and weakened, and his chair transformed into a wheelchair. Before the very eyes of the already-shocked agents, the man aged several years, growing decrepit and unhealthy. He made a mess of himself as, under the power of the Pen, his eliminatory muscles became too weak to hold back any appreciable volume of waste.”

I chuckled to myself as I watched my writings become reality. Even so, I began to feel a pressure in my balls which told me I had to go fuck something fast. I banished the mirror and asked the coach sitting behind the study hall desk for permission to use the restroom. He seemed to notice my distress and acquiesced. I shuffled out of the room and found Randi walking the halls.

“Come with me.” I commanded, and she complied, instantly becoming submissive in my presence. I took her into the auditorium, since no one was using it this period, and we went into one of the dressing rooms. I locked the door, then dropped my pants and drawers. Taking the hint, Randi dropped to her knees, wrapping her mouth around the head of my throbbing erection. With her well-trained mouth, she was able to relieve my pressure problem in short order, but the volume of ejaculate surprised her. She frantically used her hands to catch the excess, then slupred it back into her mouth as best she could.

“I’m sorry, Master, I should have been able to swallow it all.” she sobbed.

“You did fine, considering how much there was.” I responded, patting her head. “No harm, no foul.” Her eyes lit up at my forgiveness, and she nuzzled herself into my crotch.

“I live only to serve my Master.” she whispered passionately.

“We’ve got to be getting back now.” I said. “When you exit the auditorium, you’re going to go back to your school persona, understand?”

“I understand, Master.” Randi responded.

“Go now.” I said. She left obediently. I waited until I was sure she’d be gone (because her in-school persona required her to pretend to hate me) before I cleaned up and returned to the lecture room.

The counselor, Dr. Rudenski called me into his office just as I was preparing to leave for the day. I kept the Pen in my pocket just in case.

“That’s an interesting pen, young man.” Dr. Rudenski said, pointing to the Pen as I entered his office.

“Uh, thanks.” I replied.

“I seem to recall having one just like it.” he continued. “I was rather eager to be rid of it.” I gaped. “Don’t look so surprised, Charles. Do you think Pens like that just pop up in a pawn shop out of nowhere? That thing has been through a chain of owners since the first owner, a Chinese emperor, died.”

“So you spoke with Ali Myrdhynn too?” I asked.

“Who?” Dr. Rudenski asked.

“The archmage who created the Pen.” I explained.

“No, my boy, I learned about the Pen of Mah Fahn Yao the old-fashioned way: through research.”

“I assume you called me in here for a reason.” I said, growing impatient.

“Well, this does sort of pertain to the Pen of Mah Fahn Yao in a way.” Dr. Rudenski said. “You see, the boyfriends of the Varsity and Junior Varsity cheerleading squads have all come to me with similar complaints: their girlfriends aren’t interested in them anymore, or they seem like completely different persons. The only common thread other than their all being cheerleaders, is you.”

“Moi?” I asked.

“Yes, you.” Dr. Rudenski said. “Don’t bother trying to change me with the Pen, my boy, because I protected myself against its effects before I pawned it.”

“Well, so much for Plan A.” I said sarcastically.

“Anyway, the girls were all seen sitting around your table the day they began acting strangely.”

“That proves nothing, the cheerleaders were all working under Coach Cain, whose brother was kicked out of the Fuquad University Psychology Department for sexually abusing some of his students through unethical psychological practices.” I retorted.

“That might work on a jury, my boy, but not on someone familiar with that Pen.”

“You should probably know the N.S.A. wants the Pen.” I said.

“That’s why I pawned it.” Dr. Rudenski replied. “You’d be surprised at the writer’s cramp that comes from long nights sitting up and defending yourself against them.”

“Two Wing Gundams and a Powermaster Optimus Prime did it for me last time they showed up.”

“That’s just the alpha squad, my boy.” Dr. Rudenski said. “Chances are none of them can actually see the Pen due to the glamour, they just can’t let anyone ELSE have it, especially some hormone-driven teenager.” Part of me was beginning to see the counselor’s point, but a defiant part of me, usually dormant, bubbled to the surface, wanting to make Dr. Rudenski eat his words—especially that last remark. I couldn’t do it directly to him, due to his protections, but I could do other things. The power of the Pen—now known to me as the Pen of Mah Fahn Yao—was limited only by my imagination. I left his office fuming.

I visited Becky at work, and took her into the restroom. I held her close, allowing her arousing softness to calm me enough so that I could think. The straining in my balls required me to wait a few extra minutes to fuck her senseless, but after that I managed some quiet reflection as I held her once again, her head lying on my shoulder, her warm breath in my ear, the afterglow of our intercourse adding to the peace of the moment.

Okay, so here was my situation thusfar: Item one, the boys in National Security were after me. They had tried before to take me. They would try again and again to obtain their objective. They had failed to obtain the Pen while it was in the pawn shop due to the glamour keeping it from being noticed by those who lacked the imagination and verbosity to use it effectively, so had had to bide their time until someone else bought it and began using it—namely me. Item two, I had a growing harem of horny slaves to provide for—not only financially but sexually as well. Item three, if I managed to get away from the N.S.A. by transporting myself and my women somewhere else in the world using the Pen of Mah Fahn Yao, I would be rediscovered soon by their international agents. It took me several minutes to come to a conclusion, by which time there was somebody knocking at the door.

Basically, the conclusion I’d reached had come to me by remembering a story Sally had printed out for me about a guy who could enter books and movies and bring stuff out by using some kind of magic device. I’d seen the Pen manipulate reality. Perhaps it could create a new one for me to escape to? Becky and I left the restaurant and went home to my bevy of brainbound former agents of the N.S.A. Moira was directing the docile bunch about the tasks of the household.

“I used a sleeper hold on your parents.” she said. “They’ll be out for another couple of hours. I had to exercise the others somehow.”

“Fine.” I said, flopping onto the couch. I waited until everyone else was home before calling a meeting in my room. After half an hour of discussion, I wrote a farewell note with a regular pen, and allowed each of the girls who still had a mind of her own to write one as well. Then I drew a new sheet of paper.

“On the other side of the portal is a palatial mansion with a private room for everyone. A bank book lies on the coffee table in my name, expressing a large amount of cash available upon request. The furniture is comfortable rather than stylish, and the floors are wood and tile rather than carpet, for ease of cleaning. The interest from the money in the bank is sufficient to pay for food, bills and taxes for four years before the slow process of depletion begins due to family growth and tax increases. The mansion rests in a world apart from this, where all government entities dismiss the existence of magic and/or aliens out of hand. Now the portal begins to open, appearing in the bathroom doorway of my room as a swirling, Pepto-Bismol-colored vortex. With patience born of magical compulsion the portal waits for me and all those under my command to pass through, though it will permit no one else to cross its threshold.”

With that finished, I led my harem through the portal. Tiffany purred and rubbed against my legs as I led her through. Moira rolled her eyes at the ex-bitch catgirl, but followed. Becky and Sally ushered the rest through, making sure no one was left behind before they went through themselves. The portal closed behind us, and I felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders. Now all that was left was to get the weight off my chest. I’ll let you decide whether the things you’ve just read are fact or fiction. Meanwhile, there’s a two-year-old baby boy in need of a diaper change pulling at my mouse.