The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“This can’t be happening!”

That thought ran through Shannon’s head over and over as the guards escorted her down the corridor. It had gotten louder and more insistent every time the situation took a turn for the worse—when her contact failed to show up, when she was caught by the police with a cache of offworld weapons, when the local authorities handed her over to the conquerors’ Colonial Oversight agents, and when she was brought to their headquarters.

This facility had been isolated and secure when it was a secret base where her nation built fighter jets. Now that it belonged to people who had rediscovered the stardrive, it was more sequestered than ever. For all intents and purposes, she had disappeared from the face of her world.

There was no escape. Not when she was handcuffed and shackled and accompanied by two guards. Even if she could overcome all that, she would still be alone in the middle of the invaders’ den.

Shannon noticed that her guards, both women, were a honey-blonde and a redhead with pale complexions. That was a fairly common look among Tarmellian natives—she herself had auburn hair and a slightly darker skin tone—but unheard of among the nut-brown dark-haired Kruzeli occupiers. More and more every year, her own people were giving away the remnants of their world’s freedom.

These depressing thoughts were interrupted when one of the guards nudged her to a halt. The other knocked on a door at the end of the hallway. “Reporting as ordered with the prisoner, Major.”

“Come in.”

Shannon was quickly marched into the office. Inside stood a tall, robust-looking woman in a Colonial Oversight Enforcement Division uniform. Apparently, she was the “major”. That meant she was probably one of the highest-ranking COED officers actually stationed on this planet rather than sitting behind a desk on one of the orbital platforms. Here. Taking direct custody of her.

She’d thought the situation was as bad as it could get, and now it was worse. Shannon willed herself to not sink into another round of telling herself “This can’t be happening!”

The major gestured. The guards guided Shannon toward a sturdy high-backed chair and sat her down in it. One of them fastened her ankle fetters to the foot of the chair, then buckled something around her neck and attached it to the chair back.

She didn’t resist. It wouldn’t do her any good.

Meanwhile, the officer—Shannon noticed a “Maj. Greta Maksutas” name plaque—reached into her desk drawer. Once the guards were finished binding her to the chair, she approached, holding a metal circle about twenty centimeters across.

“I assure you, the neural impulsor will not hurt you,” she said in a surprisingly gently voice.

Shannon let her place the band over her head and adjust in into position above her eyebrows. What choice did she have?

Once that task was finished, she turned to the guards. “Dismissed!” They filed out into the hallway and shut the door behind them.

The captor looked the prisoner up and down for a long moment. Finally, Major Maksutas returned to her desk and sat down, looking at her computer screen. Speaking in a cool, almost clinical, tone, she asked “Is your name Shannon Leromerr?”

“Don’t tell them anything.” she thought for a moment. For some reason, she changed her mind.

“Yes.”

“Are you twenty-two years old?”

“Yes.”

There were a few more miscellaneous background questions, and then the major began asking her about her introduction to the Tarmellian Resistance.

“Do you know Jason Grimarr?”

“Yes.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, Shannon thought that she shouldn’t be telling that to a Kruzeli officer, but it was too late now. It wasn’t really important. What was important was telling the truth.

“Is he your friend?”

“Yes.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Shannon paused a moment. She didn’t really think of it that way, but she knew what the question meant. “Yes.”

The interrogator glanced at her computer screen, then turned her gaze back to Shannon.

She knew that she needed to explain. Once again, the vague notion that she really shouldn’t do that fluttered through her head, then vanished. “I mean, we would go to Resistance meetings together, work on articles for the Tarmellian Freedom League newsletter... nothing wrong.”

Major Maksutas looked thoughtful for a moment. “When you say ‘nothing wrong’, do you mean ‘nothing illegal’?”

“Yes, nothing illegal. Nothing immoral either.” Shannon looked embarrassed.

“’Immoral’ meaning sexual?” Before the prisoner could answer, she continued, “Did you have sex with Jason Grimarr?”

“No.” Shannon was a bit more emphatic than usual.

There was a brief pause. Finally came the next question, “Nothing sexual whatsoever?”

“There was a little cuddling and petting. That was all.”

The major looked amused. “Did you have sex, or almost sex, or cuddling and petting, with any other boys?”

“No.” For a moment, it occurred to her that this was nobody else’s business and she ought to say so, but that didn’t make sense. She knew she was supposed to answer the questions, not complain about them.

“What about with girls? Are you sexually attracted to girls?”

“No.” Again, there was a faint objection from the back of her mind, but that didn’t matter. She was being asked a question and was supposed to answer it.

Major Maksutas stared at her for a long moment. Then, she suddenly shifted the topic.

“Were you transporting a crate full of pulse pistols?”

“Yes...” Her voice was a bit less certain. “I mean, I know that now, but—”

“Did you know what was in the crate before you were arrested?”

“No.” This answer was firm and definite.

“Who gave you the crate?”

“Jason. Jason Grimarr.” For a moment, the little voice in the back of her head resurfaced, telling her to keep quiet. Then it was gone, and only the need to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth remained.

“And who were you taking it to?”

“I don’t know. Someone who was supposed to meet me at 17th Street and Liberty Avenue in Morris’ Landing at 2200 on Thursday and say ‘Jason sent me’.”

There was a long silence after that. Finally, the major pressed a few keys on her computer, stood up, and walked over to stand directly in front of the chair.

Shannon looked up nervously. “You believe me... don’t you?”

“Of course.” Lifting the band away from Shannon’s head, she held it before the prisoner’s eyes. “The neural impulsor wasn’t letting you lie, or even withhold any clearly relevant information.” Matter-of-factly, she continued, “It would seem that you were being used as a stooge by the insurgents, and were tricked into getting in deep over your head.”

The expression on the officer’s face was unreadable. Before Shannon could take another look and try to find some trace of sympathy, she turned away and opened the door. The guards, who had apparently been just outside the whole time, returned.

“Return the prisoner to the holding cell while I decide what I’m going to do about her.”

Shannon stared, desperately trying to think of something to say that didn’t risk making matters worse. Nothing safe occurred to her before she was hustled back down the hallway.

She left Shannon waiting and wondering for about an hour and a half before having her brought back to her office.

“To be blunt, the simplest thing for me would be to let the law take its course. If I do, then you’re looking at five to ten years of hard labor.”

Shannon’s calm facade, not very convincing to begin with, collapsed completely. “Please! I won’t cause you any more trouble!”

“I want to believe that.” The major shook her head. “But even if you’re telling the truth—even if I use the neural impulsor again to make sure you’re telling the truth—you could always change your mind later. And how do you think it would look for me if you got arrested again after I let you go?”

She had no answer to that. The silence stretched on for what seemed like several minutes.

Actually, it was only little over one minute before Greta Maksutas decided that she’d let her prisoner sweat enough to move on with her plan. She suddenly grinned. “What I really want is to use the neural impulsor to make you take off your clothes and let me have my way with you!” she snickered.

It could be passed off as a joke in poor taste in the unlikely event that this incident came to the attention of one of the few prissy-pants Colonial Oversight officers who still tried to enforce the rules against “misuse of authority for personal gain”. But she knew perfectly well that her captive was in no mood for jokes, and was desperately seeking some way to sway the woman who held her fate in her hands.

It only took Shannon a few seconds to speak up. “Major—”

“Call me ‘Greta’.” It was a standard “good cop” technique. In this context, it was also a clear invitation.

“Greta... if that’s what you want, I’ll do it. You won’t need to use that neural thing. Just let me go!”

Greta smiled at her. “That’s a very tempting offer, Shannon.” Then she frowned. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t address the long-term issue. I need some way to know that you aren’t going to get into any more trouble.”

She looked thoughtful, doing her best to give the impression that what she was about to say was an idea she’d thought of just now, rather than a plan she’d developed months ago after discovering an interesting old report in the files.

“There is a way to solve that problem. It would be a bit of a risk, but I’m willing if you are.”

Shannon nodded.

“A few years ago, somebody did an experiment using two neural impulsors linked into a single control and feedback circuit. Apparently, the idea was for a couple to wear them during sex and share each other’s sensations.” She paused a beat, letting that image sink in.

“It didn’t quite work that way. The wearers were able to ‘talk’ to each other just by thinking about it—which is something we could already do with a simple commchip implant—but there were no other effects. At least, not at first.”

She picked up the neural impulsor headband, which had been left lying on her desk. Shannon noticed that there was a second one half-hidden behind a coffee cup and a pile of three-d jigsaw puzzle pieces. “It turned out that orgasm triggers a cascade effect. The first person to climax becomes completely subsumed into the mental link, and completely open to suggestions from the person on the other end. The suggestibility effect lasts for about thirty seconds—but the suggestions themselves are permanently and compellingly integrated into the recipient’s mind.”

Shannon knew where this was leading, but couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. As she watched Greta watching her, waiting for a reply, she knew that she had to say something.

“So... that’s what you’re planning to do?”

Greta nodded. “I have a copy of the firmware hack. All I need to do is reprogram these—she slid the second impulsor into clear view— and figure out what we’re going to use for a bedroom.” She smirked. “You did offer, remember?”

Yes, and clearly Greta had no intention of letting her back out of it. But... “You said there was a risk?”

“I meant a risk to me. Technically, I’m breaking a bunch of regulations and could get in trouble if anybody finds out and wants to make an issue of it. I hope you appreciate how I’m going out on a limb for you.” She paused.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. There’s also the risk that I’ll be the one who climaxes first. In that case, you could just order me to let you go.” It was worse than that, Greta knew. If Shannon gained the upper hand over her, she could totally compromise her and turn her into a mole for the Resistance. No need to point that out, of course.

Not that Greta was really worried about that. She was confident that Shannon’s chances of coming out on top were rather slim.

Shannon thought the same thing, for different reasons. “How do I know you won’t cheat? Take a drug or something that stops you from cumming, or just not let me touch you in the right places?

“Because then it won’t work. If either partner artificially suppresses their sexual responses, the cascade effect fizzles out. The commands programmed into the neural impulsors are variations on ‘don’t fight your partner; let her have her way with you’. That seems to be the underlying basis of the suggestibility effect.”

She looked at Shannon’s expression and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know—I could be lying about all that. But ask yourself: why am I even telling you all this? If I could work my way around those limitations, why don’t I just go ahead and do it? I’ll be blunt: if it worked that way you’d already be strapped down with a reprogrammed neural impuslor on your head and a vibrator between your legs.” She leered at the mental image.

“In any case, you don’t really have much choice, unless you want to just forget the whole idea, go back to your cell, and wait a few days for trial and sentencing.”

Shannon swallowed. “I guess you’re right. OK, then... if you win, you’ll make me quit the Resistance?”

Greta snorted. “If I win, I’m going to make you quit the Resistance and become my lesbian love slave.”

She held up a hand. “Don’t answer yet. Take a few hours to decide whether you’d rather get sent to my bedroom or to a prison mining camp.” She pressed a button on her desk, and a moment later the two guards entered the office.

As they escorted her out of the office, Greta offered one last bit of persuasion. “Don’t forget—you might win!”