The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“So how was Mistress? Was she cute? Did you last a long time? Did she let you inside her?”

I turned around and saw Ashley in bright orange skateboarding shorts and an orange t-shirt with “Awaiting Instructions” in black print, trusty orange skateboard by her side. We were on the top edge of an empty swimming pool covered with orange and black graffiti, with a few other skaters practicing their moves.

“I figured since you were still out cold and it was Saturday, I’d take you boarding with me. Anyone else, you’d still be off in la la land, spreading out for anyone who wanted the girl next door. You’re cute like that, but this is more fun. Uh, sorry about the elbow. I gotta work on my command implanting. You know me, always trying to get people to go too far beyond their limits.”

“I dunno, Ash, the 540 McTwist was sick, she just couldn’t stick it,” one of the other skaters said. Which, I guess, explained Ashley’s apology. And then I regained feeling in my arm- well, more like it shot feeling back into me. I jerked, saw the bandage, and then saw that I was in full boarder gear.

Ripping off the helmet, I yelled, “You had me do what?”

“Well, it did help you wake up faster, didn’t it?” she replied with a laugh. As I glared at her, she went on, “Besides, most of the boarders here are others we knock out to teach the moves. Keeps us in practice. And then there was the one time they got this one girl up in the air to get a good look at her crotch, and it turned out she was a natural. We set her free, and those trophies and medals we get in the mail? So not fake.”

“Okay, fine, but if I catch you like that, you’re going to be in an orange tutu before you can say ‘Yes, Mistress?’” I snapped back. Everyone laughed.

Ashley’s phone rang. She answered, and her expression changed like someone had flipped a switch and turned her personality off. When she was finished, she put the phone away and looked at me, her face blank-more like the Ashley I had hired back at Drew’s than the one who’d pranked me. “I have been summoned to show you our home,” she informed me. I’d been wondering when I was going to get a tour.

I followed her into the elevator and we headed down to the basement. “We will start at the beginning,” she said. For a moment, she animated slightly. “I’m not a big fan of this part of the house myself,” she admitted before shifting back to Encyclopedia Drone. “This is where we keep the Candies, although they are not here often, just enough to remain deeply entranced and trained in their various roles. These are the only ones who do not retain their personality, though we take care to only choose airheads and sluts to begin with-in other words, those whose personalities are not so different from the Candy template. They work in porn. The sub-basements are various studios for different varieties that we post online and sell. The rest of the time, they are used to pleasure the upper floors.”

We walked through the room, which was lined with individually marked chairs- they looked like something out of a hair salon, except that the hoods were clear and came down further, with a little screen in the front to pipe in explicit images. A few of them were filled, and I could see how empty each Candy’s mind was; I felt like I could see all the way to the back of each one’s head, with nothing in between but sex. Each one wore nothing but bright orange panties, except those who needed the matching bra for support, and each one had a hand between her legs.

A bell rang over chair 15, and a tall brunette who quickly took my breath away stood up and marched to the holding area. Ashley and I followed her. We watched while a group of makeup ladies- older than Candy 15, but still gorgeous- took her by the arm and did her up as a naughty cheerleader. One inserted headphones in her ears that must have fed her her new role, because she turned into a stereotypical cheerleader almost before I could blink. She skipped over to a different elevator, and as she came down, another came up- Alisa, utterly naked and absolutely exhausted. The makeup ladies took her in hand and took her back into the holding area.

“We will wait,” Ashley told me. We waited. A few minutes later, Alisa came out, nearly bouncing, and more bright-eyed than I’d ever seen her. She wore nothing but a towel, and soon that was replaced with the orange bra and panties as she was led to chair 28. The hood came down over her head, the images came on screen, and soon her hand was between her legs as she fell back into trance.

“Retired Candies serve the active ones, I take it? I know now you have to, but there’s got to be a better way than making them that mindless! And better businesses than porn!”

“You would prefer that they turn to prostitution? Sex is all they know. They eventually regain some sense and move up, and we never keep more than thirty at a time- which, as you will notice, we’re short of.”

“Don’t even think about it. I’m not dragging anyone into that kind of thing.”

“We never set out for them. These are the ones who get in our way. And we try to treat them well and keep them beautiful. We don’t abuse them or torture them- no B&D, S&M, or other dangerous practices. And we keep a male wing as well, so they can all have their fun safely, under our supervision.”

“Let me guess, you don’t visit it much?” I asked. Ashley cracked a small smile and didn’t even have to answer.

The elevator took us to the fifth floor, a boiler room full of explicit chats and phone sex. “Every fifth floor is a work floor, starting with the Candies in the basement- floor zero, if you will. The floors above each work area are residential, with services on the first through fourth floors. Here we have the Candies who have regained some identity, but not much beyond—”

“Being horny 24/7. I get it, this is the industry that keeps you fed and not working.” I was sick to my stomach and seriously thinking of ways to get out, both from this floor and this building.

“No, but that’s a common misconception even on the higher levels. All of us have paying jobs- some run businesses from here, some work on the outside, and of course our sleeper members are across the country in all kinds of positions. Those of us who live here work traditional workweeks, with weekends off.”

Oh, I knew how this kind of scam worked. “And all the money goes to Mistress, right?”

“Certainly not. We get our cut of the total profit, both through salary and commissions. The nice wardrobes, the motor pool- those are personal property, not gifts.”

“Commissions, huh? I’m sure you make a lot off that, whatever you’re selling and wherever you’re doing it.”

She almost flashed an Ashley smile at me, but her programming was too strong, and she said nothing as we hit the tenth floor. The elevator opened up onto what I’d swear was mission control. There were screens with camera feeds everywhere, and orange lights flashed in a pattern that kept everyone fully observant and barely blinking. I also noticed a few Internet terminals- trawling for more prospects, I guessed. This group was definitely not chosen for looks. A lot of them were stocky, a lot of them were butch, and all of them looked like they could kill me in five seconds if they had to.

“Floors six through ten handle security and transportation,” Ashley said, and I remembered Evelyn’s introduction- security and monitoring, short-range transportation, seventh floor. “They keep an eye on everything and everyone here so that everything runs smoothly and our people can be summoned instantly to any task. The lowest of these floors also handle menial tasks like cleaning and repairs. We’re in the main control room now, and the people we have here are ones we’ve saved through our craft. As a bonus, that keeps the community happy and out of our hair.”

“Gang members?” I asked.

“Among other… undesirables. The local police sometimes turn wayward women over to us for Mistress to straighten out, and while they think less straight, they do walk the line more narrow.”

“I’m sure you get good press for that!” I said with a laugh.

I noticed one of the security people dialing on a keypad, and on the screen above her head, a pretty blonde answered and went blank. “Room service, 243, ten minutes!” the guard bellowed, and the blonde took off running.

“Room service?” I asked.

“Someone found Jenny attractive. 243, so someone very high up in the ranks. You can do that for anyone, especially someone in the lower ranks. Just remember that anyone can do it to you, so be cautious in how you take advantage of the system.”

“Is that all these cell phones are for?”

“On the weekends? Pretty much. During the work week, they allow for communication both inside the building and assistance to those outside it- and yes, for general communication both among ourselves and with outsiders, but you’ve already experienced that.”

“Let me guess. I’ve got a creepy voicemail message about tasks?”

“We all have the same message, recorded on our first day here, after we’ve been switched to the Tangerine plan if necessary. It does more to scare off telemarketers than anything else.” Again, Ashley almost cracked a smile.

We continued to the fifteenth floor- another boiler room, but this one empty. “This is where you will work, at least until Mistress finds you ready. Many of us work here, telemarketing and handling service calls until an outside job becomes available. I work on the other side of the floor, where we make all the ads for any and all of our businesses. It’s a different and complementary skill set. As you’ll see on Monday, the money never stops.”

“Gee, getting people to buy things? I’d never guess you were good at that,” I drawled. I was going to get her smile back if it killed me.

We should have kept going up, but instead Ashley took me back to the garage, which housed the brightest, most orange fleet of cars, trucks, and bikes I’d ever seen. The orange Camero was waiting in front of me, keys already in the ignition. Was this some kind of test of loyalty? Then the phone rang, and suddenly nothing but the message mattered.

“Prove your craft by dinner and I will do you a major favor,” the text said. So a test, but not of loyalty. I got in and started the car. I never learned stick, but it must have been put into my head, because I had no issues as I headed out.

I didn’t know what kind of favor the message was about, but I knew what I had to do as I drove out into the bright daylight. The roads seemed eerily familiar, but the car had a GPS just in case my knowledge fell short. After a few minutes on the highway, I saw a young blonde on the side of the road with a flat tire. I’d like to say that I pulled over and helped her replace it because I’m a nice person, but I’ll admit that I was more interested in proving myself to Sarah.

I made sure the blonde got a good look at me as I replaced the tire as slowly as I could. She watched intently, focusing on my technique, so I used the tire iron as a focus point. It was a goofy idea, but I got it to spin around enough, and it worked. One test spin of the new tire later, I had her. I sent a reply message to indicate that I had proven my craft and ask where I should take her. The response was nearly instant. When I had the blonde follow me there, it turned out to be a gas station with a female attendant wearing an orange plaid shirt.

“I’ll take it from here, miss, thanks for helping her out,” the attendant said with a smile. She leaned in close to me and whispered, “Beginner’s luck, finding someone single and out of town on the first try. Nicely done, though. Orange suits you.”

I returned in triumph and parked the car. One look at my watch told me that it was dinnertime, and I headed up to the dining hall. I was one of the last ones in. There were a few hundred people there, but somehow it felt like a family dinner with a big sisterly family.

Dinner was delicious. “Mmmmm,” I told Ashley.

She smiled back at me. “We find chefs and cooks, too, not just stockers and lacrosse players. So how was your first day out?”

“Ended up fixing a flat tire and returning home hungry,” I replied, making sure my subtext told the real story. I realized that layering meanings into innocuous words was one of the skills Sarah had told me about.

“That was nice. My first day, I drove around for hours, and even when I did find someone to help, it took hours for her to give me a hand.” And a skill that Ashley had practiced, it seemed.

After dinner, we went to one of the lower floors to a movie theater. I guess it was a reinforcement film, because I couldn’t remember a second of it afterwards, as I went up to my room. But sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon, because I received a room service call almost as soon as I opened the door. Instead, I went to pleasure whoever had summoned me, sinking deeper into lust as I took the elevator down. I couldn’t think of anything but fucking whoever had called me, making her come, making her moan and scream for me.

Her door was open. As soon as I saw her, I tore off my clothes and ripped at hers. I didn’t know who she was, what she looked like, anything about her, only that I had to make her as happy as I possibly could. She pulled me close and kissed me, and I gave myself to her without any more thought.

The next thing I knew, it was the next morning. I could tell it wasn’t my room- more empty, less furnished, more like a hotel room than a place where someone lived. My summoner was already awake, stretching sleepily in her tight orange minidress. She turned around and sat down next to me, and only then did I recognize her.

“Alisa? What? How did—”

“Thanks for believing in me,” she said, her voice spaced out. Then she leaned over and kissed me with enough heat to make my hand start wandering. She might have been conditioned to know and want nothing more than a life of sex on one of the lower floors, but at least she was Alisa again.

Round two might have begun if my phone hadn’t rung and become the center of my universe. “Show thanks,” the text said. I put a robe on to go back to my room- didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea- changed into the outfit Ashley had bought right before she took me to Syracuse, and went downstairs to the makeup ladies.

“Tint my hair,” I ordered. An hour later, I reported for breakfast with reddish-orange highlights in my brown hair. Wearing my colors from head to toe, I felt more right, more at home, than I’d ever been. I’d found my place.