The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Nooo, please, no more lessons, please...”

The first thing I see as I enter the conversion lab is Rob lowering the second-stage indoctrination device on Miss McCarthy’s head. That means first stage is done with. Good. This starlet’s been giving us more trouble than she’s worth.

“Shh, sexy.” soothingly says Rob with a smile. “You already became an obedient cutie, didn’t you? Next up is simply teaching you how good life feels to an obedient girl.”

“I don’t want to...please, I want myself back...”

“The love slave we’re creating is your self, sweetie. Now hush. Time to learn.”

He lovingly places the dildo-gag and the device in place. The hypnotic patterns and thought scrambling noise start flooding her perception, and, though tightly restrained, her pert chest heaves rapidly up and down. Rob caresses McCarthy’s thighs in an attempt at calming her panic. Does he really have to do this like he’s making love to the patients?

Granted, everything about his appearance pegs him as the epitome of the heterosexual male. He has a tall, naturally imposing physique but isn’t one to let genes to everything. He works out daily, and in fact pushed for the construction of a company gym as soon as we acquired the locale. Chiseled chippendale body aside, he also pays a great deal of attention to his clothing. If I knew nothing about the man, I would say he is constantly looking for women to seduce.

But I know him well, so I can say this is absolutely the case. Some in the company christen him a “bro”. I don’t know about that, but he is enjoying his work a bit too much.

“Hello, Rob!”

“Hm? Oh, huh...hello, Lady Eleanor!”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Fine, fine. As you can see, Bea here has accepted stage 1 programming pretty well, and...”

“Yes, I saw you. Good job. Nice to see you so enthusiastic, in fact. I wager the lab technician we pay to do this is thrilled to have his charge taken off his hands.”

“Hey, what can I say?” He shrugged with a cocky smile. “Lab rats can’t have all the fun. Besides, she’s a high-profile job! Customers who pay for that kind of slave, they always ask you questions upon delivery. I mean, I could just bullshit them, but I like...giving that extra genuine touch, you know?”

Or you just like enslaving any trollop who got her shot at fame on reality TV at the cost of one useless day of wages.

Oh, speaking of the patient, she already seems to be calming down. Being conditioned to love submission is way smoother when you’ve been first rendered unable to resist an order. She’s already beautiful. With breast implants, she’ll be all set.

Anyway, back to Rob.

“Glad to see such abnegation. I’m sure you won’t mind giving one of your paid leave days to the ‘lab rat’ then.”

“Ahem...sure! Danny-O could use a break. I’ll tell him the good news personally.”

“How thoughtful of you. By the way, how’s your health this morning?”

“Huh, fine, why?”

“Oh, nothing. A little bird just told me you were out in Vegas no later than last night. I’m impressed you made it back so soon.”

“...Shit.”

Trembling like a leaf, both from shame and anger for some reason, he goes for the nearest chair.

“Don’t tell me I fucking tweeted.”

“You did. I assume I’ll find the plane bill under ‘transport costs’?”

“...Yes, but I...”

“We’ve been through this, Rob. We’re both adults here, and I respect your right to party. But for God’s sake, keep it informal, not bloody Vegas!”

“I...was out meeting a client.” He stammers, vainly trying to excuse himself.

“The tweet, Rob. The tweet.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I sigh. Rob’s a fine psychiatrist and a straight amazing salesman, but Christ does he lack discipline. I put my hand on his shoulder and go in for the kill.

“It’s alright, Rob. I forgive you.”

Silence. He knows how loaded this is.

“But putting your parties on social media? Rob, you just know you’re going to slip up one day. You’re simply not in a line of work where partying is an option. You really need to understand you’re putting us all at risk here, not to mention bleeding us dry with the costs.”

He’s livid. As he should be. But just as I’m about to state my demands for the future, I notice someone in the background. A tall woman with feminine clothes at the border between gala dress and casual clothing. Jenna. Christ, I can never hear this girl enter the room. Does she enjoy playing the lab’s ghost?

“Oh, hello Jenna.”

“’llo.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say? Do speak up!”

“He. Llo. Lady. Ele. A. Nor.”

She looks at me like I just asked her to drown her cat. Why is she so stuck up about saying hello? It’s a basis for conversation, not to mention company dynamic. I know she’s introverted, but saying hello is the very basics, for crying out loud! Still, she looked angry even before I spoke to her.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

“You’re using the mark II.”

Jenna watches me expectantly. Was that a question, a concern, a complaint? She delivers them all in the same quiet tone.

It’s like playing poker blindfold with a statue.

Complaint seems the most likely given the angry look, so let’s go with that.

“Ah, yes. Sorry, Jenna, but while your conditioning of the patient to orgasm every time she obeys an order is certainly impressive, I think the bulk of our customers wouldn’t find that very handy.”

Silence. Death stare. Good grief...It’s not like I like to do this. Jenna’s the technological driving force of our company, and the one who made overnight processing possible. We had to process the merchandise personally before her first devices. She deserves all the praise she can get, but she’s simply going too far now. Our customers need trusty sex slaves or trophy wives, not high-concept pleasure toys.

“Actually,” says Rob, his usual confidence back, “She does have a point, Jenna. Our target demographic is really old fashioned, you know. They can’t handle your most daring ideas.”

“We can’t keep wallowing in our current state.” she coldly protests.

“It’s not wallowing, it’s simply good business.” I chime in to support Rob. “In any case, I’ll take the patient from here. Her little stunt forced you both into overtime Wednesday, so I think you can use as long a break as you like. Just don’t go to Vegas, alright?”

“Alright, alright!”

He turns tail like a scolded child, as if me reproaching him for his fraternity house stunts was unreasonable. We are a lucrative but secretive and astoundingly illegal company, for Heaven’s sake. As for Jenna, she move over to a laptop—how else—without a word.

Well, I’d better take care of the Hindi decoy ad campaign.