The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dressed in her best conservative business suit—navy blue blazer, crisp white shirt, navy blue just-below-the-knee skirt, opaque tan hose and navy pumps—Melanie waited for her job interview to start. She was in her mid-20s, slender, a little above medium height, with shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. While she waited, she took in the ultra-modern, ultra-expensive glass and metal reception area around her. Everything spoke of the wealth and influence of Syntec Nanomechanics, the most successful high-tech company in history. Even the janitors were rumored to be millionaires.

And she was here for her third interview.

Although she didn’t want to get her hopes up, she was sure that this was it; that they had decided she was right for the job, and that they called her back to negotiate salary and stock options. “Steady, there,” she told herself, “nothing’s happened yet. Just keep it calm and take it as it comes.”

The receptionist—whose lacquered beauty could have graced the cover of a magazine—said to Melanie, “Miss Rider? Mr. Russo will see you now. Please take elevator seven up to the 10th floor.”

“Thank you,” said Melanie as she stood and walked past a gigantic abstract mural (was that a Jackson Pollock?, she wondered) to the bank of glass elevator tubes. This was different: both of her previous interviews were conducted in a conference room on the third floor. She wondered if it was a sign that this would be the final interview.

At the tenth floor, the elevator opened into another glass and metal space. There were some bizarre abstract sculptures here as well: three featureless female figures, which looked like they were covered in shiny black plastic cases. The odd thing was that each sculpture was of a slightly different height and proportion, as if they had been cast from three different models. Melanie also noticed each statue had a short black cable that ran from the base of the statue to a computery looking plug in the wall.

Mike Russo was also waiting at the tenth floor when she walked off the elevator. He was about 40, handsome and fit, with dark hair just starting to turn silver and intense brown eyes beneath heavy dark eyebrows. Melanie wondered if being attracted to her future boss was a good or bad thing.

“Hi Melanie, good to see you,” he said, shaking her hand. “Right this way,” he said, leading her down the hallway to a plush conference room. The smooth glass and metal decor echoed the reception area. “Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a chair at the conference table. “Would you care for coffee or tea?,” he asked.

“Tea, please,” she said, “with—”

“—milk and one sugar, I remember,” he said, smiling at her. He brought the drinks to the table, and then sat down in the chair opposite Melanie.

“Thanks,” said Melanie, sipping her tea. “Wow, this tea is excellent; perfect, really.” She took a longer drink.

“Melanie,” said Mike, “I want to get right to the point. I think you’re perfect for this position. You’ve impressed everyone who’s spoken to you, your references are excellent, and your qualifications are an exact match for what we need. Plus, I think you and I would work well together.”

“Thanks!,” said Melanie. “I have to say, I’m very excited about this job! I was hoping that I was getting closer to being hired with today’s interview.”

“Well, you are right: the job is yours if you still want it,” said Mike, offering his hand to Melanie.

Melanie smiled, and shook his hand, “Yes, very much! I accept!,” she said.

“Good, I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you on board. I take it we can start talking about salary now?,” said Mike.

Melanie was caught a little off guard, but tried to recover quickly, “It seems like that’s where we are with our nego—, negoshee, negosheeee ...”

Melanie turned red and put her hand over her mouth. What was wrong with her? Why was such a simple word getting stuck?

“Shorry about that, I think I’m jusht a little nervousshh,” said Melanie. She put her cup of tea down on the table. She felt a little dizzy, and her tongue had gone numb and felt much larger than it should have been. She put her head down and tried to breathe slowly. What was happening?

Mike got up and stood beside her, laying his hand on her shoulder. “Are you OK, Melanie?”

“Nnnnnnhhhh,” came Melanie’s answer. It was all she could manage. She was slumped forward in her chair, her head hanging down. Her entire body had gone completely limp; her head felt like it was disconnected from the rest of her body, floating somehow high above the room. Even breathing had become, if not difficult, then a little weird.

Mike grabbed her chin in his hand, and pulled Melanie’s head up so she was looking at him. Her face sagged, her eyes half-closed and sightless. He pulled up one of her eyelids with his thumb, took a close look at her dilated pupils and said, “Actually, I think you are doing fine. Sorry it has to be this way, Melanie.”

Mike let go of her chin, watching as Melanie’s head dropped down, almost into her lap. Her arms hung down, fingers brushing the floor, and her legs were a little skewed, leaving her feet pigeon-toed, pointing at one another.

Mike picked up the phone on the conference table and dialed an internal extension. “Hello, Bob?” he said, “It’s Mike. I have subject 247 in the third floor conference room. Yes, she’s ready; the serum has taken full effect. OK, I’ll wait for your team here. Thanks.” He hung up the phone.

A few minutes later, a team of five white-coated men arrived, wheeling in a gurney which sprouted wires, tubes, hoses, and digital displays underneath its thin mattress. The men lifted Melanie’s unconscious form up onto the gurney, and began to swiftly undress her. Blazer, blouse, skirt, shoes, stockings, underwear; all were removed in a matter of a minute or two. One of the technicians attached a series of electrodes to her chest and forehead; another applied a dermal patch to her upper right arm. Others wrapped her body in what looked like a damp sheet: her legs were first wrapped tightly together, then her arms were crossed over her abdomen and her entire torso was wrapped.

One of the technicians was about to stuff a pair of ear buds into Melanie’s ears, when Mike interrupted him: “Excuse me, may I just have a listen to that? Thanks.” Mike took the ear buds from the technician and placed one of them into his own ear. “I just want to make sure that it’s my voice; I wouldn’t want her trained on someone else,” he said, handing the ear bud back to tech.

Along with the ear buds, the technicians fastened an oxygen mask over Melanie’s mouth and nose, and then wrapped her head in the same damp cloth as the rest of her body. One of the techs positioned a heat lamp above Melanie. Her cocoon dried out, tightening to a hard shell around her body. As it hardened, the cloth began to darken from a muslin tan to gray, and then to black. When the surface cured to a mirror-like shine, the techs removed the heat lamp.

“Where would you like her?” asked the lead tech.

“Stand her up in my office, next to the window,” answered Mike. “Move the plants if you have to. I want to keep an eye on this one.”

“Sounds good. OK, let’s go, everyone,” said the lead tech.

Mike looked at Melanie’s encased form as it lay on the gurney. He ran his hand along her smooth and slightly warm shell, from her toes all the way to her cheek. “Pleasant dreams, Mel,” he said softly.

Sealed inside her shell, Melanie dozed on, unconscious. The dermal patch on her arm released a cocktail of neurotransmitters and anesthetic, once every four hours. The drugs acted on certain centers of Melanie’s brain, leaving her in a highly suggestible state. The ear buds played Mike Russo’s voice, reading messages in an endless loop:

“... your emotions have drained away; you feel disconnected, like a neutral observer; your will has drained away, all control has been taken away from you; your critical thinking and judgment are gone, you accept all of my commands as normal and reasonable; you must obey all of my commands; you will obey automatically, without thought or reflection ... ”

Melanie’s mind was open and helpless; in her state, to listen was to believe, internalize, and obey. With each message, the neurons in her brain learned to fire in new patterns, creating new pathways with every passing hour.

During this brainwashing, the voice instructed Melanie to awaken from time to time. Upon each awakening, she was shocked and panicked to discover herself tightly encased in a hard shell. She struggled as hard as she could, but the shell would only flex a little. At those times, while she struggled, she felt a dull vibration on her rear end, as if someone on the outside of her shell was patting her.

After less than a minute of wakefulness, her conditioning would order her to go back down to the blackness, the next dose of drugs was released into her bloodstream, and the brainwashing would continue.

Time lost all meaning to Melanie: this tight cocoon was the only world she had ever known, nothing else existed. After a while, she was too weak to struggle during her brief periods of wakefulness. After a little longer, she couldn’t even remember that she was supposed to struggle.

Mike Russo sat in his office, contemplating the shiny black shell that encased his new assistant, Melanie. He had had her installed standing up on a motorized, rotating base. The motor turned, and her gleaming black form rotated slowly in front of him. He watched the reflection of the light from his office window as it played across the surface of Melanie’s prison, throwing every curve of her body into relief as the base turned. Her body was very thin; tall, but not taller than Mike. She was exactly what he liked.

With Mike was Bob Edwards, the lab director of this division of Nanomechanics. The two discussed Melanie’s case.

“So, are you ready to decant number 247 this afternoon?,” asked Mike, gesturing towards Melanie.

“Sure, we’re ready,” said Bob, “but it’s only been 28 hours.”

“And?,” said Mike.

“Well, I thought you might want to expose her to the full 36-hour course of hypnomine,” said Bob.

“And end up with another Bambi? Or Lola?,” said Mike. “No, I don’t want to repeat those mistakes.”

“Mistakes?,” said Bob, “I wouldn’t say that. Number one, they are gorgeous; number two, they do whatever they are told to do, blindly! That sounds like success to me.”

“OK, ok,” said Mike, “I just don’t want to have to hire another full-time keeper because my living doll won’t eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom unless she’s commanded to. Besides, if I wanted another doll, I would have written the job description for a swimsuit model, not a Director of Accounting.”

“I was wondering about that,” said Bob. “She seemed a little flat-chested to me, during the interview anyway.”

“That may be,” said Mike, “but this one has potential, probably greater than any of our other subjects. Aside from the personal care issues.

“We know we can turn anyone into a mindless zombie with enough hypnomine and conditioning. We’ve done that a few times now. But imagine the kind of control we can achieve if we can reprogram the main personality to cooperate with us? We’ll never be able to do that with our other subjects, because the hypnomine has damaged too many of their higher cognitive centers.

“This one, on the other hand, has had just enough hypnomine to make her compliant, but not enough to cause too much damage. With the right kind of training, I think we can achieve some spectacular effects with her.

“I think she’s going to be perfect: her tested IQ is higher than any other applicant; her profile suggests she might actually enjoy this kind of treatment.”

“Really?,” said Bob.

“Yes, she’s a natural submissive; obsessed with this kind of thing,” said Mike. “She told us all about it when we had her under during the interview.”

“OK, so you’ve convinced me,” said Bob. “When do I call my guys to come up and get her?”

“Now would be fine,” said Mike, looking at Melanie.

Within a few minutes, the lab team had arrived. They turned off the rotating base, and placed the plastic shell on their gurney. Mike accompanied the team back to the lab, where they swabbed the hard shell with something that smelled like turpentine. The shell began to soften, until the lab technicians could just rip it off.

Inside, Melanie looked pale and drawn, still asleep. They dressed her in a hospital gown, placed her on a bed, and wheeled her into a cell off the main lab area. There were three such cells, each one a three-walled room with a bed, toilet, lights, and a plexiglass wall behind which sat computer equipment. Each cell had bars that could be rolled into place and locked, to ensure the occupant didn’t escape.

Melanie was fitted with a more sensors: blood pressure, temperature, EEG, and pulse. The technicians removed the dermal patch from her arm, and connected an IV feed in its place. She was given a shot to bring her out of her trance.

Given Melanie’s condition, there was no danger of her escaping, but Mike ordered her cell bars closed anyway. He walked in to her cell, and sat down on her bed, beside her. He stroked her hair, waiting for her to wake up.

Ten days later, Mike Russo let himself in to the private lab he had allocated for himself and Melanie. As he ordered, she was dressed in a black lycra sleeveless leotard, with black velvet gloves that reached to her upper arms. She wore thigh-high sheer black stockings, and open-toed black high heels. She was standing on the motorized base again, posed as a mannequin. Her arms were held out at an awkward angle from her body, her fingers half-curled. She rested on her right leg, and her left was slightly flexed. Her eyes were open wide, looking sightlessly at the seam between the wall and the ceiling. Her mouth was closed, and her expression was an absolute blank.

Mike sat down at the desk in the lab, and stared at Melanie. He let himself dwell for a moment on how completely vulnerable she was, on how he could do whatever he liked with her. On a whim, he picked up a small box on his desk, and pressed a button. A tone sounded through speakers in the room. Ordinarily, a timer played this tone once every ten minutes, causing Melanie to change her pose, but Mike triggered it himself now, and watched to see what she would do. Right on cue, Melanie shifted her weight equally onto both feet, and bent her knees a little. She placed her left hand on her hip. She held her other hand, palm up, just in front of her chin, and puckered her mouth as if she were blowing a kiss.

“Wow, you have some imagination,” said Mike, even though he knew Melanie couldn’t hear him. “I think I made the right choice.”

He enjoyed watching her hold that position for three slow turns of the rotating base. Then, he picked up a thick black collar from the lab desk, walked over to the base and turned off the motor, and fastened the collar around Melanie’s neck. He attached a matching black leather leash to the collar, and pulled gently. Melanie’s arms went down to her sides, and she blindly followed wherever the leash pulled her.

Mike walked her around his lab office this way, sometimes pulling faster or slower, and watching her adjust her pace to match. He held the leash up high, and saw her go up on tiptoe to follow along; he pulled the leash down low to the ground, and watched as she crawled on all fours keep up. Sometimes he stopped pulling, which caused her to stop. Finally, he pulled her so that her face was pressed into an empty corner of the room, then he left go of the leash entirely, leaving her there.

There really was no need to leave her standing in the corner, but Mike liked the idea of making her do it anyway. This was his personal project, and he had promised himself he was not going to hold back in the slightest. He also liked the way her back was exposed to him. He reached over and pulled her leotard up tight into her crotch, giving her a sharp wedgie.

Mike turned to walk away, but stopped again to admire her standing in the corner. He slapped her butt, then grabbed and pinched it, before he forced himself to walk back over to his desk. At the desk, he grabbed a white plastic box about the side of a hardbound book. On the front were some knobs and buttons, and from the sides trailed a number of long electrical cables that ended in alligator clips or adhesive pads.

He grabbed Melanie’s leash again, and maneuvered her so that she was standing in front of a stout armchair, which looked like it was once an electric chair. The arms, legs, back and seat of the chair had heavy leather restraints.

“Sit in the chair,” he said. Instantly, Melanie complied.

Mike placed his white box on the floor next to the chair. Next, he took Melanie’s arms, and strapped her wrists into the restraints on the chair. She offered no resistance to him at all; she didn’t even seem to be aware that anything was happening. Mike did the same with her ankles, thighs, waist, and shoulders. All the while, she remained blank, passive.

After she was secured in the chair, Mike unwound the cables from his white control box, and clamped the leads onto various parts of Melanie: one on each big toe, one on each breast, one in between her legs. He stuck pads onto the backs of her hands, her thighs, her stomach, and her head. He checked the connections to the box, checked that the leads were all secure on Melanie, and took a deep breath.

“Here we go,” he said, and pressed a red button on the box.

Melanie blinked. Her posture, which had been bolt upright, sagged as much as it could against the restraints. She looked around the room, a puzzled look on her once-blank face. Finally, she noticed Mike sitting in a chair opposite hers. She noticed the white box he was holding radiated wires, all of which were attached to various parts of her body.

“What – what’s happening?” said Melanie.

“Hello, Melanie,” said Mike. “I know this must be something of a shock for you, which is why I brought you around. I wanted to talk, and let you know what’s been happening.”

Melanie flexed her arms and legs against the restraints. “What are you talking about? Where am I?” she said.

“You’re in my lab at Syntec,” said Mike, “starting your new job.”

“My what?” said Melanie. “This isn’t the –“

“I know, I know,” said Mike, “this wasn’t in the job description. Sorry for the bait and switch, but you’re too valuable to let go. And the work we’re doing with you is just, well, groundbreaking really. No other way to describe it.”

“What!! Wait until my lawyer hears about this! I’m going to sue you off the face of the planet!” said Melanie. Her hands were clenched in fists.

“Yes, well, you could certainly have done that, before –“

“Before what?” said Melanie.

“Before you renounced your citizenship. You’re officially a citizen of a small country in sub-Saharan Africa. I won’t bother telling you the name, because you’ve probably never heard of it. They have some interesting perspectives on human rights, to say the least,” said Mike.

“WHAT!?” said Melanie, her face now red with anger.

“You belong to us now, my dear, and it’s all perfectly legal,” said Mike.

“HELP! HEELLLP!” screamed Melanie.

“Scream all you want,” said Mike, “No-one will come. We’re in a sound proof room.”

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!! I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED!! HELP!” screamed Melanie, now shaking in her chair.

“Stop that,” said Mike.

“HELP!!”

”Stop, or I’ll give you something to scream about,” said Mike.

“HELP! HELP ME!” screamed Melanie.

“OK, I warned you,” said Mike. He pressed a button on the white box, which made a short buzzing sound.

“AAAHHHHH!!” screamed Melanie. Her body relaxed, her head slumped a little forward, and she started to cry, very softly.

“Sorry about that, but I did warm you,” said Mike.

“What have you done to me?” said Melanie, weakly, through her tears.

“You are in the middle of a most remarkable transformation. You are the test case for the first fully programmable human,” said Mike.

“What?,” said Melanie.

“We’ve dosed you with a powerful neurotransmitter, which we first synthesized here in Syntec,” he said. “Its influence is temporarily suspended while I stimulate other centers of your brain with this device,” he raised the white box to show her. “It’s a remarkable approach: brainwashing, hypnosis, chemicals, and even wires in your head that deliver precise micro signals to your brain.”

“What are you going to do with me?” asked Melanie.

“Well, at first, we’re going to train you to be one of our human robots. Let me show you.” Mike set the white box down, picked up the phone on his desk, dialed a few numbers, and said, “Send Lola in, would you?”

A minute later, into the room walked an auburn-haired beauty. She was dressed the same as Melanie: tight black leotard, black stockings, heels, long black velvet gloves. But her figure was simply astounding: beautifully proportioned, with prominent breasts, a narrow waist, and curvy hips beneath. She wore severe makeup.

“Melanie, this is Lola. Lola is one of our original successes. Lola, say ‘Hello, Melanie,’” said Mike.

Lola stood there, looking straight ahead. “Hello Melanie,” she said in a flat, expressionless voice.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Melanie.

“We’ve taken away her will and identity; she does whatever she is commanded to,” Mike said as he sat down in his chair. “Lola, kneel down, crawl over here, remove my shoes and start massaging my feet.”

Instantly, Lola dropped to all fours and crawled to Mike’s chair. Just as she was ordered to, she gently took his shoes off, and started rubbing his feet. Melanie watched in horror.

“Is that what you’re turning me into?” she asked, her eyes still transfixed on Lola.

“The problem with Lola, of course, is that we did our jobs too well,” said Mike. “She has no ability to think for herself at all. You, well, you’re different. First of all, you’re no bimbo,”

“Well, thank you, Sherlock,” said Melanie.

Mike pressed a button on the white box, causing Melanie to stiffen in pain and cry out. “No more outbursts,” he said.

“As I was saying, you tested very high for intelligence,” said Mike, “so we’re trying a different approach with you. Yes, you’ll make a good mindless human robot, but you can be so much more.

“Because of your innate qualities, we can do more sophisticated things with you than Lola here. Watch this,” he said, looking at Lola. Then he placed his foot squarely on her face, and gave a firm steady push. Lola was knocked down onto her side, her makeup smeared. She got up, crawled back to Mike, and kept massaging his feet.

“See?” said Mike, “she has no idea what’s happening. No matter what, she just keeps following orders.” He pushed her down again with his foot, and again she got up and continued her massage.

“That’s horrible!” said Melanie.

“I know, it’s horrible because we need someone to take care of her all the time,” said Mike. “Lola, stop rubbing my feet. Go into the corner, kneel down, and await your next command.” Instantly, Lola complied.

“And this is what you’ve done to me?” said Melanie.

“Yes it is,” said Mike, smiling. “This and more.”

“You monster!” said Melanie.

“Keep that attitude, I like it,” said Mike. “That’s enough for now, I think,” he added, pressing another button on the white box. Instantly, the anger drained from Melanie’s face, and she stared out, slack jawed and blank.

“Lola,” said Mike, “remove the white cables from Melanie, and then release her from the restraints. Kneel down and wait for more commands when you are done.”

Again, Lola did as she was told. Melanie showed no sign she was aware of what was happening.

When Lola was done, and Melanie was free, Mike said, “Melanie, get down on all fours and crawl over to me.” Melanie did. “Now, repeat this phrase: ‘Command me, Master.’”

Melanie replied, “Command me, Master. Command me, Master. Command me, Master.”

Mike smiled, enjoying the sound of his newest slave asking to be used. He thought he would oblige: “Melanie, crawl over here, open my pants, and get my penis out.”

Again, Melanie complied, all the while chanting, “Command me, Master. Command me, Master.” “Now, slave robot, suck me off,” said Mike. He sat back, closed his eyes, and smiled, listening as Melanie continued to try repeating her phrase with his dick in her mouth.

As his excitement mounted, Mike reflected that this was indeed going to be even more fun than he originally thought.