The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“This strategy simply isn’t working” the old bald man said. The two younger men in the windowless, electronically screened, bare concrete room in Langley couldn’t disagree. After all, this was their third UN Nuclear Weapons Inspector who had gone missing.

“They must assume everyone in the UN team is a spy” said one of the younger men. “But how do they know exactly the one who has agreed to work for us each time?” asked the third. “However they are doing it, we are done using civilians” the older man continued. “It’s time we sent in a proper agent.”

“Which brings us right back to the original problem” prompted the third man. “The Inspectors are all professors in their field, an agent can’t just pick that up, he would be spotted as a fake immediately by their scientists.”

“Surely to god we can find just one guy between ourselves and our allies who might fit the bill?” asked the older man.

Three weeks later, in the same room, one of the two younger men is handing a brown file to the older man. “Commander Brooke studied Nuclear Physics at Cambridge” he says. “Because he was coming to Princeton to do a post-Doc, MI6 recruited him to keep an eye on us.”

“Jesus Christ” swore the older man, “bloody Limeys.”

“Well, he never got here” the young man pressed on, taping his finger on the file for emphasis. “Brooke was seconded between Universities as the technical expert on THAT British cluster-fuck in Iran. Off the record, my sources say that if it wasn’t for Brooke stepping-up, none of the supposed elite SAS guys would have got out alive. After that, it seems the newly promoted Commander discovered he liked his license to kill more than he liked his license to research.”

“How long to get his up to speed?” asked the older man, when he had finished thumbing through the file.

“Prof Kirk thinks 4-6 months” said the younger man.

Commander Brooke, his legend in place as Professor Longman, couldn’t quite believe he was finally landing with the UN Inspectorate in Pyongyang. Nearly five months of picking up his old Nuclear Physics studies in intense one to one work with Professor Kirk every single day, seemed at times like it would simply never end.

But now, all that studying would be put to the test. Professor Longman would be quickly found out if he couldn’t more than hold his own with the North Korean scientists. And Brooke was on his own. The secretive communist state would assume everyone was a spy. They would thoroughly search everything the UN team brought in. No chance to risk bringing in any of the usual gadgets beloved by Hollywood spy movies. He would be doing this old school.

Slightly surprised not to just be arrested in those first few days, Brooke simply relived his research student days, head down as Prof Longman, innocently going about his genuine UN Inspectorate work for four long months.

It was only after that passage of time that he felt sufficiently embedded, sufficiently familiar with his own watcher’s routines, to actually risk starting his real mission.

It was barely two weeks later when that mission went sideways.

He woke in his hotel room, feverish, confused, unable to stand, clearly poisoned.

Unfortunately for Commander Brooke, and the amateur UN spies before him, North Korea’s nuclear ICBM programme was only part of communist state’s most secretive scientific research efforts.

Naturally, Kim Jong Un’s willy waving parades of military might showcased by erect missile launches provided a useful attention grabbing distraction from their other areas of research. Leaving the spies of the imperialist dogs entirely focused on preventing North Korea’s missile programme from achieving successful atmospheric re-entry. But that had completely blindsided them to the significant advances North Korea had made in mind control and genetic manipulation.

The first had long been inspired by the CIA’s own experiments of the 1960s, with the aim of overwhelming the American and South Korean soldiers on the Military Demarcation Line, so that they would simply lay down their arms and welcome their superior North Korean masters.

The later was a much newer project, initially inspired by China’s successful if flawed lab production of the Covid virus. But this search for a more targeted bio-weapon had quickly spun off into unexpected genetic breakthroughs.

Like the ICBM programme, both still had a long way to go, but the two had recently combined for the most successful application to date. No-one suspected that the whole K-pop phenomenon was largely genetically enhanced North Koreans idols singing ridiculously catchy hypnotic tunes subtly planting ideas of reunification and submission in the heads of South Korea’s young.

Brooke regained consciousness in some sort of hospital facility, his arm full of tubes and wires attached to beeping machines. He felt like shit, but was at least still alive. He wasn’t restrained but was simply too weak to move. In the corner of the room was a TV which seemed to be playing sugary sweet k-pop videos on endless repeat.

For now, all he could do was wait it out while he drifted in and out of consciousness.

How much time passed he couldn’t say. He was sure at least one of the drugs was keeping him too weak to escape. What the others were doing was unknown, but he did gradually start to feel better, if somehow different at the same time.

By now he had observed things for long enough to be fairly certain all his nurses were exclusively female. And not just female, but also extremely pretty young things, just like the k-pop stars on the TV which he liked to sing along too.

He supposed he should be grateful that they all seemed very concerned he should get better, rather than torturing him. There were no mirrors in his room, but his whole body definitely felt odd.

When the North Korean Doctor finally came to see him, another hot sexy k-pop style star in a short black skirt and white lab coat, she explained they thought he was suffering from a rare genetic condition. “Your x-rays show an unusual girly bone structure” she told him.

She asked if she could examine him, and inserted two gloved lubed fingers in his rectum, noting this aroused a little sissy clitty hardon in response. “Humm, I think we need to do some further faggot tests to confirm the diagnosis” she said, largely to herself, making some more notes.

He felt a sort of permanent panic grip him after the doctor’s visit. They had found something wrong with him. He need them to fix him so he could complete his mission.

The k-pop videos started to change too. Most of the stars looked even hotter, exclusively dressed just in sexy lingerie, and occasionally one would kneel to suck the large cock of a military general, making his own little clitty go hard again.

The rest of his body seemed smaller, softer and more sensitive too, with little budding breasts, as if it wanted to join the k-pop girls on screen. The North Korean leader, Kim Jong Un, even popped up a couple of times, chatting and smiling with the pop stars like a slightly weird sweaty father figure.

They got him out of bed and dressed to go and see the doctor the next time. There were some clothes laid out, a set of uncomfortable looking grey men’s pants with a sweatshirt, or a cute grey skirt and blazer outfit like a k-pop schoolgirl. His body felt so sensitive that the later was an easy most naturally comfortable choice.

It was a different, but equally pretty young doctor, in a green surgical gown with stethoscope around her neck, and a reassuring radiant smile. “Your tests are positive” she told the apprehensive patient. “You feel different because you are not a man, you are a sissy faggot. But don’t worry, we can fix you. You can be just like us. You just need to be fixed!”

He felt a wave of pure joy and relief as another pretty North Korean nurse in a white hospital uniform took him back to his room. He had been diagnosed. They could fix him. “Faggots like you just need estrogen, hormones and feminizing sperm” the nurse told him, holding a rather large looking syringe.

After several days of injections and k-pop porn videos, the nurse consulted the doctor’s notes and announced the patient had been such a good girl that she had now been prescribed oral cum therapy.

“Are you ready to get that sperm?” the nurse asked, leading in a fit looking North Korean general, who was already unbuttoning his pants. The patient nodded submissively, and the nurse stayed to help for the first session, wanking the superior soldier’s cock into the patient’s mouth until the medicine was delivered. “Now swallow like a good girl” the nurse ordered. “You are making such good progress. Pretty little cocksucker. We will soon fix you!”

Every day after that, Bong-Cha, the Asian slut previously known as Commander Brooke, sucked off a North Korean army general, and gratefully swallowed her medicine.

If there had been a mirror to look in, the change would have been unbelievable. The genetic treatments re-sculpting her body into a statuesque Asian k-pop model with long dark hair. The on screen hypnosis files editing her mind to match.

Bong-Cha only remembered growing up in her beloved North Korean homeland. Her beauty had ensured her recruitment to the prestigious k-pop Intelligence Cadre, where she loyally supported North Korea’s superior soldiers by ensuring their sexual gratification. She had also tricked the British dogs into believing she was a double agent. She had fallen ill, but was being fixed, thanks to the Great Leader’s superior doctors.

At her next check-up, the Doctor rubbed her hard clitty in her pretty panties until it leaked properly, and checked on her sissy sperm treatment. “Yes, good” the Doctor said satisfied with her progress, “a stomach full of feminising cum. You are nearly there. Some more hormones, and a final course of ass injected semen therapy.”

Now each day, Bong-Cha lay on her back submissively, limp clitty floppy about, as a superior army general injected her with the warm alpha male treatment the doctors had ordered. She had fucked their heroic soldiers before of course, it was one of the main duties of those in the Cadre who remained at home after all, but this felt more intense, more real somehow.

Perhaps she was just out of practise and tighter since being laid up in hospital. But the first cock injection seemed to stretch her out painfully as she submitted to it. She could feel its power and throbbing veins insider her, filling her up, owning her so completely.

Soon though, after just a few more treatments, the dicks were easily sliding into her welcoming sissy pussy, stimulating her prostate until her limp clitty leaked with excitement. No pathetic little white imperialist cock could ever measure up to the superior North Korean alpha male, she thought each day, as the last drops of her sperm treatment dribbled from her satisfied pussy and ran down her limp clitty.

“Let’s review your progress” the Doctor said to Bong-Cha at her final check-up, looking at her clipboard. “Estragon levels up. Sexy Asian body. Tell me honestly, what are you thinking about right now?”

“Cock and cum” said Bong-Cha with a giggle.

“I see. Total bimbo. Very good.” said the Doctor, “And are you wearing your panties and a bra?”

“Of course” said Bong-Cha.

“Excellent, a complete sissy faggot” concluded the Doctor giving her clipboard a big pink tick.

That made Bong-Cha laugh. “No, I’m a girl!” she explained. Honestly, doctors, you’d think they would know better.

Before leaving the hospital, they bought Bong-Cha some overdue reports for her double agent persona Commander Brooke to sign to keep the imperialist dogs fooled.

On discharge, she was awarded the highest honour possible. An audience with Kim Jong Un himself. Apparently the Great Leader had asked personally about her welfare.

She waited nervously in a luxury apartment, hidden in an otherwise non-descript building block, as if awaiting an audience with a god. She just prayed he approved of her outfit. She was wearing white stilettoes, with skin tight pale yellow trousers, and an equally tight long-sleeved pale blue crop top, long auburn hair flowing over her shoulders.

When he arrived, he was dressed plainly in a grey t-shirt and black shorts, the very simplicity itself serving to emphasising his superiority and masterfulness. The trademark bowl cut mop of virile black hair completing an avuncular teddy bear look, whose strong warm arms you just wanted to fall into forever.

He seemed more than pleased with her. “Glorious” he muttered to himself. “A loyal sissified faggot.” He slapped her hard across the face. “You’re a good North Korean whore now” he told her, as she bowed her head submissively. “It’s time to show me” the Great Master added, and Bong-Cha obediently unbuttoned her pale yellow trousers, wiggling the tight material over her ass to show him her little pink thong.

Kim Jong moved round behind her, his powerful hands pulling roughly at her crop top to expose her perfect tits in a small matching pink bra, before moving down to her thong and pulling it aside so his hand could wrap around her freed limp clitty, as she squirmed in his strong arms.

She felt an odd heady mixture of humiliation, yet incredible horniness, as he roughly rubbed her little clitty and kissed her neck lustily. He laughed triumphantly when she quickly leaked impotently in his hand, as the horny pleasure of submitting to the Great Leader overwhelmed Bong-Cha.

He grabbed her hair hard at the back of her head and pulled her towards the bedroom.

The next day, Bong-Cha was further honoured to accompany her Master and Supreme Leader to the secretive North Korean space port for the next ballistic missile test.

She felt the same odd mixture of humiliation and horniness, as if she was a prize exhibit on show, when the Great Leader was greeted at the military base by his top Generals. But they all seemed to approve of her, judging by the hands that eagerly groped her tight blue pastel crop-top, paired today with a shiny pink micro-skirt.

While the Generals went off to a VIP viewing lounge, Kim Jong Un had insisted on joining the scientists in the control room. The hastily arranged ‘guest suite’ being a cleared area at the rear of the control room, with a sofa, separated by a simple half height transparent screen.

The scientists, all earnest young men in white lab coats, nervously tried to concentrate hard on their control terminals, while trying not to be seen anxiously glancing over from time to time. Bong-Cha knew these were, in part, lustful glances at her perfect sexy k-pop body. But mostly they were fearful of failing their Great Leader, and suffering the same grizzly fate as the last set of scientists whose missile failed to achieve re-entry.

As the large, powerful, North Korean ballistic missile steamed on the launch pad undergoing its final checks, on the control room sofa, Bong-Cha was busy preparing a big missile of her own for launch, her slutty lips wrapped around the Great Leader’s superior cock.

She felt the now familiar, and exhilarating, feeling of horny humiliation, knowing that she was sucking HIS missile in plain view of the lustful glances of the young scientists. She just hoped her good example would spur them on to similar heights of success for their Great Leader.

On the control room screen, the latest test missile blasted off into the clear morning sky, promising to rein death and destruction on their capitalist enemies.

Bong-Cha felt a powerful thrust of her own, as now on all fours on the sofa with micro-skirt pushed up around the waist, her Master’s big cock fucked her submissive sissy ass. With piston like thrust after thrust making her cry out, the rocket on screen pushed on into the upper atmosphere, just like HIS missile deep inside her was pushing higher and higher into her obedient guts. A fierce, excited, and relentless fucking.

The tracking cameras showed the ballistic missile slowing and arcing over for re-entry. The whole control room went quiet as the scientists all held their breath. The Great Leader’s cock pulled out of her, hovering expectantly above her exposed gapped open sissy cunt.

In the silence, the rocket slowly started to plunge back to earth, enduring the killer hear of re-entry. At the passing of some unseen barrier, the scientists started to cheer. North Korea had finally triumphed, and Bong-Cha suddenly, painfully, felt the successful re-entry of the Great Leader’s own missile inside her. He continued fucking her with all the renewed vigour and fervour of triumphant elation, as the successful rocket headed towards the ocean.

There was more cheering as the missile splashed down off the North Korean coast, and on cue, the jubilant Great Leader climaxed a warm splashdown of his own deep inside his broken, obedient sissy whore.

The heroic, cheering scientists, having escaped the firing squad of failure, filed around the transparent screen to have their hands shaken by the beaming Great Leader. Behind them, Bong-Cha was sat upright on the sofa, naked legs apart, with cum leaking from her well fucked sissy ass. It was a sexy sight, which the unexpectedly relived still to be alive young scientists were suddenly taking a renewed interest in, she could see from the tenting of their white coats.

Having shaken every hand, Kim Jong Un headed off to talk strategy with his waiting Generals, nodding towards Bong-Cha, and telling the assembled scientists that she would ensure they all received a hero’s reward.

She looked at North Korea’s latest heroes lustfully, and reached out her hands towards two of the boldest scientists who were already unbuttoning their pants.

There was a long, but rewarding afternoon and evening ahead for Bong-Cha. Many heroic, superior North Korean missiles were looking for re-entry. There would be triumphant splash downs in her mouth, ass, and all over her naked body.

But it was the least she could do to honour these heroes. To serve her Master and Great Leader. It was nothing less than her Cadre’s patriotic duty after all, and she loved to serve.

There was a resigned air of confused defeat in an airless concrete room in Virginia. Three men looked down at the scattered reports in front of them.

The report from their agent on the ground was categorical. He had successfully infiltrated the top secret ICBM testing facility and personally witnessed the latest test failure first hand without being detected. Yet the reports from various spy satellite data all suggested the exact opposite.

They simply didn’t know what to think.