The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


Chapter 1, Marc Test Drives Jeanine

Mahop BioLabs produces docile, sexy little playthings from housewives and soccer moms. How do they do that?

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Legalese: Contains adult material. Anyone under age 18 must leave now. Anyone that might be offended by sexy or sexually explicit material or strong language must leave now. The activities in this story may be unrealistic, unethical and/or illegal, and they ignore the reality of sexually transmitted diseases—this is fiction, do not try any of this at home. All characters are over age 18, proof of age on file. Any resemblance to any actual person, place or event is purely coincidental.

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Tags: mc mf md

Author’s note: The comic/graphic novel version of this story is currently available for free at

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Jeanine Hammersmith was vacuuming. Not to ensure there would be no DNA clues left for detectives to find; nor to prevent exposure to a dangerous biological entity; but just because her house was dirty, and she usually vacuumed each Tuesday.

She was wearing jeans and a blue-and-white striped top, with her auburn hair in two simple plaits—imminently practical wear for when she vacuumed each Tuesday. Active, thin enough without being skinny, she was prettier than her non-enlarged ego would suggest—people rarely guessed that she was 40 with two college-aged kids.

The house especially needed cleaning this week, as she’d missed last week’s cleaning, having traveled with her husband Greg on his business trip to the coast. They’d stayed at Plaza on the Beach hotel. Nothing significant happened—she’d just walked the beach and gotten a little sun while he sat in seminars during the day. But it had felt like a vacation. Which were few and far between for Greg and his heavy work schedule.

She’d missed her children during the week—her son Bobby still lived at home as he attended community college, and her daughter lived only 30 minutes away, visiting frequently—but she’d been a strict mother as she raised them, and she trusted them not to get into trouble while she was out of town. And the week with Greg on “vacation” was—well, it was good for their relationship. Things had gotten “comfortable” during their 21-year marriage, but still, they loved each other.

When the doorbell rang, she sighed and turned off the vacuum. She hoped this wouldn’t take long—the house wasn’t going to clean itself.

It was ... her husband’s creepy boss, Mr Cassell. She’d had to lightly fend the man off at a couple company Christmas parties over the years. She didn’t want to make Greg’s life worse at work, but she was happily married and loved her husband—exactly what she’d told Mr Cassell. And he’d ... backed off each time. To his credit, she guessed.

“Mr, uhm, Cassell ... Greg’s not here.” Actually, he’s in the office right now, working very very hard for YOU, she thought.

“Ahh, I know. ‘Jeanine’, wasn’t it? Jeanine, I’m on my way to an important meeting, and I forgot to leave these papers with Greg. He’s going to need them before I see him again. Could I step inside and show you which ones are which, and you could relay that to him? It would help a bunch.” He gave his best imitation of a sincere look.

This guy was so much less smooth and handsome than HE thought he was ...

“Uh, sure,” she raised her brows and shook her head. It should only take a couple minutes, she guessed, and she could get back to vacuuming.

“Thanks a bunch, sweetheart,” he grinned and gestured for her to lead the way.

Jeanine led him through the living room and into the kitchen, where he could spread the papers out on the table and explain what she needed to tell to Greg.

He set the stack of papers on the table, took a deep breath, and stuck his index finger in her face. “Jeanine, you slutty bitch!”

She gasped, shocked that he would say such a thing to her! He was—She didn’t care if he WAS—He couldn’t—

Without even thinking about it, she moved her head and took his finger in her mouth.

Oh ... GOD!

Her eyes fluttered, then slipped closed as they rolled up. OHGOD! She felt suddenly ... sooooo content ... complete ...


Ohgod ... ohgod ... ohgod ...

After some moments, she realized she was sucking on the finger, not sure exactly when she’d started that ...

But it felt ... right. Really, really ... right. So she ... just kept sucking on it ...

“Yeahhhh, that’s tasting kinda good to you right now, isn’t it?” she heard him say. It ... wasn’t untrue.

“Nice tongue-work there, Mrs Hammersmith,” he said after a minute. She guessed she was ... playing with the finger with her tongue some ...

He chuckled. “I’ll bet you can tease the hell out of a cock with that slutty little tongue of yours.”

It was NOT appropriate for him to be saying such things to her. She managed to open her eyes and cast a glare at him. Still sucking on his finger ...

“Now, the question is,” he chuckled to himself again, “how badly do you WANT that finger? Hmm?” He started to raise his arm, and a half inch of the finger slipped out before she sucked harder to keep it from escaping, then stood on her tiptoes to follow the rising finger. All of which he thought was hilarious. She realized that whimpering sound she was hearing was coming from her own throat. So she guessed she ... WAS whimpering to keep the finger in her mouth. Strange.

After he laughed at her desperation another minute, he brought his arm back down so the finger was in comfortable reach. And she just kept sucking tenderly on it.

“Now, you DON’T mind, Mrs Hammersmith, if I lick the side of your face, do you?”

OF COURSE, she minded! She managed to cast another glare at him. As she ... sucked lovingly on his finger.

She rolled her eyes as he ... broad-tongued the side of her face ...

GOD, how creepy!

“Mmmm-mmm, you taste GOOD, Mrs Hammersmith,” the asshole attached to the finger she was worshipping spoke. “Like ... whore pastry, decadently stuffed with ‘Ohgod, fuck me!’ filling, smeared with some butter-my-ass sugary spread and drizzled with thrilled-ecstasy icing ...”

Ohgod, a poet he was not, she judged as she sucked on the finger.

“You. FUCKING. SLUT!” he sneered.

Her cheeks blushed as she kept sucking tenderly on his finger ...

“What a nice amount of padding back here,” he commented after a minute. “Hey, you don’t mind if I feel up these delicious butt cheeks, do you, sweetie?”

She made glaring eyes at him to convey that ohhellyes, she minded! He had just better not grab her—

But he did. And she did nothing. Except let him while she made love to the finger in her mouth. Strange! Very strange!

It—It—It did NOT feel GOOD! Him groping her backside! It did NOT ... in ANY way ... excite her. It didn’t. It ... couldn’t.

Her husband’s creepy boss was TOUCHING places he should NOT be touching. There is NO WAY that could ... EXCITE her!

But ... why was she feeling so ... thrilled?!

As he continued to feel up her ass, she let out a confused bleat around the finger she sucked. What was ... going on?!

“You have some junk in the trunk, Mrs Hammersmith. And it is NICE!” She let out another confused bleat.

“But I GOTTA get a feel of these boobs!” Another dark chuckle bubbled out of him. “You don’t mind, do you? Mrs Hammersmith? You filthy SLUT?”

She tried to make glaring eyes at him—she DID mind! Or at least she HAD TO mind!—but she was ... confused at how the ass groping had made her feel ...

She was ... having trouble concentrating on wanting him to not squeeze her breasts ...

He ... squeezed them. And her eyes fluttered. It did NOT feel exciting. Or good. She was just aroused for SOME OTHER reason. This was her husband’s boss. Feeling up her ... boobs. But she had this finger in her mouth, and she was too content, too pacified to ... quite care. About the things he was doing ... to her breasts ...

And NOW she was getting ... distractingly aroused. VERY distractingly.

She heard a moan and realized it had leaked out of her mouth. She needed to ... not do that. It would only encourage him. To ... feel her up more ...

“REALLY nice funbags, Jeanine,” he whispered in her ear. And—dammit!—it sent chills down her back. She KNEW he noticed the little tremble that rippled through her, and the goose-pimples that popped up on the back and sides of her neck.

He gave another dark chuckle. At how transparently he was turning her on.

“Hey, you don’t mind if we strip some of these annoying clothes off you, do you?”

She tried, but it was hard to get the gumption up to glare at him. Over something that she—well, she didn’t WANT him to do it, but she was finding herself more OKAY with him ... doing things to her ...

She just sucked on the finger. No comment.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

She heard the front door open then, and her son Bobby’s voice call, “Hey Mom, I’m home! I’m gonna run up to my room to log in, but I’ll be right down!”

She stiffened. Bobby couldn’t see her like this! Her sucking on the finger of Greg’s boss, like it was some sexual act. While the creep felt up her ass and breasts, making rude comments and—she loathed to admit it!—turning her ON!

She rolled her eyes to Mr Cassell—they needed to HIDE! So that Bobby wouldn’t SEE her! Doing ... THIS!

He sighed. “Now THAT’S a pain in the ass.” He squeezed her boob a couple more times, letting her get a little more sucking in. “Well, I guess I ought to let you recompose yourself before son comes down and gapes at Mom the Whore.” He started to slip his finger out of her mouth.

No! She hadn’t meant THAT! They didn’t need to STOP! Just to HIDE! So that Bobby wouldn’t catch them! They didn’t need to STOP! He didn’t need to take his fing—

His finger pulled out.

And she felt ... vacated. Emptied.


Like that ... hollow hole after sex. After two people have come together to become one, then ... aren’t anymore. That gaping hole that you try to cover with snuggling and mushy talk. As you try to pretend that coming apart does not leave you eviscerated, a half-person until you can come together again.

She heard a little whine, that she thought came from her, as she looked over, bereft, at him.

“Yeah, think about it, though,” he told her. “You don’t want Son to see Mom getting felt up by her hubby’s boss. Why he might think that Dad can’t get it up. To satisfy you. And so you have to turn to a real man, like his boss, instead. You’d have to pay for years of therapy for the little shit.

“Or, if he’s a smart little fucker, he might blackmail you, into letting him take the same liberties with Mom’s slutty little body. And you DO have a nice one.

“You keep that body warm for me, Jeanine. I’ll see you another day, when we have more time for fun. Fantasize over me until then.” And he left.

Yep, that faint whine she heard was coming from her own throat ...

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As Marc Cassell piloted his sleek black SUV along the winding canyon road, he ... just felt like gloating.

So he dialed Greg Hammersmith’s number at work.

God, he’d left a mountain of work for Greg to do, because—well, just because he could.

“Yo! Greg!” he barked into the phone when Greg answered, “How are those tasks coming?”

He let Greg go on for a minute about how hard he was working on them, then interrupted, “Yeah ... I need you to finish those things BEFORE you leave for the day today.”

He let Greg jabber a few moments, then corrected him, “No, that is NOT two weeks of work. I have faith in you, Greg. You’ll get it done before you leave today.”

Greg would be taking in a deep breath now to burble out excuses, so Marc cut things short, “Marc out,” and disconnected.

He gave a nasty little chuckle: Life’s unfair, ain’t it, Greg? PLUS, I just FELT UP your pretty little WIFE! And she’s bewildered now by how GOOD it felt to her.

Marc had put together a soundtrack for his life—he was the hero of his story, so that only made sense, right? Heroic theme songs. Those beats thumped out of the 5000$ sound system in the SUV as Marc made his way up the road, feeling positive about the world. All Mrs Hammersmith’s good parts had been just as nice to the touch as he’d imagined they would be—she’d been well worth the cost of having her done.

Oh, Mrs Hammersmith didn’t have any more clue what was going on with her yet, than she had any idea how it had been done to her.

But ... Marc had purchased her.

Okay, technically, he had sponsored her; he’d PURCHASED the treatment that effectively let him own her.

He’d had her mind reupholstered, a little more to his liking.

They’d fixed her up last week, folks from a company named Mahop. Mahop BioLabs—it was some tech spin-off from the university. With a very select clientele. Especially at the prices they charged. But then, they provided a service that few others did.

Marc had “rewarded” Greg with that conference down at the coast, and Jeanine had tagged along. Which Marc had actually hoped she would do—it gave Mahop 8 to 10 hours a day to recondition her while Greg was in seminars. They planted a few memories in her of her sunning herself on the beach, and presto, reconditioning with no questions asked.

He was looking forward to playing with his new toy. But that was enough for today—let her claw at herself over how she could possibly betray her loving husband like that. Let her make vows about how she WOULD NOT LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN. The really determined ones were more fun when they melted, anyway.

Meanwhile, Marc figured he’d play with another toy, that he’d had done earlier. He headed for the home of another of his employees. The best thing this guy had going for him was his cute little wife also. And Greg had her done two months ago.