The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Now that I felt Erika’s exercise class was OK, if a bit wacky, I agreed to an out-of-town assignment that would keep me away the following Tuesday night.

When we met on Wednesday for lunch, Erika not only looked fine, she looked FINE.

Erika’s wardrobe usually was a high-necked business suit at work and big, bulky sweaters in off-hours to try and downplay her colossal breasts.

But she was not downplaying anything right now.

She was wearing black stiletto-heeled shoes that showed off her shear-stocking legs so well. She was in, barely, a thin white silk dress that ended a few inches above her knee. A wide, shiny black leather belt that cinched her new waspish waist and made her figure look even curvier.

Up top, the dress wasn’t off the shoulder but it was hard to see how it stayed on as the neckline plunged right after the edge of the shoulders and did not stop until just above her belly button. Except for the nips (although very visible in the shear material) and the outer section, Erika pretty had her big babies out there for the world to see.

And thanks to the workouts, they were now so perky she did not even wear a bra. God bless Anya!.

Heads turned, gasps and a couple of wolf whistles greeted this sexy siren as she made her way to my table. This was my super uptight girlfriend?

“They shouldn’t let low-class guinnies and wops in a respectable restaurant like this,” she said as she took her seat and glared icily at her audience. “The nerve. Can’t behave when a respectable woman tries to look nice. Riff-raff. See if there is a decent eating club for our type around here Carter if this is going to continue.”

Yep, that’s my girl.

I gave her a big kiss, although what I really wanted to do was put her over my shoulder, take her home and bang the heck out of her.

“I must say, you do look really, really, nice,” I spat out.

“Well thank you,” she said as she smiled winsomely. “It was Diane’s idea. She said body image was very important and we shouldn’t be ashamed to be public with all the hard work we’ve done in class.”

“What did Anya think?” I said, trying to make some conversation, as really all I wanted to do was stare at her huge melons, now somehow even more scrumptious to look at.

“Oh, Anya doesn’t say a lot,” said Erika with a little smile (Had she been her milking partner this week?, I wondered.). “Her English isn’t very good yet. Diane sort of speaks for both of them.”

“I appreciate your more positive body image very much,” I said as I bent over the table and gave her another kiss. “But I guess tomorrow when your orphans case starts it might be back to the suits.”

“The orphans would enjoy it,” she said with a laugh.

Erika’s latest case involved defending an orphanage.

Back in the 1840s, a wealthy Philadelphia businessman had left all his money for the building of an orphanage he wanted to be the finest in the land. The foundlings would live in magnificent residences, have the best medical care and receive an education only the top private schools could hope to match.

There was one catch: only white, male orphans could be admitted.

Now, a Civil War and over 100 years later, the city wanted female and minority orphans to be allowed to benefit from his gift as well. Of course, my twin towers of justice opposed them.

“This will be a slam dunk,” she opined. “A man with his own money builds this palace for poor kids, he can have anyone he wants in it. This is America you know.

“I told the city’s really snotty Jew lawyers we’re going to let white girls be day students there, so if they were smart they would drop the whole thing instead of taking a beating in court.”

“Ooh, that’s against your usual ‘never give an inch to those cocksucking bleeding hearts’ strategy,” I busted on her.

“Actually, it was my idea,” she said with a wink. “I just left the orphanage’s board meeting and those guys were so busy looking at my chest, I don’t think they even remember agreeing with my recommendation.”

Erika then looked up from her salad, gave a big smile, and raised a clenched first in the air.

“Girlpower!”

That last word did it for me. Here I was on Tuesday night, pressed up against the corner of my office, neck turned to the far right, this time with binoculars.

Erika hated feminists (“That’s just a fancy name for a bunch of frigid dyke whore-lovers”), she didn’t understand why women could not make it in the world on their own just like she did.

Her new ‘barely there’ dress style and fighting to get girls invited into the orphanage made me want to check out another gym class – this time from the beginning.

As I expected, at 7 on the dot, 20 shapely, busty women walked in wearing body stockings or tiny shorts and a jog bra. They greeted Anya and Diane warmly and then listened to them for a few minutes, mostly Diane, before dispersing to various apparatus.

For the next 50 minutes, those 20 women worked like dogs. I could see the sweat flying off of Erika’s breasts as she moved from weights, to stretching, to the treadmill and so on with nothing but a quick swig of water between rotations.

All this activity came to a screeching halt at 7:50. Girls dropped dumbbells, treadmills were stopped, those in mid-stretch quickly uncoiled.

All had blank faces as they got up en masse and shuffled out the door. A minute later, they shuffled back in, all of them now nude.

They headed to a bench that lined the back of the gym. Their glassy eyes seemed to look for a predetermined spot on the bench.

Erika was right in the middle, No. 10. as her unencumbered breasts bounced up and then down as she sat. I wondered if that was good or bad.

I then noticed Diane and Anya, still in workout togs, on the left. Diane was pushing a cart that appeared to be carrying a bunch of something bowl-shaped and metallic while Anya had a smaller cart with a tray on it with some silvery thin things on it.

I counted four stacks of metal bowls on the cart with each stack holding five, one obviously for each blank-faced automaton.

Diane took off the first bowl-looking thing and looked down at the girl on the far left. I recognized her as I trained my binoculars. It was Stephanie, a tall, thin blonde who was the firm chairman’s personal assistant.

She just sat there with the blank stare as Diane affixed the bowl onto her head, which took a couple seconds of fussing. The metal bowl then began to have a light blink, then another and soon it was like a patchwork of colors bouncing up, down and sideways on the helmet

As Diane moved on to No. 2 in the line, Anya came up to Stephanie.

I now could see she had a hypodermic needle in one hand and a cotton ball in the other. She grabbed Stephanie’s right breast fairly gently and lifted it up as high as she could. She dabbed the cotton ball on the underside of the breast, switched hands to keep the breast up, and then plunged the needle right into the now-glistening spot on her breast.

Up swung my binoculars to see Stephanie’s reaction to getting poked with a needle in her boob. It was a bit tough as the bowl covered the top two-thirds of her face but outside of a slight mouth twitch, that I might have imagined, there was no discernible change, even when I saw Anya do the same thing to her left breast.

I did notice I was packing a huge boner and knew my night would be busy with a towel. Another new fetish of mine discovered, I sighed, needles injecting breasts.

When the pair reached Erika, I don’t know what I expected. Maybe for my girlfriend to be super girl and break out of her haze and deck them or something.

What happened was: Erika did not move a muscle as the bowl was placed on her head and the colors began to whirl.

Anya did break her routine a bit. She bounced Erika’s massive right breast (“My breast!”) in her hand a couple of times and then bent slightly at the knee before pushing the breast up and rubbing the cotton ball underneath it.

Then came the hypodermic needle plunging into the breast, and I knew the towel was too late. Seeing Erika’s head blinking doing who know’s what to her head, and her boob getting shot up, it just moved me.

As they moved on to No. 11, I went to my bathroom to clean myself up and clear my head as well.

I had to do something and save Erika, and right now! I could burst in there and take out Promos and Anya, maybe, and liberate the girls. Or maybe call the cops to break the door down and arrest the lot.

The lawyer in me then took over. What exactly would I tell the police?

“One of the most respected female attorneys in the city and an expert from Russia are conducting an in-house fitness class and all the people in it are doing so voluntarily and have no complaints but please come immediately, they got bowl thingies on their heads and are going to get milked too!”

Yeah, that’ll work, I thought sardonically as I went back to my post.

Nothing was happening now except 20 naked women had electric blinking metal bowls on their heads in a line with not a one moving a muscle.

This continued for 10 minutes before Diana and Anya showed up with the cart again and started with Stephanie. Her fingers flew over the bowl and the blinking stopped. When she lifted it off her, Stephanie looked, well, just like she had before the whole process had started, just staring straight ahead.

When they lifted the bowl off of Erika I again hoped she would be different then the others but my girlfriend just sat there looking into space too. I checked her large fleshy mounds quickly. I knew them better than any part of my own body and, thankfully, they looked exactly the same as before as well, despite each one of them getting shot up by a needle.

After pushing the cart now loaded up with bowls out of my view, Diane and Anya returned to stand in front of the girls.

Their backs were to me but I could see by their eyes suddenly in focus that the 20 class members were out of la-la land and watching Diane now.

Then I saw something I would never believe.

As one, the women reanimated and got off the bench and began pairing off for what I figured was milking time.

I saw Colleen join hands with Stephanie so I knew Erika would have a new buddy this session—or make that hated enemy.

Walking hand in hand to a spot were Erika and Ms. Jacquelyn Ungoduwu Esq., or as Erika usually described her to me: “that fucking jungle bunny cunt from Zululand!”

Jackie represented everything that Erika despised—and despise her she did.

Not only was she black but also she had been born in Africa before her parents immigrated when she was a child. She had worked her way through college and law school as a model before being grabbed by M.C.F.& F at a much higher starting salary than Erika.

Jackie looked like a younger, nicer Naomi Campbell and was more popular around the office with the workers than Erika, who they thought was a bit of a cold fish. Word was that she was being groomed to eventually be the first black senior partner, and the fact she was the only other woman under 30 who was on the top floor besides her rankled Erika to no end.

And on top of all that, Jackie dated white men on occasion, and made sure to flaunt that fact in front of Erika. Unlike many who skulked around to avoid her wrath, Jackie was not intimidated by Erika at all. When a white man came to pick her up, she made a point to greet him with a hug and kiss in front of Erika’s door.

She might have gotten a little kick out of it but what I got was a phone call and a 15-minute tirade about the benefits of colonialism and why it was a darn shame the South had not won the Civil War and ‘they should know their place.”

The place they were now was right in front of the window so I had a perfect view of the pair. While the previous time I saw this the feeling up part had been a bit tentative, this time there was little hesitation.

Erika had a smile as she rubbed her hands over Jackie’s body. She got a fiendish grin as she flicked the nipples of Jackie’s pert breasts. Jackie was having a high, old time herself, slapping Erika’s bubble butt and, naturally, groping Erika’s massive melons with the other hand.

This went on for a few minutes before the two suddenly went ramrod straight and got the blank stares. I looked quickly around and saw all 20 women were now human mannequins; only Anya and Diane were unaffected as they stood next to their selected partner for the session, now nude as well. And they looked darn happy.

The rigidity lasted only a few seconds. I checked my watch quickly and saw it was 8:15 p.m., time for the chain gang. They were punctual.

But the chains did not drop this time. But each pair did have someone peel off, it was Jackie for my team, and went to a corner of the room out of my sight.

They each came wheeling a cart with wires shooting up from the bottom and what looked like a wide block of wood at the top. Sort of looked like the wooden stocks I’d seen on TV shows on how they would punish criminals in the town square during Colonial times.

As I trained my binoculars even closer to the cart that Jackie had, I could see there were two large holes carved out of the wood.

Erika gave Jackie a quick kiss (“with tongue!”) before turning her backward and putting her hands behind her back. I could see Jackie’s fine, long hands flittering about Erika’s wrists and when she stopped, I could see Erika’s wrists were now bound with rope.

Erika and Jackie next went up to the cart and Jackie grabbed Erika’s left breast and gently guided it through a hole and it popped out the other side. She then moved to Erika’s right breast, needing both hands to get a good grip on the monster, and moved it through the other hole.

I sort of came out of my daze at this point. I realized my girlfriend was standing there with her hands tied and her breasts thrust through a couple of openings in a wooden block.

I had to save her, didn’t I! But from what? So I sighed and went back to watching.

The clear bottle was there at the bottom of the cart and Jackie was just finishing putting the last of the thin tubes in Erika’s breast. She then flicked the switch on the machine and squatted down to began eating out Erika’s pussy.

Erika began wriggling and I knew her body was thrumming with sexual energy. Her breasts were wobbling but the tubes were still installed inside her nipples. Soon, white fluid began streaming from her breasts and into the clear bottle.

Erika’s hips were now thrusting as she was obviously having an orgasm of major proportions.

I could see Jackie’s face getting wet from Erika’s juices and I grimaced a bit looking at Erika’s face, full of sexual satisfaction. I hope I gave her this much enjoyment.

I scanned the scene and saw everyone in the same state, lapping happily away, milk flowing and girls with their breasts in wooden stockades writhing in heat.

I’d seen enough as I put down my binoculars. My neck and back hurt from the position I had to get in to watch this. I was turned on, disgusted and bewildered.

I was going to go home, beat my meat like crazy, and figure out what to do.

I was at my desk the next day twirling a pen considering my options.

I didn’t know what was going on but something sure was. No way my homophobic girlfriend would agree to have sex with a woman, let alone Jackie, the person she hated more than anyone on Earth.

That was no ordinary bowl on her head, it was a brainwashing machine, scrubbing the thoughts of Erika and the other innocent 19 women sitting there while rewriting their thoughts. The rest was just some kinky, sex game to the evil brainwashers, Anya and Diane.

My theory was perfect, with just one problem, the whole thing made no sense.

How do you get 20 smart women in a state to sit there and be brainwashed, calm as can be? And to change their sexual preferences where they like girls now? That’s a pretty tall order for even the best hypnotists.

And the biggest question of all. Why?

As a senior partner, Diane Promos probably made more money than the 20 women she was controlling combined, so that was not an issue.

Sex? Anya and Diane each only got to have sex with one woman for a period of like 40 minutes out of a two-hour session, just like everyone else. They could get a heck of a lot more sex out of it if they wanted to.

I kept puzzling and puzzling when I noticed my favorite two body parts bouncing through the door.

Erika was in a black leather vest with a matching leather mini-skirt as she gave me a quick kiss but did not sit down.

“Hey, nice surprise, I’m going to see you in an hour anyhow,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s why I stopped by honey,” she said, looking totally ebullient. “I have to take a pass on lunch this time. Jackie invited me and some of the girls from class to try a Pakistani restaurant she says is just divine; and then there is a women’s law center where on Wednesday afternoon’s she gives free legal advice, might be a kick to go.

“I told her my trial record is better than hers so my advice is better anyhow. Hah!”

“That’s OK, I got plenty of work to keep me occupied,” I said as my mind whirled. “Just checking, but this is the same Jackie Ungoduwu who when I asked what you wanted for your birthday, you said it was Jackie chained to a ship headed back to Africa so she could be in touch with her ancestors?”

“I guess, ah, we’re buds now, water under the bridge,” she said dismissively.

“I got no problem with that,” I said. “It does looks like, tell me if I’m wrong, but this fitness class really seems to have had a big effect on you.”

“Diane and Anya don’t just tone your body up but your mind as well,” said Erika, with the same level of brio. “I know you can’t understand what they do but it’s all part of making you a better person, not just a better body.

“I’ve learned a lot about my sexuality and interacting with other people (“Yeah, right!”) besides getting in kick-ass shape. I’ll be a better lover and lawyer when all is said and done.”

“That’s fine Erika, you know I like the better lover part, that’s for sure. I just want to make sure they aren’t making you do anything against your will,” I said, trying to politely ask if she liked her breasts getting milked and having sex with girls. “I know how things are with ‘group mentality’ and how powerful Diane Promos is at the firm and how you would not want her mad at you.”

“You are such a lawyerly worry-wort,” she smiled as she bent down and gave me another quick kiss. “Anyone forces me into anything, I’ll do what I do when you get too frisky, slap them silly with my boobs.”

Erika gave a big laugh and walked out the door for her ethnic lunch with Jackie.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. My little girl-bigot was becoming a mature, open-minded woman. Brainwashing? Sex slaves? Now that I was calmed down it seemed totally ridiculous.

My next thought was, “If she gets more open, maybe she’ll finally let me try anal?”