The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

All of which, I realised too late, just came out as the decidedly non-stochastic: “Want to. Play game. Please!”

No! No! But the word wouldn’t form on my lips. I wrestled with it, but nothing came. The crowd whooped in approval. I stamped my foot in frustration. There was no way out now, and this was what they’d come to see.

And inevitably, the next box I picked was a Bimbo box too.

‘Action’ was the category: strictly, a physical concept with the dimensions of energy and time. I can’t even remember the choices the audience was given; I was in a daze by now, angry with myself, and that this stupid vocabulary had trapped me into this game. It took Jack to snap me out of it: “So Emma. Here comes the career change. The audience has decided that you will become… an actress. Lights, camera, action! I can’t say I’m surprised, with that kind of figure! And what better way to spend your energy and time…”

An actress? What did I know about acting? The Collar of Fate throbbed warmly, and things became suddenly clearer. Whatever cunning mechanism it used to change things had affected something in my mind. It was like a false memory, but it seemed so real as to be incontrovertible. I remembered—as if it was only yesterday—in fact it was yesterday!—being on set, auditioning, in a rented house, across town. The two guys involved had big plans for me, the blue haired bimbo, as they called me. And tomorrow, I had to be on set by ten a.m. for the start of filming.

The script was clear in my mind; it didn’t involve too many words, thankfully. I was playing a Swedish maid—I could picture the uniform now—looking after a visiting party of male guests, and most of my lines were along the lines of ‘yes, sir’, ‘please, sir’, ‘harder, harder’ and so on.

It was a strong plotline, in my sudden newly-fixed opinion, to which I could bring real depth and complexity of characterisation, and I realised I was looking forward to it. This could be the first step on the ladder to stardom, I thought, and I was excited. I’d be able to do my stuff, and who knew what might result? It would be such fun!

Wait: some part of me reasoned that this just was the Collar talking. I could do what I wanted. I had free will. I had choices. I did not have to go to the set tomorrow; I did not have to strip and bend over for these men, like some passive bimbo; I did not have to open my mouth for them and let them film me doing what they told me to do. There were choices.

But the thought of not going to the rented house tomorrow filled me with a sudden unbearable, irrational terror. My heart was thumping in my chest. I actually started hyperventilating at the thought of not pursuing this—what?—this golden opportunity. In that instant I knew exactly what would happen tomorrow. The brief panic subsided.

Another insight. It—the Collar of Fate—could upload whole chunks of mental activity; memories, desires, compulsions, a whole programme at once. It must be working at machine code level in the mind, across a hundred trillion neural connections. But again, this would be trivial if the corollaries of my putative proof of Reimann held. Any code could be cracked, if the equation worked. I moved a few terms around experimentally, watching for inconsistencies. There seemed to be none.

My reverie was interrupted by Jack. “So Emma, are you looking forward to your new career?”

“Yes sir,” I said automatically, rehearsing. Reimann aside, some compulsion in me determined that my performance would be perfect, tomorrow.

But as I picked the final box of the round, I could feel my luck running out.

“Compulsion! One of our house favourites. Audience, our mathematical theme is ‘topology‘. Your options are: A, homogeneity; B, uniform; C, indiscrete—yes, a play on words there, I think; and D, embedded objects. Audience, choose now.”

The result was not even close. I sensed the audience knew exactly what they were doing, with this one.

“Embedded objects! What can it mean?” said Jack, archly. The crowd laughed. Jack knew, I knew, and I thought I knew too.

The Collar of Fate buzzed and hummed.

Suddenly there was a new feeling in my tight and pouty lips; a tingle like electricity. Automatically, I licked them, and the feeling was exquisite. I couldn’t help it; I brought a finger to my mouth and began to suck on it. It was so good to have something there. I think I must have closed my eyes in pleasure, there in the studio. The audience were laughing at me, now, but I didn’t care.

“An embedded object, ladies and gentlemen, is something that is injected into and integral to another object, whilst maintaining its, ah, topological distinctness whilst being mapped. Put another way,” said Jack with a grin, “once in, it stays in!”

I knew that already, of course. But I couldn’t seem to help myself, and my sexystupid purr mumbled: “Mmm. Emma’s hungry.” Oh God.

“Emma? Are you still with us?” said Jack. With some effort I pulled my finger out of my mouth. My lips yearned to be filled, embedded with something, to be wrapped around a big, juicy—

“—why don’t you try embedding this!” Jack handed me what looked like a large dildo, and that was exactly what it was, in fine anatomical detail.

“Mmm,” I couldn’t help purring, as I raised it to my welcoming lips. Sucking on its wonderful, irresistible shaft, I burned with shame. I never wanted to pull it out. It was mapped to my lips, now. But then I thought of my day’s filming tomorrow, and the Reimann Hypothesis, and I knew that all was as it should be, and all was right in the world.

The dildo thing did have a calming effect, in one way, but the gentle suck of my permapout was arousing me in other ways, and I was thinking about other embedded objects now, and where they too might be mapped. I tried to concentrate. There were only a few rounds to go, and round three involved three boxes from six. I knew there were four money boxes left, and two Bimbo Boxes. I must choose wisely, now.

I didn’t even need to disengage from the dildo, let alone trust fate to my sexystupid missing-words-new-words vocabulary; I just pointed.

The first box was money. So was the second. I was on a roll; up into the high tens of thousands of dollars now. The audience clapped, and Chrissi seemed pleased for me, from what I could see, although she seemed distracted by a guy offstage. “Later,” she stage-whispered. “Promise!”

Jack chuckled at that. “What are you promising now, Chrissi? Is there anything you haven’t already given?” There was laughter in the auditorium. I knew Jack liked to involve Chrissi—truly the ultimate airhead—in the show, just for light relief. She was grinning, confused now.

“Why don’t you come over here and give Emma a big old Chrissi kiss?”

“Sure thing, Jack,” giggled Chrissi, and sashayed over towards me. I could see, close up, she was a bimbo and a half, and there was nothing at all going on in that pretty little airhead of hers.

Chrissi reached out and put her hand on one of my breasts, squeezing. “Are these real, Jack? They’re incredible!”

“They sure are real, Chrissi! Just as real as you are.”

An interesting choice of words, I thought.

She leaned down and took one of my nipples in her mouth, squeezing with her lips and then gently nibbling on it. The feeling was exquisite. These breasts were not just for show.

“Mmm. Tasty tits,” murmured Chrissi.

Rationally, I knew that this was all part of the Collar’s subtle work on my mind. But believe me, it was effective. I allowed myself a deep suck on the dildo as a reward. Whatever the Collar of Fate was doing, it was making me ridiculously horny, which I guessed was all part of the fun. Lost in a lustful reverie, I pointed to my final choice, a random box. When this was over, I was going to finish my thesis and then go to a bar and start hitting on guys, which should be easy enough, now, and then—

Chrissi let go my nipple and straightened up, flashing me a vacant smile. “I’d better go open your box.”

I watched her ass move like the proverbial jello on springs. I had a bad feeling about this box, and it was justified immediately.

“Oh—bad luck, Emma! Another Bimbo Box! Fetish. One of our favourites!”

The audience roared their approval.

Fetish, I repeated, distant now through the dreamlike blur of arousal, and my heart fluttered; I knew I was entering murky territory now, and there was no way back.