The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There were dark rings beneath Mr. Foster’s eyes. Standard for a demon in their home realm, but strange and unsightly in the mortal world.

He’d been up half the night, plotting for the day ahead.

It wasn’t until five am that he’d managed to get some sleep. Nowhere near the full eight hours he needed, but enough to refresh his powers. Certainly enough for one victim…even if she was the Protector.

At nine, her request for a meeting had come in. He’d scheduled to see her right before lunch.

After their appointment, Mr. Foster knew he’d be hungry.

The previous night, Brandi had been surprised to discover her mother still wasn’t home when she got out of the bath. Kristine sometimes worked late, but no more than an hour or so.

Finally, almost two hours later, Brandi’s mother staggered through the door, a huge smile on her face.

“Mom?”

“Oh, hi honey.”

“Where have you been?”

“Tutoring,” her mother replied, unable to stop herself from grinning. She’d been so proud when she’d thought of how she was going to explain her lateness. If only she’d been able to deliver her excuse with a straight face.

Even away from the school’s influence (which gave her complete confidence in the morality of her actions), the endorphins from her dalliance with her new favorite student were still rushing around Kristine’s body, and she stood for a few seconds with a huge grin on her face before turning back to her daughter.

“Shouldn’t you be…out?”

Brandi’s supernatural activities were never directly spoken of, and there was always a brief moment of awkwardness when her mother obliquely brought them up.

“I’m having a night off,” Brandi said, still viewing her mother with suspicion. “Going to bed soon—just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Okay darling,” Kristine said absently, smiling as she remembered her afternoon. Ah, youth…Anthony had taken her every way she could think of, and then some. He’d cum and cum and cum again, and it had never slowed him down at all. It was almost sad that she couldn’t share the details with her daughter—she was, after all, doing it for her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, interrupting Brandi’s movement up the stairs. “I’ll be home late tomorrow as well.”

“Why?”

A satisfied smile spread across Kristine’s face as she answered.

“More tutoring.”

As Brandi entered the counsellor’s office, her worry was clearly visible on her face. Mr. Foster forced himself not to freeze up—if he did, it would only raise her suspicions even more.

He had no way of knowing Brandi’s concerned look was due to her mother’s actions the previous night, and that she still didn’t suspect anything of him.

“So…” she said awkwardly, sitting down in front of him, glancing around the room. It was spotless—Mr. Foster had been sure to hide anything even remotely suspicious. The crux of the demons’ plan depended on the next few minutes.

He really wished he’d gotten a little more sleep.

“Brandi, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

The trouble was: while the weaknesses of the human race were well-known in the demon realm, the exact limitations of Brandi herself were not. Would she instantly be aware of any changes made by a demon? Would she be impervious to Mr. Foster’s efforts?

He’d read every mortal and demonic source he could get his claws on, but there were still so many holes in his knowledge.

With a gulp, he decided all he could do was try.

Stick to the plan.

“Brandi, I’ve been thinking about your case.”

“Oh?”

She eyed him with suspicion, but he continued glibly before she could reflect on it too seriously.

“Your boyfriend, Matthew…—“

“Michael.”

Mr. Foster tried not to smile.

“Of course, yes. Michael.

“He’s…he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Right, yes. How did things go yesterday?”

As Brandi sighed and began telling him the scarcest details, Mr. Foster leaned forward. This was his chance. His mental feelers were out, hovering around the edge of the teen girl’s psyche, and he could feel her emotions wavering as she focused on her story. If he delved just a little further, he’d be able to see exactly what happened, not just the outline she’d chosen to share…but it wasn’t worth it. Hearing the details of the Protector’s lovelife wasn’t vital enough to risk everything.

As she finished her sad tale, he saw his window. He had one shot, and he was going to take it.

“It’s you,” he said, and Brandi stared at him in shock.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s you. That’s why he rejected you—you’re somply not good enough.”

Brandi reeled, speechless, and Mr. Foster launched everything he had at her. Without moving his physical body even an inch, he delved into the centre of her mind, hoping he was moving fast enough to bypass her defenses, He put all the force he had into quelling any and all of her resistances and suspicion.

The result was unusual, even when compared to other recent events that Mr. Foster’s office had witnessed.

The Protector’s eyes glazed over for a second as his efforts took hold. Mr. Foster could sense a part of her he couldn’t reach—an untouchable part of her brain, presumably linked to her powers. He was curious to see what that area held…but first, he had a job to do.

When Brandi had entered the room, she’d been stressed and sad, but there had still been a spark in her. His attack had managed to snuff it out completely. Not forever, but for at least the next few moments, Brandi had absolutely no fight in her. She slumped in her chair—without any ability to resist, she was forced to accept Mr. Foster’s word as the absolute truth:

She wasn’t good enough.

Mr. Foster kept his distance for a minute, simply observing as his words resonated throughout Brandi’s entire being. Finally, she looked up at him, a hollow look in her eyes, and simply repeated his statement.

“I’m not good enough for him.”

It wasn’t even a question; it was a sad acceptance of an undeniable truth. Mr. Foster breathed a sigh of relief. This one change to her psyche seemed to have worked—rather than tempt fate, he decided to stick with that for now.

“That’s right. Although, if we’re being honest…”

He paused, attempting to look hesitant, completely unaware that his nostril was uncontrollably twitching. Brandi leaned forward—she didn’t care about his unusual facial tics, she just needed to hear more, to know more. Her world had just been rocked, and the more information she had to deal with it, the better.

“…you never really were.”

If he had a soul, at least one of Mr. Foster’s hearts would have melted at the look of total despair which crossed Brandi’s face. She had no choice but to completely agree with him; the sudden realization of her true worth was devastating. As it sank in, the sadness in her eyes grew.

Confident he’d effectively laid the groundwork, Mr. Foster pressed on.

“Look at him—he’s tall, handsome, well-endowed…”

Brandi was too busy drinking in the counsellor’s words to even question his unexpected knowledge.

“You don’t deserve an adonis like him. He’s perfection in human form, and you’re…well, you’re just rather plain-looking, and quite a bit somple, aren’t you?”

I am, she realised. I’m somple…simple. I’m completely undeserving.

As he spoke, Mr. Foster took the chance to begin altering Brandi’s clothes. Gone were the jeans and shirt she’d entered the room with, emphasizing her thin frame, her gorgeous long hair. In their place, he dressed her in slightly drab overalls: they hung slightly loose, but that would change soon enough.

He didn’t draw her conscious attention to the changes, not yet. Her new, relatively plain outfit would affect her subconscious, and that was good enough for now.

“You’re never going to be one of the popular girls, and you’re certainly never going to be the girlfriend of a popular guy, so why even bother? Why not set your sights a little lower—nerds, losers, outcasts. They’re just as horny as everyone else.

“You might not be as smart as them, or hot enough to date, but you can at least give them the release that they need.”

Brandi wrinkled her nose, confused, and Mr. Foster mentally swore. He’d gone too far, too fast—he was used to tweaking them mentally as he spoke, and hadn’t thought carefully enough about what he was saying.

“Tell me,” he said, going into counsellor mode, desperately fishing for something to distract her, “tell me about how Michael made you feel.”

Brandi obediently began detailing her newfound self-esteem issues, and Mr. Foster took the opportunity to delve back into her mind.

He was surprised at how immediately his words had affected her—of course, the demon realized, he had been feeding off the insecurities which had already been building for a while. Michael’s behavior had really affected her, and he patted himself on the back for how expertly he’d manipulated the young couple.

In his brief time on Earth he’d already learned that all human teenagers were only a few tweaks away from complete self-loathing.

As Brandi prattled on about hating her body and not feeling like she was good enough, he nodded sympathetically, while tentatively probing the protected part of her mind. It wasn’t easy to see what was behind the psychic barrier, but he was in his own office, and hadn’t manipulated anyone else that day.

Mr. Foster’s abilities were at their most powerful; after ducking and weaving around the edges, he started to detect exactly what was sealed off.

Her powers, first and foremost. It made sense—if a demon could take away the Protector’s powers simply by entering her mind, she wouldn’t be able to Protect. Her strength, her healing abilities, even her demon-sense: they were all shielded, far beyond what he could affect even at full strength.

As well as that, her memories. He could adjust her feelings, he could alter her perceptions, but he could never tinker with her knowledge of the past. Good to know.

Finally, and most subtly, he couldn’t remove her desire to be the Protector. If it changed naturally, so be it, but no outside influence could convince her being the Protector wasn’t something she wanted.

It was this which gave him pause, and his mind worked furiously (as his body offered all the comforting “uh huh”s a teenage girl could need).

Mr. Foster needed to ensure she never discovered his true nature. If she even suspected something of him, he was finished. It would be a memory he could never erase.

And that, he reluctantly admitted, meant he couldn’t have sex with her. She’d been sleeping with Michael for months now—if he used her body for his pleasure, as he was dying to do, he ran the risk of being found.

He needed to abstain. Until the crucial moment, of course.

Otherwise, it seemed that he could mostly follow the plan his brethren had decided on half an eon ago. He couldn’t alter her memories into thinking she’d worn a different outfit to school that morning, but he could distract her so much she simply wouldn’t care. And as long as he avoided anything affecting her physical strength, he could change her body—he just had to avoid doing anything abrupt, anything that would attract attention.

With a smile, Mr. Foster cut the teen girl off. She fell silent immediately—a natural submissiveness seemed to have arisen from the realization of how stupid and worthless she was.

God he wanted to fuck her.

She stared at the counsellor deferentially as he spoke.

“Brandi,” he said, his dark voice softly gliding across the room, “you’re tense. You’ve been trying too hard to impress someone you don’t deserve. Relax. Aim for the low-hanging fruit—if you find yourself needing a release, find someone attainable, someone who would go for someone…like you.”

As he spoke, Mr. Foster’s hands twitched under the table. He mentally reached for Brandi’s libido, turning it up. Way, way up. While she was in his office (and, to a lesser extent, within the school grounds) she’d find herself constantly aroused. At the same time, he slowly began dimming her intelligence. The demon didn’t want to risk affecting it directly (in case it was a protected power) and so instead he created a fog, a new and ever-present cloud that would be constantly interfering with her brain, making her slower, less able to recognize patterns.

Her libido and intelligence would subtly drift in opposite directions until she was stupid and horny all the time. Just like her mother, she’d be constantly looking for people to fuck, people to take care of her needs.

While he was tweaking, Mr. Foster decided to also made her highly orgasmic, to ensure she kept going back for more (and more, and more, and more…). She’d probably try to hold out for a few days, resist her new urges, before finally folding and fucking some chump silly.

And just to make sure the cycle continued, he added a command which would only trigger after sex—once the guy came, Brandi would feel overwhelming shame. It would enforce her feelings of worthlessness…which would turn her on, perpetuating the loop.

Within days, Brandi’s self-esteem would be in the toilet…which, in turn, would make her hornier than ever before.

He’d done his research into what kind of girls were considered the most attractive around the school, and Brandi was “Hollywood hot”—stick-thin (although her duties as the Protector had made her spry) with long, shapely arms and legs. Her hair was blonde, wavy, and fluffed up to a size that even the demon from another realm thought was unnatural. A quick mental probe into Brandi’s memories confirmed what he’d suspected—her breasts were small and pert, and her regular exercise had left her with a small, flat butt.

In her current state, she was classy (if not overtly sexy), resembling the typical trophy wife or film actress.

Mr. Foster smiled.

He couldn’t make changes that were too obvious, for risk of raising her guard. But he could tweak; he could implant a desire to avoid looking at her naked body out of shame, or even a slight revulsion. By the time she checked herself out again, she might think she was misremembering her own physical appearance.

Mr. Foster started chatting lightly about the different kinds of patients he saw most often, making sure to use as many technical words as possible. This served the dual purpose of distracting Brandi, and confirming her new-found feelings of stupidity.

As he did, he got to work.

Her arms and legs he left as they were; those were the body parts Brandi was most likely to notice changes in. Her boobs, however, he slowly plumped. By the time she left his office, she’d be filling her bra slightly more than ever before. By the end of the day, she wouldn’t need to pad her cups at all. Before long, she’d find her bras too uncomfortable to wear.

When she outgrew her current bra-size, Mr. Foster implanted an instruction to stop wearing them entirely. Though he couldn’t confirm it verbally without arousing suspicion, he hoped that his order would stick. If Brandi did buy a new set, she’d outgrow them within a week or two, and he didn’t want to risk anything that would make her suspicious.

Her ass, he knew he could take a few more risks with; as long as it felt the same when she sat down, she was unlikely to spot any changes. Droning on about arrested development, Claparede’s paradox and pareidolia, he began to expand her behind, until her new posterior was round, full, and just begging to be pinched…spanked…fucked.

Brandi didn’t even notice the slight tingling sensations as Mr. Foster’s powers did their work. She just tried to understand what he was saying, feeling dumber and dumber as he droned on. Her spark was beginning to return, however, and she resolved to pay attention—her focus was intense that she didn’t even notice her pussy begin to grow wet, or her increasing awareness of Mr. Foster’s masculinity.

Had she not been so intent to try to understand what Mr. Foster was saying about Freud’s outdated theories, she would soon have begun to daydream, and her mind would have turned to images of herself surrounded by cocks on all sides, licking and sucking and fucking to her heart’s content…

Mr. Foster made some more minor changes as he finished up—Brandi would now find it uncomfortable to look people in the eye, preferring to stare at her own feet. Her eyes, which had been so bright and full of life, were now a dull grey, which served to give her face a slightly vapid, stupid look.

Once he was done, he allowed himself to sit back and admire his own work.

When Brandi had walked in just half an hour ago, she’d been a sprightly warrior in a normal teenage girl’s body, dressed to kill and impress. Now she was hiding her far more slutty form underneath drab, ordinary clothes. Mentally, she’d shifted from sharp and confident to stupid, insecure, and above all—horny. Her self-esteem would impact every part of her life, combining with her new libido to ensure that she slept with anyone she could—anyone who’d take her…which would, in turn, further lower her self-image.

Perfect.

Brandi thanked him as he finished his spiel. As she sadly stood up to leave, she was surprised to find herself struggling to keep balance. It was as though her boobs had grown…but no, that didn’t make any sense. More likely she just hadn’t noticed how fat they were. Not surprising. She felt like she’d be lucky to notice anything. Thinking suddenly felt so…so hard, and even wondering why she was struggling to think was a challenge.

She sighed as she walked out of the counsellor office, too distracted (as Mr. Foster had hoped) to notice she was in a completely different outfit than the one she’d entered in.

All kinds of new thoughts were running through her head: no wonder she’d never had a boyfriend, she wasn’t good enough for anyone. She couldn’t provide them with the intelligent conversation they’d desire, she wasn’t attractive enough for them to show off. She was barely good enough to fuck.

Fuck…

She shook her head. She couldn’t let herself get lost in erotic daydreams. Was that normal? She didn’t even know any more.

Brandi reminded herself that she was the Protector, that she had a job to do. She was born to do it. Surely she was good enough…

Standing outside Niles’ door, Brandi took a deep breath. With a forced smile, she knocked, desperately hoping that she would still be able to protect her city, her life, and her friends.