The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Twenty minutes after his arrival, the portly gentleman was at last escorted by two armed guards, down a short corridor to a featureless metal door. A hidden camera picked up their presence; the door slid open almost silently, just as the three men stopped in front of it.

Waiting for them inside was an energetic beanpole of a man. “Señor Cortez? A pleasure to finally meet you face to face, sir; I’m Murphy. I trust the new security protocols weren’t too uncomfortable?”

The older gentleman winced slightly, as he unconsciously rubbed his fleshy upper arm. “I understand the need for such,” he replied, in heavily accented but fluent English. “Were I in the same position as our esteemed Mr. Mac, I would certainly have done the same.”

“Thank you for your courtesy. Mr. Mac has instructed me to provide you with the full tour; but first, may I offer you refreshment? We have ample supplies of whatever beverage you like, including our own premium single-malt Scots whisky, of course. As well as an excellent selection of aged Cuban cigars.”

Cortez chuckled. “No doubt my dossier includes a number of my specific likes and dislikes, Mr. Murphy. Thank you to both; I will pass on the offer of alcohol, but take you up on a fine Montecristo, if you would be so kind.”

“Very good, sir. And there is no need for you to call me ‘mister.’ Murphy is my given name; my real name is, of course, classified.” The younger man snapped his fingers once; seconds later, a hidden door slid open.

Cortez was impressed, despite himself. Not just at the elegant gold tray, containing one cigar, a box of matches, and a silver guillotine-style cutter. But also at the perfect creature delivering it. She was tall, tanned, yellow-haired, perfectly proportioned—and quite exposed. Her only clothing was a set of sheer black thigh-high stockings, matching glossy open-toed pumps with ten-centimeter heels, a black leather bondage glove, which kept her hands trapped behind her naked back, and the tray itself. It hung from a strap around her neck; she had to walk perfectly erect, and very carefully, to prevent the contents from tipping.

He helped himself to the cigar, giving the obligatory double fondle of her breasts: once when reaching for the cutter, and once while helping himself to a match. She accepted the attention with silent grace, and at a nod from Murphy, left without ever having spoken a word.

Cortez took a puff, noting that Murphy neither winced nor gagged at the powerful odor. His estimate of the man rose; Mr. Mac had obviously chosen him for his very unflappability. “An excellent cigar, Murphy. I am ready to begin the tour.”

“Very good, sir. This way.” A second hidden door opened on the opposite wall; idly, Cortez wondered if there was yet a third. They entered a well-lit, carpeted hallway, with plenty of room for the two gentlemen to walk side-by-side. It was also obviously soundproofed; Cortez could just feel the deep thrum of heavy machinery well below them, but nothing else.

They entered a darkened room at the end of the hallway. To Cortez’s surprise, it contained only two chairs, one of them quite obviously designed for his massive girth. As they settled themselves in, he noted with some amusement that an ashtray had already been provided.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, sir. At Mr. Mac’s insistence, I shall begin by informing you of our current promotion. The first several models that we shall look at today are, for want of a better expression, on sale.”

“On sale! How do you mean? In what way?”

“Well, for one reason or another, Mr. Mac has decided that certain models are best sold as a pairing, rather than individually. In order to encourage this, he has reduced the cost of purchasing both models at once. In effect, when you purchase one, you will receive the second one at half cost.”

Cortez shook his head with wonder. Buy one, get the second one for half price! He’d never heard of such a thing being offered before; but then, this was his first visit to the facility.

As the two men settled in, the screen in front of them came to life. Again, Cortez was impressed despite himself; what he had taken to be a movie projection screen, was instead a flat screen monitor, five meters across by almost three high. And the resolution was superb; it was almost as if the two of them had been standing in front of a large bay window, looking directly into the room.

The scene before them was no less incredible. Two busty brunettes, unmistakably twins, were lovingly engaged in the exploration of each other’s nether regions. Hidden speakers provided ample proof that their enjoyment was indeed genuine. Cortez could hear every slurp and moan, while enjoying the view of their identically tight bottoms and perky nipples.

For the next few minutes, the two gentlemen watched in silence, as the women on the screen entertained them—and themselves. They moved in eerily perfect sync, almost as if each motion had been choreographed. Even their hums and moans sounded nearly identical, as their broad tongues swiped at each other’s erect and throbbing clits. They couldn’t possibly be faking their reactions, Cortez decided; their erect, almost angry nipples were testament to their extreme arousal.

Moments later, each brunette reached up and pulled at the other’s nipple, eliciting a horny squeal from her sister. Together, their mouths each formed a tiny circle, sucking hard on each other’s clit as if it was a tiny straw, bringing themselves within seconds to a magnificent simultaneous screaming orgasm. Finally, when they showed no signs of stopping even as their climaxes abated, the Spaniard looked over at his host and asked, “Is this happening right now?”

“Of course, sir!” the slender gentleman was quick to reply. “We would never insult you by showing you a previously recorded session. They’ve merely been conditioned to follow orders instantly, while having their natural love for each other raised to an extremely high level.”

“This, then, would be an example of the Aberdeen Process?”

“In the flesh, Sr. Cortez. I regret that I cannot offer any more detail than that; Mr. Mac has been understandably ... reluctant to do so, since the unfortunate demise of Mr. Fitz.”

Cortez had, of course, heard about that. Five months ago, Damon FitzHughes, the beloved investor and philanthropist affectionately known as, “The Hefner of Scotland,” had vanished. While authorities were still searching, at this point it was presumed that he was deceased; no ransom demand had ever been made public.

And only a select few of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful knew that FitzHughes had any sort of connection at all to a Robert MacDougall, the United Kingdom’s wealthiest and most reclusive scientist, with four doctorates and at least six hundred patents to his name.

The Aberdeen Process was not one of them; officially, it didn’t exist. Unofficially, it was the only combination of chemical, electrical and sensory stimulation absolutely guaranteed to produce a perfectly docile human being. The proof was right in front of them. On the verge of bringing themselves off yet again, in fact.

Out of courtesy, the portly gentleman returned his attention to the screen. This time, the ladies were face to face, having chosen to wrap their thighs around each other and use their jackhammer hands to rub their own clits to another climax. Their breasts were jammed together, and their happy moans were muffled by the fact that their mouths were sealed shut in a passionate French kiss.

As their second orgasm subsided, Cortez asked his host, “What else can they do?”

“What would you have them do, sir?”

He thought for a moment. “Has one of them been trained to be the dominant?”

“Either of them can perform that role, though Candy seems to enjoy it a bit more.”

“Candy?”

“And Sandy.” Murphy gave a knowing grin. “I’m afraid Mr. Mac has a certain sense of humor. You can, of course, have them renamed, though that would require some additional time—and a small fee.”

“I see. That will not be necessary. If you wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to see Candy bring the other one to climax by stimulating only her feet.”

Murphy nodded his head in agreement. Pressing a hidden button on his armrest, he relayed his Spanish guest’s instructions. The twins separated instantly, one of them heading south to fondle, lick and tickle her sister’s perfectly manicured toes.

The other one, Sandy, began grasping at her own substantial breasts, pulling at her nipples while pleading for her twin to go both faster and harder. Incredibly, Candy’s nipples also seemed to flare out, as if she’d been stimulating them also; her own toes were flexing and curling, while her hand had dove back between her legs. Much sooner than Cortez would have expected, both brunettes again peaked in unison.

As they recovered, Murphy ordered them to relax for ten minutes, before resuming their normal daily routine. He then returned his attention to his guest. “You see the situation here, sir. They are so completely attuned to each other, that when one bumps her knee, the other receives the bruise. Therefore, Mr. Mac has made them available only as a set, at a cost of only one point five million euros. Note that the standard rate is one million per model.”

Cortez stared at the two beautiful woman, fast asleep as per Murphy’s command. “They are ... intriguing, I admit. Still, I admit I would like to see what else you have to offer.”

“Very good, sir. I will have to warn you, however. The next model is, shall we say, somewhat disturbing.”

The screen changed. An athletic redhead was pedaling on a variable-resistance cycling machine. Her body was drenched with sweat, as she appeared to be nearing the end of the program.

“This is Colleen. The name means ‘little girl’ in Irish; more of Mr. Mac’s humor, I’m afraid.”

Cortez was only paying attention out of courtesy; he was a breast man, and he was sure that Murphy already knew that. This woman, while obviously fit, would at the very least need some implants before he would consider purchasing her.

“To be honest,” Murphy continued, “I’m not quite sure why Mr. Mac is permitting her to be sold at all. Were I in his shoes, I think I’d probably take greater pleasure in tormenting her myself.”

“Ah.” The older gentleman looked directly at his host. “This, then, must be the one responsible for Mr. Fitz’s death?”

Murphy nodded sagely. “The very same. The trollop had somehow managed to infiltrate this facility, by presenting credentials as an up-and-coming specialist in brain function. She was being interviewed for a position in the research area; at the time, the senior partners preferred to conduct the final interview in person.

“She’d already broken Mr. Fitz’s neck before the stun darts could stop her. Another second or two, and we would have lost Mr. Mac, as well. As it was, the facility was closed for two months while we grieved for our loss, and the new security procedures were instituted.”

While they’d been talking, the young woman had finished her exercise routine. Still naked, she had grabbed an available towel and was wiping herself down. The view had shifted, so that she again appeared to be facing directly toward the camera. Full on, Cortez could appreciate her tapered waist, her gently flared hips, and the modest growth of red pubic hair that she’d been permitted to keep.

“Permit me.” Murphy turned on the hidden microphone. “Colleen?”

The young woman squealed and beamed, as if she’d been waiting for the voice. “Murphy!”

“How are you today, dear?”

“Fine. I did my ex-a-sizes like you wanted. Can I play wif myself, now? Can I?”

“If you like, dear.” Murphy turned off the mike, and chuckled as her hands dove to her treasure. “She’s very much a ‘little girl’ herself, now. Her IQ tests at around sixty. She’ll follow just about any command she understands; but her ability to learn new things is nearly nonexistent. And she is incapable of remembering more than one thing at a time.”

“Hm. And Mr. Mac had decided this was a fitting punishment?”

“Oh no, sir, believe me. She did this to herself; or rather, the agency responsible for her had. A set of micro-explosives had been surgically implanted in her prefrontal cortex; we don’t even know if she knew they were there. We believe they were set to explode if they detected certain chemicals in her blood; the stun darts would have contained enough to have done so.”

In the meantime, Colleen had been standing there, violently rubbing herself with both hands. Showing no finesse, no imagination, she was bringing herself to an orgasm by brute force. She also appeared to lack any inhibition; her grunts and growls were loud enough that Murphy was forced to turn down the speakers.

He continued, “In effect, she’s been lobotomized. And rather crudely, too. Because she’s incapable of taking proper care of herself, much less fulfill her basic role as a servant, Mr. Mac has authorized her sale at one half million euros, but only if she is purchased along with another model at the standard fee.”

Cortez stared at the screen without comment, watching the girl-woman finish bringing herself off. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she hunched over almost double; he could see the thick streaks of clear liquid flowing down her trembling thighs. With one final shriek, she collapsed forward onto the polished wooden floor. The volume was returned to normal; thirty seconds of ragged breathing was followed with, “Muh-huh-hurphy, wha’, do I, do now?”

“Why don’t you clean yourself up, Colleen? Then you can play with your toys, if you like.”

Her smile returned, full force. " ‘Kay! Bye!” And she skipped out of the room, naked, presumably heading for the shower.

“You were right,” Cortez said slowly. “That was ... disturbing. But also somewhat intriguing. Still, I would like to view your next offer.”

The screen shifted instantly; the camera showed what appeared to be a private garden. Two young ladies, one black-skinned, the other well-tanned and with dark blonde hair, were having a whispered conversation while sitting on a stone bench near a tall hedge. Unlike the others, they were both clothed, if you could call their micro-bikinis clothing. Fortunately, it was the height of the all-too-brief Scottish summer; it wasn’t the weather that was upsetting them.

Murphy had the—presumably hidden—camera zoom in, and turned up the sound. Judging by their accents, both women were from the States. Cortez idly wondered what they were doing here, so far from home. The black woman was tugging on her blonde partner’s arm. “C’mon, Trish! We gotta go now; they’ll be back any minute.”

Trish, the blonde, smiled and refused to budge. “Calm down, Darla. We don’t hafta go anywhere; it’s perfect here. I don’t know why you even want to leave.”

“I want to leave because we’re trapped here! Because they’ve already taken away your mind, Trish, and I don’t want to be next!” In desperation, the one called Darla tried to lift her friend; she wasn’t strong enough. “Let’s escape together. Please!” she hissed.

“Silly! We’re not trapped, and I don’t want to escape.” Trish ended the argument by grabbing Darla’s neck and pulling her down into a long and loving kiss. Her hands slid down her ebony friend’s back, undoing her bikini top and freeing her moderate breasts. As she began to tweak and fondle each chocolate aureole, her friend melted, to all appearances having lost her will to resist.

As if under a spell, Darla’s hands moved up Trish’s body, matching her friend’s caresses. Without even bothering to undo the bikini top, she simply lifted it upward, exposing the blonde’s much larger breasts, and their very wide, pale pink nubbins. With an audible sigh, she lifted those proud beauties, letting the weight of them rest in the palms of her hands. Her thumbs flicked at the nipples, over and over, torturing them into a proud stiffness.

The two Americans tumbled off the bench and onto the soft grass, kissing and moaning; their hands wandered each other’s body, as if for the first time. Even as their bikini bottoms were somehow shed; even as their hands and mouths wandered all over each other’s faces, breasts, and genitals; Darla was still trying to convince her friend to escape with her. “We can be free!” she moaned. “And we’ll—oh!—make love whenever, umm, and howev-ahh! we like. Please, just come with me, Trish? Please?”

The blonde grinned and thrust three slender fingers up her friend’s shaven pussy, drawing a ragged cry. “I’ll come with you, all right, Darla,” she panted, frigging her friend faster and faster, while her other hand was rubbing and pressing her own exposed clit. “We’re both going to come, eh, heh, in a minute or so. Hah, ah, ah!”

Sure enough, like clockwork, both women arched themselves into Trish’s fast-moving hands, calling their pleasure out to the heavens—as well as to an attentive Murphy and Cortez. But even as they recovered, lying naked and sweaty on their backs on the lush green lawn, Darla was still trying to convince her blonde lover to grab their bikinis and escape before it was too late. She continued her whispered pleas, right up to the point that two burly young men entered the camera’s frame, much to the black woman’s obvious dismay.

As they were escorted away, Cortez turned to face his host. The question was clear on his face.

“Oh, the Aberdeen Process never fails, sir; but in some, it may take quite a bit longer than in others. Our friend Darla has been quite resistant to the obedience protocols, so we’ve focused instead on reinforcing certain other behaviors. She could, in actuality, leave the grounds at any time; but she won’t, because she is incapable of abandoning her friend. She loves her, is completely submissive to her, and is sexually dependent upon her, as well.

“Given time, even someone as willful as Darla can be broken. Still, Mr. Mac is aware that some potential buyers are attracted to ... the risk, shall we say. The idea of a willful servant, one who might possibly shed her chains, holds a certain appeal for some. In addition, it saves us the trouble and expense of continuing her reeducation.”

“But, friend Murphy, aren’t you worried about the possibility that she could reveal what she knows?”

The younger man chuckled. “Not in the least, sir. The Process operates on a subconscious level; our subjects are deeply asleep throughout the whole procedure.”

Cortez nodded. “I believe I understand. And I think I have seen enough, for now. Permit me a few moments to myself; I shall inform you of my decision presently.”

“As you wish, sir. When you are ready, I shall be in the welcoming room.” And with that, Murphy withdrew.

His guest sat quietly, apparently lost in thought. After five minutes or so, he heaved his bulk up out of the chair, and made his way back down the hall.

Murphy was waiting, as was the blonde, two glasses of whisky precariously balanced upon her tray. “Have you come to a decision, Sr. Cortez?”

“I have. With Mr. Mac’s kind permission, I wish to purchase this woman....” He indicated the blonde.

“Ruth.”

“...Ruth, along with the young lady Colleen, for the standard one and one-half million euros. Is this acceptable?”

“Of course, sir. Further, it was expected. According to your dossier, you have always been rather partial to well-endowed blondes, as well as women who are in need of being taken care of. Have you your account number handy?”

Cortez rattled off a string of twenty-two digits, as assigned to him by the Bank of Switzerland.

Murphy smiled and extended his hand, which his guest heartily accepted. “Very good, sir. We will verify and transfer the balance, and prepare both women for their new role. Delivery will be within one week; we shall send them on together, if you have no objection.”

“That will be satisfactory, friend Murphy. Please confer my regards to Mr. Mac, as well as my condolences. Please also consider yourselves to have a standing invitation to visit my mansion and my villa.”

“That is most generous of you, Sr. Cortez.” They toasted the transaction, and the older gentleman took the opportunity to have another feel; this time, of his new acquisition’s soft rump. A few minutes later, the large metal door slid open once again; the same two guards were ready to escort him back to his private jet.

Once airborne, “Señor Cortez” finally allowed himself to relax. All had gone smoothly; in fact, things had been easier than anticipated. He’d had quite a start when special agent Brigit Quinn-Kelley had been practically thrust upon him. “Colleen,” indeed! In seven days time, she would be safely back within the agency, where their top microsurgeons were waiting to repair as much of the neurological damage as they could.

Despite Murphy’s protestations, the “crude lobotomy” had actually been accomplished with a series of precisely shaped micro-charges. With a bit of luck, most of Brigit’s personality was still intact, though it would take a great deal of time and skill to reconnect the severed links. The best estimates were that she would regain about eighty percent of her mental function; either way, she would retire with honors, and draw a substantial lifetime stipend.

And as an added bonus, they’d acquired a control sample, as well. And for half a million less than they’d expected to pay; buy one, get one, indeed! With a bit of luck, they’d be able to figure out MacDougall’s methods within six months; a year at most. Then they could work on finding a way to reverse the process. It was too bad, in a way, that he wasn’t twenty years younger and fifty kilos lighter; she was quite the filly, and she’d felt delightful.

On the whole, “Cortez” had to admit that he’d enjoyed his visit. The giant flat screen had been a treat, as had been the Cuban cigar. He was even forced to concede that Murphy had been a genial host, if a trifle smug. He planned to recommend him for agency service, rather than jail time, if the opportunity arose.

Robert Murphy MacDougall chuckled to himself. Cortez had been a fake; the blood sample had confirmed it. Thank goodness for his father’s patent on hyper-PCR technology, and extensive DNA database; identifying the fat Spaniard as a special agent had been a matter of minutes, rather than days. As further evidence, despite his pretended lack of interest, the sensors built into his chair had spiked when “Colleen,” the Quinn woman, had first appeared on-screen.

Cortez couldn’t even begin to guess at the extent of the deception. The Quinn woman hadn’t assassinated FitzHughes; she’d been discovered, and her secrets pried out of her, before the micro-charges had been deliberately detonated. And in such as manner as to virtually defy recovery; she really had been lobotomized for good.

In fact, Murphy himself had been the one to kill FitzHughes, at his father’s behest, allowing the special agent to take the blame. The pompous twit had much too loose of a tongue when drunk; his money had helped fund the Aberdeen Process, but in recent times, he’d become far too much of a liability.

The blonde, Ruth, would be deliberately programmed to feed them false data, actually leading them further away from unlocking the Process. Her core personality had been completely eliminated long ago; the neurological connections had been thoroughly randomized. Murphy took another sip of his whisky, as he considered the mayhem that would likely ensue, once they finally figured out that they’d been led on a wild goose chase.

Even the American couple, Trish and Darla, had been part of the deception. Despite what he’d told Cortez, they’d both been fully programmed to play their roles. Had the fat man decided to purchase them, he would have been facing a set of ninja assassins just as stealthy, and twice as deadly, as the Quinn woman had supposedly been. After all, he’d trained them himself.

Layers upon layers, Murphy thought. It was time to see to Ruth’s reprogramming. After that was done, he just might give her one last mercy fuck; where she was going, those oh-so-serious agency scientists might not think to let her have another one.