The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Gail.”

“Gail, how do you feel?”

Stupid question. She was about to say so, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Sorry. We have a ventilator blocking your larynx. Hold on a sec.”

Gail closed her eyes.

She woke up again. Dizziness washed into her like the air she was breathing.

“There you are. You fell back asleep for another hour. It will still take awhile for the anesthetic to subside, but you should be about done with drifting in and out now, at least for a bit.”

Fuck you, was the first verbally recognizable thought that came through. “Thanks,” was what she said.

Gail let her eyes slowly focus. She was looking at a light blue wall. She turned her head upward and saw several devices monitoring her: Blood pressure, heart rate, and something she didn’t recognize. There was an IV attached to the back of her hand. Her legs were both in casts... the left one extended all the way from her ankle to her hip.

She saw the nurse standing beside her bed. The nurse was Margaret, according to the overly cheery nametag with the yellow-and-black smiley face on it. What the fuck had happened? “What’s going on?” she said out loud.

“Just lie back. I’ll tell you what I can. Give me a second to change your IV fluids.” Nurse Margaret disappeared from view.

She looked to her left and saw an old man sleeping on a hospital bed about ten feet away. Recovery room, came the phrase, occurring to her as if it were a brilliant insight. The old man moaned. She smelled antiseptic and shit. How lovely.

Margaret returned with a new IV bag. “Here we are. Sorry about this, but we don’t switch you over until you wake up. You’ll feel much better in about ten seconds.”

It didn’t feel like ten seconds. It felt more like ten minutes. Then, with no warning, the recovery room was transformed into something glowing and wonderful, and time didn’t matter anymore.

Margaret leaned over and lifted Gail’s eyelids, shining a light to check the response time of her pupils. “Good,” she said.

She placed the instrument on the cart beside the bed and leaned closer to Gail, right beside her head. Gail found that to be particularly amusing, and she let out a short laugh.

“Listen carefully,” Margaret whispered into Gail’s ear. “Listen to my voice. It is all you can hear. You love Regina. You have loved her for years. Nothing is more important. You have lost your memory, but you remember your name. You remember that you have always loved Regina. The harder you try to remember anything else, the more it fades away. When you awaken in your room, instead of remembering more and more, you will remember less and less. The only two things that matter are that you know your name, and that you love Regina. Regina. You love, honor and obey Regina.

“She is your most precious secret, and you do not tell anyone about her.

“The more you recover and feel better, the more you feel the irresistible urge to call Regina at 489-0725. 489-0725. You will remember seeing me here as an angel in a wonderful dream.”

Gail fought upward through the fog. Her eyes took on an adoring glow. “God, I do love... her. But I... I don’t know why I’m here. I need more than anything to call... um... someone. Someone I miss. I feel so lost.”

Margaret smiled at the last. It was still amazing to her how the mind could begin to fill in the gaps so quickly.

Kara Doane signed another book. She was surprised at the turnout, really. For such a small town, there seemed to be quite a few poetry lovers. The crowd had been incredibly warm and intimate, making this small detour from the rest of her breakneck book tour a wonderful change of pace.

She looked up to see a young woman of perhaps twenty staring intently at her. “Who should I make this out to?” asked Kara, smiling broadly.

“Jennifer,” answered the girl. “I have something for you, too.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, um... I make custom perfumes... and I thought I’d give you a sample. It’s my own little corner of creativity. I hope you don’t mind,” said Jennifer, smiling.

“No, I’m touched,” answered Kara, sincerely flattered. It was such a kind gesture that even if she didn’t like the aroma, she’d probably keep the bottle. It was incredibly sweet.

“Thank you,” said Jennifer, blushing. “I know it’s kind of silly, but it means a lot to me.”

“No, thank you,” replied Kara.

Three books later, her agent signaled that it was time for the signing to end. Deftly, but with a little sadness, she signed the last book and stood as the bookstore owner walked over.

“Let’s have one more hand for Ms. Doane!”

To the sound of applause, and after receiving more than a few hugs, she left the bookstore and headed to the waiting taxi. She looked around, but couldn’t see Jennifer anywhere. The girl had disappeared.

She shrugged and got in the car. She had received many kind gestures over the duration of the tour, but she thought she might get the chance to thank the girl one last time.

She gave the driver the name of her hotel as she pulled the perfume bottle out of her purse and looked at it. She’d never been into perfume, really, but she thought it might be fun to see how this would smell on her.

She sprayed a bit onto her wrist. She waved it around for a moment to dry and then sniffed gently. Nothing. She sprayed on a bit more.

Maybe it’s just water, she thought, smiling to herself. But no, it dried so quickly that it almost looked like it was being consumed by her skin. She sniffed again.

She thought she got the slightest whiff of something, but it smelled... well, medicinal, really. She laughed softly, strangely amused by an odorless perfume. She pumped the bottle about ten times into the air of the cab, and shook her head, breathing deeply.

A wave of pleasant dizziness washed over her unexpectedly and she fell back onto the seat. She could barely move, but she wasn’t worried about it. This was just so nice.

She noticed that the driver was putting a tape in the player. “A little light music,” she said sloppily as she giggled. She fumbled with the perfume bottle again, but the cap fell off, spilling the entire contents onto her bare legs and the floor. “Drrrrrink up, legs,” she laughed, as she watched the liquid vanish quickly, absorbed by her skin.

Her hand dropped and she stared blankly forward, her mouth hanging slightly open as she entered an entirely new world. She was in a cloud, moving down the street. She lost track of direction or even why she was here. But someone was talking to her.

“Listen carefully,” said the voice. Kara listened carefully. Why not? “Listen to my voice. It is all you can hear. My name is Justine. You love me, and love my voice. You have loved me for years. Nothing is more important.

“You are to be found at an accident scene. You are miraculously unhurt, except for one thing. You have lost your memory. You remember the following things only. You remember your name. You remember that you have always loved Justine. The harder you try to remember anything else, the more it fades away. When you awaken, instead of remembering more and more, you will remember less and less. The only two things that matter are that you know your name, and that you love Justine. Justine. You love, honor and obey Justine.

“She is your most precious secret, and you will not tell anyone about her.

“The more you recover and feel better, the more you feel the irresistible urge to call Justine at 489-0725. 489-0725. You will remember all the times we have shared, but none of the details. You will remember this cab ride as a wonderful dream.”

What a strange dream, thought Kara, as her life and memory slipped away. What a wonderful voice...

Nadine checked the caller ID before picking up the phone. She steeled herself to rudely hang up on Mr. or Ms. Out Of Area, since it was nearly always a telemarketer. She had about ten nasty comments from which to choose, and decided that this time she would use the “answering machine” gambit.

“Hello?” she said sweetly.

“Is this Ms. Moore?” asked a sweet voice.

“Hmm. Sounds like no one’s home. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“I have a notion that your mind is swimming in an ocean of irresistible motion. It is safe to speak. Who do you love, Nadine?”

“Penelope.”

“Good girl. Penelope loves you, too.”

Nadine’s heart leapt at the words. She had never felt anything so complete as the love she felt for Penelope. Deep inside, the need to show that love, to do anything so that she could repay Penelope this gift of happiness and joy, sprang to life.

“Someone else needs to love Penelope, too. You love to share the gift of loving Penelope, don’t you, Nadine.”

“Yes. I love to share the gift.”

“Her name is Catherine Williams. She is a psychotherapist. Please listen carefully to how you can prove your love to Penelope.”

Not too much later, Nadine hung up the phone, changed her clothes, and, smiling and humming softly, headed for the Kirkville Medical Office Pavilion.

Vonda Jamieson sat in the reclining chair, fingers furiously teasing her labia and clit. Her eyes never blinked as she watched the images flying past her eyes, the spiral pattern in the pixels always present, always pulling her deeper.

She no longer noticed the tubes of chemicals attached to her legs and arms, or the receptors attached to hundreds of points over her body. She didn’t think about the electrical currents that ran between them as voltage transmitters implanted beneath the skin of her fingertips tripped them, sending rivulets of mind-melting, addictive pleasure deep into the synaptic patterning of her cerebral cortex.

For Vonda, there was no time. No future, no past. There was only the sexual need pouring into her, borne of her eternal love for and devotion to Lakita, and played out endlessly in the orgasmic pleasure she received as she watched each image and heard each directive. Each became, for one blissful moment, a moment both eternal and too short to fathom. Each moment was her complete existence.

Her powdered chocolate skin and chiseled face dripped from the sweat of her endless exertion. It was her third day of training. She had not slept yet. She would not sleep until she collapsed from exhaustion. Long before then, any remaining resistance would be obliterated.

On the other side of a two-way mirror, two women watched her. One was smiling, one was not. One looked charmed, the other horrified.

The smiling woman was Agatha. She went by many names, but this was the one she had given to the woman standing beside her.

That woman, the horrified woman, was Dr. Catherine Williams.

“She was much like you, Dr. Williams. You don’t mind if I call you Catherine, do you?”

Silence.

“Catherine it is, then. Vonda, here, was able to resist the little cocktail I sent her way by way of a pizza delivery girl. Actually, she resisted even more strongly than you. She didn’t come here on her own, as you did. You may not have been fully ‘under the influence,’ but you came anyway, exactly as I commanded. Vonda fought valiantly and even tried to hide herself. And look at her now. Her large store of resistance in nearly depleted.”

Agatha turned a dial and the hum of the machinery before her raised slightly in volume and pitch.

“But resistance is not such a bad thing. Once she is converted, as you will be, she will be among the most fiercely devoted of my lovers. She will resist changing back even more strongly than she resisted falling to me. I call it psychological tempering.”

“You mean pyschological tampering. You call it love. This isn’t love,” spat Catherine. “Love isn’t coercion.”

“On the contrary, Cathy, it is love beyond what most people ever consider possible,” laughed Agatha. “It is also the best motivation there is. Most people don’t resist falling in it, or doing what it calls them to do. They are passionate about it, in fact. They will lie, cheat, steal, worship, and kill for it. They will also do honorable things. Anything for love. It’s all about what makes them feel love more strongly. And unlike the love we’ve known throughout history that dies and sends people to mind-warpers like you, this love never dies. It only gets stronger.

“Call it coercion if you like. But you’ll understand, soon enough.”

“You’re going to get caught,” said Catherine, staring at Agatha with barely hidden contempt.

“No, I won’t. I’m a secret lover, revealed only in the safest of circumstances. And each woman knows and remembers me differently. I am Penelope to the woman who brought you to me. To you, I’m Agatha. For now.”

“And how many ‘lovers’ do you have?”

“Over twenty.”

“Not possible. You can’t give them enough attention.”

“Very possible. Believing is reality. They believe they spend the majority of their free time with me. To them, I’m as devoted as they.”

“To what end?”

“Because I can, perhaps. But I’d be lying to say that. I just fucking like being in control, and having my love agents spread like semi-dormant virii throughout society. Several of your friends are already mine. That’s how I found you, Cath.

“So far, I’ve only added single, unattached women to my love nest. That is about to change. I’ve already begun stealing select operatives from society, mostly at random, who will serve me here. You will be joining them, actually. And please don’t say that you’ll never agree. Think it if you must, but I can’t stand trite phrases.”

“Please call me Catherine. I’ll never agree,” said Catherine, happy to have found some way to be grating to her captor.

“See how easily you are manipulated under stress? I love it when someone says that.

“Now, please follow me,” said Agatha, turning abruptly and walking towards the door.

“And if I don’t?” Catherine wasn’t feeling as defiant as her words, but she felt like she had a duty to fight at every opportunity.

“Stay here if you like. Eventually you’ll get hungry, bored or just plain lonely. If you’re strong enough, you’ll stay until you fall asleep. In any case, you will end up where I want you.”

“I could escape,” countered Catherine.

“No you couldn’t,” replied Agatha. The casual sound of her voice brimmed with easy confidence.

Catherine thought about trying to run, but instead slumped slightly as she felt herself give in. Choose your fights, she told herself.

“I’m coming,” she sighed.

“No, you’re not. But you will be soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Lesson one. You must let go of your past reality. It does not serve you. It does not fulfil your needs. It is a vain attempt to fill places inside you that have been empty since shortly after birth. It is the desire to return to the womb. It cannot be accomplished. But that desire can be reconstructed in a way that you recognize, and can be resolved. That is what we will begin to do now.”

“This is bullshit,” slurred Catherine. The inside of her head felt like it was glowing and pulsing, like she was on some wonderful, euphoric drug. But she hadn’t been given any drugs. Had she?

“You may tell yourself that. You will see it differently soon. You still think you have the means to escape me. You do not.”

Catherine knew better than to question. There was no telling what tortures Agatha could devise if she were unsuccessful. The woman was obviously crazy as a loon. As a loony tuney loon, loon, loon, sang Catherine’s thoughts.

“You have lived under a false principle. You have thought that the resolution of the past is the key to present happiness. It has been basic to your mindset. It is what has kept you from discovering how much love is possible. But the past can’t be resolved. I want you to say, ‘The past is my enemy,’ Cath.”

“It’s Catherine, and no, I won’t. It’s not true,” said Catherine. Her mouth felt like it was full of wool flannel.

Agatha adjusted the controls and spoke into the microphone again. The ultrasonic subliminals sang more forcefully from the matte black pads at Catherine’s temples. The effect was immediately noticeable as her brow furrowed in futile concentration.

Agatha continued.

“It wasn’t true yesterday. It wasn’t true this morning, Now, however, it’s true. When you say things, you can see them for how true they are. So humor me, please,” cooed Agatha. “Say, ‘The past is my enemy,’ Cathy-love. I want you to see how true it is.”

“It’s... Cath-er-ine...” said the young psychologist as she considered complying. Somewhere inside she was curious. It sounded very logical, really. But she also knew she was in no condition to judge logic. Then again, Agatha was in a position to recognize what was logical. Agatha seemed to still be in control of her faculty waculty baculty saculties. Agatha seemed so smart. Agatha was so smart. Smarty, party, darty, larty, sang her thoughts.

“Say it.”

“B-b-but it’s...”

“Say it,” demanded Agatha, her finger poised and ready.

“The... past is my enemy,” whispered Catherine.

Agatha’s finger touched a button on the console.

Catherine shivered as needle-fingers of pleasure rode over the surface of her skin, teasing her. “Wh-what are you doing?” she managed to say through her trembling lips.

“Me? Nothing. That is the feeling that comes from telling the truth.”

“Does... not,” said Catherine, her head falling backward. It felt like it was covered in a warm blanket. “The truth doesn’t doooo that.”

“Then say it again. Prove it was coincidence.”

“The past is my enemy.”

Touch.

Catherine’s back arched and she cried out as electric pleasure danced like a thousand perfect ballerinas on her skin, tunneling inwards. She cried out loudly, grunting slightly as the sensation faded away.

“Stop... don’t...”

“I can’t stop something if I’m not doing anything, Callie. You’re just accepting the truth more each time you say it, so the pleasure gets stronger. Say it again.”

Catherine (Callie?) knew it couldn’t be true. But there was no denying that it felt fucking good. One more time wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“The past is my enemy,” said Catherine. Her tongue ran around her lips in an unconscious, lewd display of growing sexual desire. Agatha smiled and pressed the button. Catherine was far too busy fighting and losing to correct Agatha for calling her anything she wanted, now.

Callie’s skin was melting into molten, obscene, secret pleasure. It was unlike anything she’d felt in her life. She screamed and gyrated as it tore through her, opening up places in her she’d never imagined could exist. She grasped to hold onto it with her hands and feet as it began to fade, but it was of no use. And then... it was gone, leaving her empty and abandoned.

She had to get back there. Had to.

She felt something on her face and realized it was a tear.

“The past is my enemy...”

As pleasure ripped through her like a scythe, she realized it was true. This was bliss, and her past had kept her from it. “Thepastismyenemy thepastismyenemy thepastismyenemy...”

Agatha smiled and whispered into the microphone, “Good girl, Callie. We’re already making progress. Now, say, ‘The past is my enemy, and my past is an illusion,’ Callie. Feel how true it is.”

She was answered by wails and gibbering as she set the control panel to automatic and left to take a shower and have lunch.

Callie, body jerking and clutching uncontrollably as the barrage of sensory ecstasy swept through her again and again, cried in joy, thoughtless as a newborn babe.

If anyone could have deciphered her ranting, they would have heard that she was telling her newly discovered truth, the only thought in her mind... over, and over, and over.

“Good evening, Callie.”

Agatha smiled as the woman who had been Catherine Williams pulled her head forward to look at her. Her hair was slick and matted, and she was panting heavily.

“Tell me... what have you learned so far?”

“The past is my enemy, and my past is an illusion.” Callie’s eyes rolled back in her head and her body convulsed as she succumbed to orgasm, her mouth straining silently as her muscles clenched and quaked within the powerful jolt of pure pleasure.

Agatha smiled even more broadly. She had spontaneously achieved orgasm with no outside stimulation at all. Things were progressing very well indeed.

“And what do you think of me now?”

“I think you are a lunatic bitch.”

“Hmm. That must not be absolutely true, since it didn’t bring you pleasure. Perhaps it’s time for your next lesson.

“Lesson two. Women want sex from having fallen in love. Men fall in love from wanting and having sex. Generally speaking, of course. But humans are wired in an odd way. If a woman achieves as orgasm with another person and isn’t in love with that person, her mind tends to become confused. However, if there are no barriers, the mind will fall easily into the belief that the woman must have loved her partner for her to have received gratification.

“Therefore, you may think I’m a lunatic bitch, but if I gratify you sexually and manage to remove your negative opinion, you will realize quite suddenly that you have loved me almost from the moment we met.”

Agatha paused, waiting for a reaction.

Callie obliged her by saying, “Wouldn’t telling me change the equation?”

Agatha reached out and ran a fingernail down Callie’s arm as she answered. “Not at all. And you’re shivering. You see? You’re already wondering just where the line is between lunacy and eccentric charm. You’re beginning to find me more interesting than monstrous.”

“I’m not homosexual,” sniffed Callie, blushing slightly.

“That has nothing to do with falling in love, Callie,” said Agatha, softly. “And besides, you will be soon.”

Agatha looked Callie up and down and smiled approvingly. “It goes both ways, you know. You will feel my love for you as much as you love me, returned tenfold.

“My assistants will be in to prepare you for the experiential phase of Lesson Two. And I know a secret.”

“What would that be?” asked Callie, trying to be severe despite the dampness between her legs.

“Part of you wants to see what’s next.”

Callie didn’t argue. She didn’t want to have to lie.