The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I can’t begin to explain the mathematics, programming or neurophyscholgy of the mind machine. That was Chia’s work. I would have said it was Chia’s life work if he wasn’t so young. Twenty five now, with a phd from MIT and, to my mind, no equal in his field. That too, is a bit ridicules, because Chia doesn’t seem to limit himself to one or two fields of scientific thought. He is a brilliant mathematician, an accomplished physicist, behaviorist, computer scientist, etc., etc..

The first time I met Chia was three years ago, when I was working for a computer company, and was the account manager for MIT. Chia came up to me after one of my presentations, desperate for help getting our newest, fastest RISC processor. I usually don’t have the time to help grad students but he was so persistent that I agreed to help him write his proposal for a research grant. It just took a couple of evenings to straighten out his English, and I discovered that he was well beyond the subject of his proposal (“automated grammatical translations from the Kanji”), and was actually using the high speed computer and other equipment to stimulate and then record and decipher intra-cranial brain transmissions.

Three years later he had it solved. Chia continued to work on reducing the size of the equipment necessary, and increasing the range and speed of the data capture and analysis software. I was never really sure that Chia did anything other than lab work, and I’d never heard of him socializing with anyone. I guess that’s why we had become friends of a sort... he had no one else to talk to.

And we shared common goals for the machine. Money, so that Chia could set up an independent lab and continue his research, and so that I could... well, have lots of money. And I could tell that Chia was hungry for female companionship—I was pretty certain he was a virgin—and for this (and this only) I could relate to the brilliant man/boy.

I took on the responsibility to find profitable and practical uses of the machine. Logistically, this presented several problems. First, the subject must be scanned for at least fifteen minutes, preferably more, and in active mental state. Analyzing the brain emission data is helped if the subject is talking.

And we needed money. As luck would have it, my company was “rightsizing” and was anxious to find volunteers to leave the company. I volunteered and was given a severance package that would keep my out of trouble for 4-6 months at my normal spending level. But I expected to need to travel and invest money in the set-up of some sort of sting operation, and that fact put money as the first priority.

The answer came to me while I was in the checkout line at the supermarket. I was thumbing through People Magazine, and came across a story, “Michael Quentin—The Most Powerful Man in Hollywood?!” This fellow that I’d never heard of was the CEO of the dominant agency in the world, and represented an estimated 60 of the 100 top names in acting, recording, athletics and others. Plus many hundreds of [currently] lesser know actors and the like. My imagination quickly conjured up an image of Michele Pfiffer, her deliciously quirkly lips wrapped around my cock...

Somehow I had to get Michael Quentin under control! Then through him, the possibilities were endless. Given that each of these ‘subjects’ were quite wealthy, it could solve our financing problems as well.

It took me a week of thinking and scheming to flesh out a plan of attack. First, I flew out to Los Angeles to rent an apartment and some respectable office space. Then I had Chia’s equipment shipped to the office. I called a half-dozen law firms in the LA area, posing as an out-of-town lawyer looking to hire a very good, very discrete private investigator. When I mentioned that price was no object and that I didn’t care how results were achieved, three of the lawyers mentioned the same PI, an ex-police lieutenant. A call to his office got me an appointment at my new LA office.

I set up all the equipment ahead of time, testing it with me sitting in the chair that would later occupy the PI. The receivers were working perfectly, and Chia’s software was working it’s wonders analyzing data coming from my brain, translating the symbols and data into a kind of internal-to-the-psyche language that would allow the insertion of our commands. I programmed the machine to implant three “suggestions” into the mind of the PI.

“Mr. Stevens is now your most important client. You will find some way to disengage from other commitments.”

“Do not mention this client or the work you do for Mr. Stevens to anyone. Handle all of the contact yourself.”

“Do anything in your power to help Mr. Stevens, legal or otherwise.”

The PI, Joe Gibson, arrived a few minutes late. I started by questioning him on his background and experience. Ten minutes into our meeting, he started to get impatient at all my questions, and at my reluctance to get to the work I needed done.

“Mr. Stevens, I’m sure you called around asking about me before you scheduled this appointment. I’m good. The best. Now, what is it you need done.”

I stalled for as long as possible, then just when I thought the guy was going to get up and leave, his eyes clouded up and his head jerked slightly. A moment later, I cautiously testing the instructions.

“Who is your most important client, Joe?”

“You are, Mr. Stevens.”

I quickly went over what I needed done, the surveillance on Michael Quentin. The need to get him alone in a controlled environment so the machine could work. Joe listened attentively then held up his hand to silence me. He didn’t say anything for two or three minutes, his eyes staring off into nothing. Finally, his eyes sharpened and a small smile appeared on his face.

“His limo. That’s what we’ll do. Quentin takes a limo to and from the office, and everywhere else for that matter. Can your stuff fit in a large car trunk? And can it transmit and receive through the metal that separates the trunk from the passenger area?”

A quick call to Chia answered these questions but introduced another—power. He’d have to rig the system to work off of battery power. Chia said he’d work on it and hung up.

“Joe, how do we get access to his limo? My partner will solve the technical problems, but it’ll take some time to set up the equipment in the trunk, and test it.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Stevens,” answered Joe. “I’ll make sure we have access and plenty of time.”

A week later, Joe and I were parked in the underground garage at The Quentin Agency. Joe had acquired a van from Pacific Bell and uniforms, to get past the TQA guard. After a twenty minute wait, Quentin’s long black limo pulled into the garage and the driver pulled over and let Mr. Quentin out near the bank of elevators. The driver then pulled into a reserved space, locked the car and left.

“He’s off to get coffee,” Joe offered. “If Quentin needs the car unexpectedly, he’ll be paged. C’mon, let’s get to work.”

Joe managed to pick the locks on the limo with practiced ease and, twenty minutes later, the equipment was stowed in the cavernous trunk. I tested the system on Joe, and everything worked properly. To save battery power, Chia had set up the system with a remote control. Joe and I spent several hours at the cafe across the street, then several more in the van, waiting for Quentin to order his limo and leave. Finally, at about 3:30, the limo pulled out of the garage and headed east.

I flipped the remote control on as Joe merged into traffic and followed the limo. I marveled at Joe’s ability to stay two or three cars back most of the time, yet never fail to catch the same lights as the limo.

“Damn. He’s not headed home,” muttered Joe. The problem was we needed twenty or more minutes for the system to process Quentin’s data and implant my commands. If Quentin was traveling someplace close, the analysis might be incomplete and we ran the risk that the equipment would be discovered. As it happened, however, the limo hopped on the freeway and was soon stuck in the slow moving traffic heading toward downtown LA. At about the right time, we saw the rear window of the big limo lowered and an arm extend out, the fingers extended in a V.

This was our signal that it had worked! One of the several suggestions implanted in Quentin’s mind was to do just this. Breathing a sigh of relief, we continued on. As luck would have it, we were able to retrieve the equipment that evening, as the driver dropped off Quentin at a downtown hi-rise then locked and left the limo.

The next day, I was ushered into Quentin’s palatial office by his secretary. She had called to schedule the meeting first thing that morning. I took a seat on a comfortable sofa and chatted with Quentin while the extremely attractive secretary fussed with coffee. She had long luxurious brown hair, brown eyes and a body that couldn’t be disguised by the conservative business suit she wore. Mr. Quentin caught me staring at her and smiled.

“I knew this meeting was urgent,” said Quentin when the secretary left, “but for the life of me I can’t...”

I cut him off with, “you want to hire me as your new vice president of client relations. Kind of an executive assistant. The salary will be $250K per year. Find me an office on this floor I can use, OK.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, making a few quick notes on a note pad.

“And I’ll want a list of all TQA’s clients. Actually, just the females. Could you do that right away?”

He made another note, then picked up the phone. A few sentences was all it took to order the client list, and another call to start the paperwork for my employment. I sat back into the sofa and smiled at Quentin, pleased that the instructions had taken so well.

“You mind if I call you Michael? Well, Michael, some computer equipment will be delivered later this afternoon, and I’ll want set it up this evening, personally, here in your office. Another system will be set up in my new office. Could you make sure it doesn’t get delayed.”

And on it went, Quentin obeying my suggestions as if I was the most important person in his life. The secretary returned a few minutes later and handed Quentin a folder. After she left he handed it to me. It was an alphabetical list of TQA’s clients, along with a listing of their address, phone number, their TQA agent and other information on billing and the like.

“Your secretary is quite an attractive girl,” I said to Quentin as I made my way through the list of TQA clients. There were five or six names on each page and the report felt like it was forty or fifty pages thick.

I continued, “Is she a good fuck?”

He didn’t miss a beat with his response, “I imagine she’s very good, although I can’t say for sure. She’s really excellent at fellatio... that I can promise you.” His tone was quite businesslike, just as if he were discussing a choice of actors for a part in a movie.

“But you haven’t fucked her yet, huh? We’ll, I will give her a try and tell you how she is. You don’t mind, do you, if I borrow your secretary every now and then for a quick fuck?”

“Not at all,” he answered, smiling graciously. “She’ll arrange for phone coverage while she’s... disposed.”

Before I left, I gave him a dozen or so names of TQA clients that I was interested in, including models Cindy Crawford and Kathy Ireland, actresses Sharon Stone, Madeline Stowe, and, yes, Michele Pfiffer. I made it clear that I wanted him to arrange somehow for them to visit him personally the next time they were in the building. And to advise me before any such visit.

“And would it be possible for me to look over the files of these other clients, including photographs of them? I don’t recognize many of the names, and wouldn’t want to miss someone important.”

“Well, that’s a mountain-sized pile of data, and agents work with those files daily. Can I suggest you start with a dozen at a time and work your way through them. Perhaps you could start tomorrow morning, with the A’s.”

“Excellent suggestion, Michael. We don’t want anyone to start asking questions. That’d be fine.”

“They’ll be on your desk first thing. I’ll have Miss Therien take care of it.”

I left his office and was shown my office, a large corner office with a nice view of the Hollywood hills. The equipment arrived within an hour and I spent the early evening setting it up unobtrusively in Quentin’s office and my own.

The limo driver picked me up the next morning at my apartment and delivered me to the TQA building. Miss Therien brought me coffee and an armful of files.

“Please, have a seat, Miss Therien.”

I flicked on the system and chatted with her about my new job, and what help I would need from her. She was friendly enough, but it was clearly at a professional level, honed to a skill from countless dealing’s with TQA’s executives and important clients. I carefully resisted the impulse to stare at her beautiful legs or promising bust. Instead, I got her talking about the mechanics of the office, how things got done, etc..

Later, after her eyes clouded up, I tested whether the commands had taken and was pleased with the results.

“Could you arrange for phone coverage for Mr. Quentin and myself. I think I’m going to need you to stay with me for the next hour or so.”

“Right away, sir,” she said, her voice taking on a noticeably different tone. My cock twitched at the throaty voice and the twinkle in her dark eyes. When she returned a few minutes later I had moved from behind my desk and over to the a comfortable chair in the opposite side of the office, near a sofa, coffee table and television.

“Close the door, Miss Therien. Let me have a better look at you.” She walked over and stopped when she was a few feet in front of my chair. One hand on her hip, she smiled seductively down at me.

“It’s Sandra, right?”

“Sandy’s fine, sir,” she responded.

“Thanks, Sandy. Starting with your suit jacket, would you please remove your clothes. It would please me to see you naked.”

Programmed to do anything that would please me, she beamed and began removing her clothes. The jacket, first. The blouse was pulled out of the skirt and unbuttoned, slowly. Her eyes were on me, and the tip of her tongue came out and licked across her upper lip. She peeled the blouse off, revealing a white bra encasing two large breasts. Her hands dropped to her waist and undid the belt and skirt. It dropped to the floor and she stepped out of it. Her fingers slid under the waist band of her panty hose and started to shimmy them down over her hips and thighs.

“In the future, Sandy, I’d like you to wear a garter belt and silk stockings rather than panty hose. Would that be possible?”

“Oh, yes, sir!”

“Good girl.”

She was now down to her matching white panties and bra. Her lips were slightly parted and her breathing was noticeably heavier, her large breasts rising and falling with each breath.

“That’s fine for now, Sandy. I want you to come over and kneel in front of me... that’s good. Now, I want you to take my cock out and suck me off. If you do a good job, I’ll fuck you later.”

She quickly unfastened my belt and opened my trousers. I lifted my ass off the chair and she pulled my trousers and underwear down to my knees. Within seconds, she had a firm grip on the base of my cock and was sucking noisily on the head. The suction of her mouth was incredible! I nearly lost it right there! But just at that point her mouth relaxed its vacuum-like grip and her dead dropped down, my cock trapped deep against the back of her mouth. The I heard a low groan as she lifted herself to a different angle and pushed down until I could feel my cock worm its way into her incredibly tight throat. If this feeling wasn’t enough, she began humming. The physical force of my orgasm was like nothing I’d ever felt before, and my cock jerked in her throat and shot load after load of cum down her throat and into her belly.

“I think I’ll need Miss Therien as my private secretary, Michael. Do you think that might be possible?”

Michael Quentin, the biggest talent broker in the world, responded as expected. As programmed.

I replaced the phone and turned to Sandy Therien and said, “I hope you don’t mind...”

“No, sir, not at all!”

It was barely five minutes since I’d experienced the greatest orgasm of my life, while fucking my cock into this gorgeous girl’s throat. But I was ready for more.

“Take off your bra and panties, Sandy.”

She reached back and unhooked her bra and the largest, firmest breasts I’d ever seen spilled out and stood up. Her aureoles were almost two inches across and her nipples were thick and long. She quickly removed her panties and stood before be. Her pussy was covered by a thick matt of silky brown hair. Too thick, I decided.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Sandy.”

“Yes, sir. Mark.”

“How often do you see him?”

“Usually twice a week, sir.”

“And how often do you suck him off?”

“Twice a week, sir.”

“And does he fuck you?”

“Yes..", she giggled. Then, “about twice a week.”

“I don’t blame him,” I said. I got up from my desk and moved over to her. My hands massaged her lovely breasts for a minute, then I held each nipple between my thumb and forefinger and twirled them. Soon her nipples were fully erect, almost an inch long, and she was breathing quite rapidly.

“Call him tonight. After you’ve sucked him off, tell him you have a surprise for him, but you need his help. Have a pair of scissors, a razor, a bowl of hot water and some shaving cream ready. Ask him to shave your pussy. Tell him you want to be fourteen again, and that you want him to take your virginity. It will please me to have you do that. Will you?”

“Oh, God, yes!” she cried as I pinched her nipples.

“You are now my secretary, Sandy. We’ll make up the rules as we go along. But one thing we should agree on now, because very soon I expect to be quite busy with the female clientele of TQA. When I ring you on the intercom, and ask you to come in for dictation, I want you to do three things for me. One, arrange for phone coverage so that we are not interrupted. Two, go to the ladies room and remove your underwear. Three, think abut fucking me so that your pussy is nice and wet. It would please me to be able to take you quickly, by just bending you over the desk, raising your skirt, and ramming my cock into you. Would that be okay?”

“Yessss..,” She cried. I turned her around and pushed her over my desk. One hand caressed her white ass checks while the other guided my cock to and into her hot, dripping wet snatch. One shove and I was buried to the hilt, my hips slapping against her ass. I drove into her fast and hard, enjoying the feeling of her cunt gripping my cock and the sound of our coupling in the otherwise sterile business setting. I fucked this Playboy centerfold-type for twenty minutes, bent over the desk, then on the sofa and finally on the oriental rug. I finally shot my load into her hot snatch during her second noisy orgasms of the morning.