The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Carol awoke, the glare from a bright light adding to the headache pounding at her temples. She blinked and sat up. A bare light bulb shone down from the ceiling, the source of the pain in her eyes. She raised a hand to protect them from the light. Quickly she checked herself. Everything seemed okay. She was sure that she’d have bruises on her arms from where the guard had held her but other than that she couldn’t find anything wrong. She still had her clothes on. But her bag and books weren’t here. Nor was her watch, so she had no way of telling how long she’d been out.

Carol looked around the room that she found herself in. It was small, about ten feet by eight. She was sitting on a bunk that was attached to the wall. There were no windows, only a door in the wall across the room from her. Carol realised that the walls, even the floor and ceiling of her room, were metal. Where was she? Standing up, she looked around the room again. She could hear a vibration, feel it through floor, it sounded like the distant throb of machinery. She looked at the door. It was metal, like the rest of the room, and looked heavy.

Carol took a step back in surprise as a small panel in the door, a little above her eye level, was flung back. She could see a man outside, but she couldn’t make out his features.

“Hello Stephanie.” Carol felt her brow furrow in surprise. She knew that voice. It wasn’t the guard who’d spoken to her.

“Professor Copeland!” her voice rose in surprise. She paused. Carol was too much of a realist to think that this was some sort of miraculous rescue. “You’re not going to let me out, are you?” she added.

“No, I’m not.” She could just see him smiling, through the gap in the door, in the way she’d seen him smile in class when a student correctly answered a difficult question. The light outside seemed dimmer than the light in her room.

“No teary pleas?” he ventured at length. “Well, we’ll see. You must have questions. Let’s get them out of the way. Yes, you’ve been kidnapped. No I’m not just going to let you go. No, you’re not going to die. Well, not unless you choose to.” Carol frowned, wondering what he meant by that.

“You’re probably wondering where you are,” the professor continued. “We’re on a boat, bound for Mexico. There are a lot of men there that will pay handsomely for the company of a nice American girl like you. Some visiting businessmen, some locals. Their money is all good.”

So that was the source of the vibration! The engines of the boat, or ship, or whatever it was. Carol wondered how large it was. How long had she been out? How far from shore were they? Too far, she feared, to be able to swim for it. Mentally she remonstrated with herself. She wouldn’t let herself be defeated so easily. Her first objective had to be to get out of this cell. Then she’d see what she could manage after that.

If Copeland had any inkling of her thoughts he gave no sign. “But this is a slow boat,” he continued, apologetically, “and it will take us some weeks to get there. You’ll need to eat, and drink. I’ve got something for you here now. Would you like it?”

Carol hesitated. Maybe he’d drug her again. She considered refusing. There wasn’t much point though. If he wanted to drug her he could, trapped in this small room as she was. Or maybe cabin was a better word, not that it was exactly her idea of accommodation for a luxury cruise. And there was no point in starving herself to death. Was that what he’d meant, when he’d said something about her choosing to die?

“Yes, yes I would.” Her voice was low, cautious, but Copeland would probably expect that.

“Well then, I need you to do something first. I want you to say something.”

“What?” asked Carol, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice.

“It’s very simple, just say ‘I’m going to be a prostitute’” Copeland’s voice was even, as if he was explaining a simple principle to a reluctant student.

Carol could feel rebellion running through her. She wasn’t going to let Copeland turn her into a whore. She didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by playing his twisted games. But she could see the rules here.

“What if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t get the water.” He replied, evenly.

Carol shrugged. She’d expected an answer like that. They were only words.

“I’m going to be a prostitute.”

“Clever girl,” the congratulatory tone made Carol want to throw something at the door. “The others all refused. Oh they all came around in the end, but they wasted a lot of time and energy before they did. Much easier to just agree, isn’t it?”

Carol glared at the door. She heard a noise from lower down, towards the floor. She could see another panel, one that she hadn’t noticed earlier, open and a hand pushed through a half full glass of water.

“I’ll be back later.”

Cautiously Carol approached the glass. She was thirsty. She wasn’t surprised. She had probably been out for hours and the chloroform had probably contributed to the dryness in her mouth. She picked up the glass and paused. What if it was drugged? It hardly mattered. Copeland could easily drug her if he wanted to. She could refuse to drink. But if she was going to get out of this she would need her strength. She swallowed the water. Something about the situation didn’t make sense. She now knew how the girls had disappeared. She guessed that the erstwhile security guards answered to Copeland. Whether they were actual guards or imposters didn’t matter. She had some idea why she and the other girls had been kidnapped. What exactly Copeland was up to putting her through that little performance to get a drink wasn’t clear. He could make her say things like that all he liked. Carol wasn’t about to start turning tricks for him. With a touch of fear she realised that she would probably learn a lot more about his plans before she got out of here. But something about this still didn’t make sense.

She tried the door. As she’d feared it was heavy and refused to budge. She guessed it was locked from the outside. Difficult to keep her a prisoner if it wasn’t. Reluctantly she returned to the bunk. The mattress was old and warn and the blanket thin. She wondered how many of the other girls had sat here, thinking the same thoughts.

Without her watch Carol wasn’t sure how long she sat there. The light didn’t help. Sometimes it went off, but that didn’t last very long. Sometimes it flickered. Carol’s headache, which had started to recede, began to get worse.

She looked to the door as the upper panel was pushed open again.

“You’re probably feeling hungry Stephanie,” Carol could hear concern in Copeland’s voice. It was probably fake, but she had to grant him his acting skills. “I have some more water here, and something to eat, would you like it?”

“Yes, you piece of shit.” Carol spat.

“Oh, defiance, not unexpected. Anyway,” he paused, “all you need to do is say what you said before and add ‘I want to be a prostitute’.”

Carol could see it now. The flickering light, with no means of telling the time, was meant to disorient her. Control of her means of survival to bring her to heel. Horrified awareness filled her voice as her previous assurance melted. “You’re trying to brainwash me.”

“Oh you are a clever girl. Yes, I am. A simple but effective technique, even if the subject realises what’s happening.”

Carol sat there, stunned. A little while ago she’d been so sure that the words wouldn’t matter. She’d studied enough psychology to know what Copeland had in store for her. Tired, disoriented, repeating the words over and over again. Probably he’d change the script, dragging her further in. Carol regarded herself as strong willed, but she knew that no-one can last forever. Eventually she would break. If she was lucky then the best she could hope for was appear to co-operate, hope he let her out before her will was broken.

“If it makes you happy,” she replied. Then she added brightly, “I’m going to be a prostitute, I want to be a prostitute.”

Carol could see Copeland regarding her, through the small slot in the door. She wished that she could see more of him, see what passed across his features. She knew it as a vain hope. This set up was designed to help her captor, not her.

After a moment the lower panel was opened and a simple meal pushed through. Carol ate, then sat on the bunk, restless. She was still convinced that there was something she was missing. She paced her cell, trying to see if there was some exit she had missed. There was a simple toilet, but there was no way she could fit. Even if she had been prepared to take such a route. She could still feel the hum of the engines even, now she concentrated on it, a slight rocking motion as the boat moved in the water.

She tried the door again, pressing both hands against it, more out of the need to do something than any real hope of achieving anything. The door didn’t respond, but she thought she could hear movement in the corridor outside. The sound stopped and Carol waited for the panel to be pushed aside, waited to see what Copeland would ask of her next.

To her surprise it stayed motionless. She thought she could hear a voice, it could be Copeland’s, but she couldn’t make out what it was saying. Holding her breath she pushed an ear to the door.

“That’s it Janice, good girl, I think you’re almost ready. We’ll be there in about a week, maybe a little more depending on the weather.”

Janice, thought Carol, Janice Thornton. So she wasn’t alone here. But Janice had disappeared weeks ago. If Copeland had been putting her through the same treatment he had started on Carol then she dreaded to think what state the poor girl was in by now. But what had Copeland meant by “there in about a week”? Hadn’t he said the trip to Mexico would take weeks? Carol sagged. She wanted to hit herself. How could Copeland afford to disappear for the weeks he said their trip to Mexico would take? He still had his teaching at the college, had been teaching ever since Janice disappeared. They might be on a boat, Carol could hear the engine, feel some rolling motion. But that was side to side, there was no sense of forward movement at all. If this was a boat, then it was probably tied up somewhere. And that meant all she had to do was get out of this cell. After that escape should be easy.

As Carol expected Copeland increased his demands on her. Over the next few days the script she had to follow to get fed changed, becoming worse and worse. He’d make her repeat the words over and over.

“I’m happy to be a prostitute.”

“I love it when men use me.”

“I want to be used sexually.”

Despite her knowledge of what he was doing Carol could feel the words starting to affect her. She could picture it in her head. Offering herself to men. Selling herself. Letting them do whatever they wanted to her. Being easily able to imagine other lives, slip herself into the role, was what made her a good undercover policewoman. The ideas formed into images. Wouldn’t let her go. For the first time in her life Carol regretted her talents.

She knew she had to get out of the cell soon. She remembered what Copeland had said to Janice, about it only being a week more for the other girl. Carol had to get out of there before that time was up. She couldn’t hear what Janice said when Copeland spoke to her, muffled as it was by so much metal, but from what she heard Copeland say Janice must be pretty far gone.

The lack of sleep didn’t help. It seemed that whenever Carol dozed off the light would flicker, faster and faster, until she woke up. She could feel her sense of time going, her resistance weakening. Sometimes she was in a daze, simply repeating the words that Copeland gave her. After she’d eaten she’d try to force herself to stay awake, try to push the words out of her mind. Stubbornly, they refused to budge.

She kept to her plan. If Copeland was intending to withhold food and water as a punishment, then she would give him no reason to stop feeding her. The lights were bad enough, she knew that hunger and thirst could push her over the edge.

When she listened at the door most of the time, if she heard anything, it was Copeland talking to Janice. Occasionally he’d talk to another man. Carol learnt to recognise two other voices, one that of the moustachioed guard.

Carol thought that it was three or four days since she had first heard Copeland talking to Janice. She realised that her estimate could be wildly wrong. However long it had been, she finally heard something that she thought she could use. It was faint, the men must be some way down whatever corridor lay outside her door. They probably thought that they were well out of range of her hearing, not realising that she had her ear pressed against the door.

“That new one, Stephanie,” Carol recognised the voice as that of the moustachioed guard, “is coming along well boss.”

“A bit too well.” Copeland sounded suspicious.

“Huh?”

“All the other girls refused to co-operate. That meant they were hungry and thirsty when I started the program.”

“So?” the guard’s lack of understanding was clear.

“She jumped straight in. Mentally she was in a much stronger position than they were.”

“Sorry boss, I don’t get it. She’s saying what you want, so she’ll end up same as them.”

“Not necessarily.” Carol could almost hear Copeland’s lips pursing, “She’s playing along, rather than doing it out of need. I need to break her down. Starving her would be counter-productive. Hmm, that’s it. No sleep. I want you to use the light. I want her kept awake. Give her a day or two of that and we’ll see her break.”

“Umm, you know that if we flick the lights too much too quick they can go.”

Copeland made an exasperated noise. “Well if the bulb breaks, it’ll be dark. She’ll go to sleep. Make sure she is, switch it, and wake her up again.”

“Okay.”

Carol settled down on the floor. She knew that the lack of sleep was already getting to her. A day or two without any and Copeland might just break her. But she could see a chance as well. If the bulb broke then the guard would come into her room. That meant he’d have to open the door. Shielding her eyes she looked at the light. Was there some way she could help the process along? She could see the bulb sitting in its socket. Could she squeeze her fingers through the wire frame so that she could break it, or even loosen it enough that it wouldn’t work? She decided to wait a while. If the bulb went immediately then the guard was bound to be suspicious.

A couple of hours later, or at least what Carol thought was a couple of hours later, she could feel her head pounding. The guard had obviously taken Copeland’s instructions to heart. The light was bright, and flashed almost constantly. Even when she turned her head away, and covered it with the thin blanket, the strobing effect refused to let her sleep. The light bounced off the metal walls.

Realising her mental state would only get worse, Carol decided it was time to try her plan. She hoped that the guard wouldn’t choose now to check on her. Cautiously she got up, shielding her eyes with one hand. She pushed the fingers of the other hand through a gap in the wire mesh. Heat from the light seared through her fingertips before she reached the bulb. She tried again, but the pain was too much. Reluctantly she returned to her bunk, sitting on the rough blanket.

Carol’s head snapped around. She looked down at the blanket. Getting to her feet she ripped it off the bed. It was thin, but not too thin. It might be enough. Holding the blanket in front of her, to protect both her eyes and her hands, she returned to the light.

She pushed parts of the blanket through gaps in the wire mesh. She could just get some contact with the light. Pain flared through her fingers, but it was bearable. She could try to break the glass, but that might look suspicious. Carol decided to try loosening it. The guard should think that the bulb had blown, he wouldn’t know any different until he was in the cell. And then Carol would have her chance.

Lances were being stuck in her fingers, pain from the heat of the light. She was sure she would have burns to show for this. Grimly she got as much of a hold on the bulb as she could and turned. Soon she could feel movement. She could smell something acrid, as the heat started to burn the blanket. Carol heard a slight click as the bulb lost its connection and then darkness enveloped her. Hurriedly she put the blanket back on the bunk. She had no idea how long it would take for the guard to notice. She’d have to look as if she was asleep. She lay in the darkness sucking her injured fingers.

Carol soon realised that there was one possible flaw in her plan. She was tired, her fingers hurt. Mentally she was weary form the ordeal of the last few days. Her cell was finally dark. Pretending to be asleep, there was the dangerous possibility that her act might turn all too real and the guard would enter her room to find her actually asleep. She stopped sucking her injured fingers, pressed the edges of her fingernails against them in the hope that the pain would keep her awake.

Just as she was sure that the pain wouldn’t be enough and that she’d slip into unconsciousness Carol heard the upper panel in the door slide aside.

“Damn,” she heard the guard mutter. Carol tensed, waiting for him to open the door. Despair washed over her as she heard him walk away. What was he doing?

To her relief she soon heard him return. A click, as if of a key in a lock, was soon followed by the sound of the door moving. Carol lay as still as she could, her eyes narrowed in the darkness. She could just see, in the slight gap between her eyelids, the beam of a torch.

The guard stood in the doorway for a few moments. Carol thought he was looking at her. She made herself breathe, evenly, as good an impression of sleep as she could manage. Soon the guard cautiously advanced into her cell. She heard him grumbling as he examined the light. The man fumbled for a few moments, but with only one hand free he couldn’t seem to open the padlock that held the wire cage shut.

He looked around, obviously wondering what to do. Then he put his torch on the toilet, near Carol’s bunk, angled up to shine on the light in the ceiling. She could see that it looked heavy. Then he returned to his work. His back wasn’t quite to her. That would have blocked the beam from his torch. But Carol knew it was now or never. Ignoring the tiredness in her limbs, the pain in her fingers, she flung herself off the bunk, towards the torch. A fluid roll found her on her feet, torch in hand, as the guard started to turn towards her. Carol could see surprise on his features as the light of the torch swung across the room.

Instinctively she raised the torch and brought it down on his head. The man tried to raise his arms to ward off the blow, but in the dark he misjudged her swing. A satisfying crack as it connected with his skull was followed by his unconscious body slumping to the floor.

Carol quickly searched his body. She wanted out of the cell before he awoke, but she needed his keys. She found nothing. Fear starting to rise in her, she swung the torch’s beam around the room. She had to suppress a hysterical laugh when it fell on the wire cage of the room’s light. There, still connected to the padlock by its key, was a ring, other keys dangling from it. Hurriedly Carol retrieved it and left her cell. She closed the door behind her. Tucking the torch under one arm she fumbled with the lock.

As she found the key to her cell and locked the door Carol finally allowed herself relax. Now all she had to do was free Janice and get them both out of there. Swinging the torch around the corridor she quickly located the other cell. It seemed that hers and Janice’s were the only ones.

It didn’t take Carol long to find the proper key and open the door to Janice’s cell. She shut off the torch as light from the room spilled into the corridor.

“Hello?” A young woman’s voice, nervous. Carol immediately recognised the owner from the photo on Wainwright’s notice board. Janice Thornton. The girl looked in much better condition than Carol had expected. She’d thought that Copeland’s little setup would leave its victims haggard. She certainly expected that if she could see herself now the lack of sleep would be obvious. Add to that the lack of food the other girls had suffered and Carol thought result would resemble the bums she saw on the street—painfully thin, black rings around the eyes, obviously weak. Janice didn’t look like that. Sure, she as a little thinner than in her picture, but if anything that made her look better than before. She sat on her bunk, hands folded in her lap, looking a picture of health.

“We’ve got to get out here.” Carol said urgently.

“N...No, I...I can’t do that,” Janice replied, her eyes widening in fear, “He, he wouldn’t like that.”

Carol felt her shoulders slump. Physically Janice might be fine, but mentally was an entirely different matter. She remembered hearing Copeland tell the other girl that her trip would be over soon. She should have expected that Janice’s resistance would be gone. Carol hadn’t been prepared for this, but now she’d have to deal with it.

Carol nervously looked around, then entered Janice’s cell. “I’m a police officer, come on.” She pulled Janice to her feet. Janice didn’t offer any resistance, but she didn’t seem ready to move under her own volition either. “But, but,” the red-headed girl’s confusion as obvious, “we’re at sea. Where are we going? I can’t.”

Carol pulled the other girl along. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. Janice was reluctant, but she let herself be led.

Carol soon realised that she had no idea where to go. They might be deep within the bowels of some massive ship for all she knew. She decided that away from the cells and up was the best she could do.

To her relief it wasn’t long before her plan bore fruit. She could see a watertight door ahead, daylight coming in through the small porthole set into it.

Cautiously Carol opened the door. She didn’t know who else might be on board. Her eyes blinked, momentarily blinded by the sunlight after the darkness inside the ship. Hearing nothing she peered around the door. Then she pulled the still weakly protesting Janice outside with her.

“Look,” Carol said, “we’re not at sea.” She pointed at the land in front of them, a jumble of small stones. Carol recognised some of the earth works from the harbour. All they had to do was get away from this boat before Copeland returned and they were safe. She could see a gangplank leading down to the shore.

“Come on,” she said to Janice.

This time he girl didn’t respond to her tug. “I…I can’t. I’m supposed to stay here until, until he says. I... no.”

Carol sighed, and pulled harder on Janice’s arm. The other girl stumbled into her. The redhead’s resistance momentarily gone, she let Carol lead her off the boat. At the foot of the gangplank Carol desperately scanned their surroundings, hoping Copeland wasn’t about. She saw no-one. In the distance were buildings, warehouses. If they could reach there they could get help.

The walk across the jagged landscape seemed interminable. Keeping her own balance was hard enough, but Carol had to support Janice as well. She was half carrying, half dragging the other girl. Janice let Carol lead her, but would occasionally protest. Carol realised how much Copeland had got to Janice. She was only glad that she had escaped before she was in the same state.

A movement across the expanse of rocks caught Carol’s eye. She wasn’t sure whether it was Copeland, or the other guard or someone else, but she wasn’t willing to take the chance. She pulled Janice with her as she lay down on the rocks. The sharp points pressed into her and she knew they were terribly exposed, but it was the best that she could do.

After what Carol judged to be long enough she cautiously got to her feet. Whoever it had been, she couldn’t see them anymore. She looked back at their prison. She could see that it was a tug boat or something like that. She couldn’t see any movement on it. She pulled Janice to her feet and set off once more, towards the buildings she could see in the distance.

Afterwards Carol didn’t know how long that journey took, between the terrain, her exhaustion and Janice’s lack of co-operation it felt like hours. The other girl was a dead weight, often looking back the way they came. Sometimes she half-heartedly tugged in that direction. Having to drag Janice, Carol often stumbled and fell, cutting herself on the rocks even through her jeans. She could feel Janice shaking, see the fear in her eyes. She could feel her own fear, knotted in her stomach. She knew that Janice would be no use if it came to a fight, and Carol knew that she herself was nowhere near fully fit. She’d taken the first guard by surprise. She didn’t expect to get that lucky again.

Reaching the warehouses, she cautiously looked around. They seemed empty. She needed an office and a phone. She pulled Janice inside one of the buildings as a vehicle pulled up. Carol still wasn’t prepared to take chances. Peering through a crack in the door she saw a man she didn’t recognise get out of a pick-up truck and head into another of the buildings. Satisfied for the moment she examined the building in which she’d taken refuge.

It was a large warehouse. At the other end was a door that looked like it might lead to another, smaller space. Carol’s heart leapt. Maybe it was an office. Taking Janice’s arm she pulled the other girl with her towards it.

Carol almost cried from relief when she saw a desk with a phone on it. She pushed Janice into a beaten-up swivel chair. Hurriedly she picked up the receiver and dialled Wainwright’s number.

“Pick up, pick up,” she muttered. Her knees almost buckled as she heard the receiver on the other end being lifted. She held herself up by her free hand.

“Wainwright” she heard her boss say.

“Bill, it’s me”

“Carol?” Carol could hear the surprise in his voice. “Where the hell are you?”

“In a warehouse, down by the docks. I’ve got Janice with me. Get a squad car down here to pick us up. And get another over to the college and arrest Professor Copeland. He’s the one we’re after.”

Wainwright didn’t question her. They had worked together long enough for him to trust her, whatever she said. “Right.”

The noise of the siren of the squad car was the most welcome sound Carol had ever heard. Safe in the backseat she finally allowed herself to sleep.

It was the next day before Wainwright would let her come into the office.

“I told you not to take any chances.” Carol could see the anger mixed with relief on her boss’ face.

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t, would we have found out anything?” Her voice sounded confident, but Carol knew how close it had been.

Wainwright pursed his lips, looking at her. “No, I suppose not,” he said at length, “but it was still stupid.”

“Have we got him?”

“Yeah, and his two goons. He tried to play ignorant at first, but as soon as we told him you were police he started to sing like a bird. According to him it was all the fault of the wise guys he sold the girls to.”

“So we can get them back?” Carol looked up, hopeful.

Wainwright’s lips were set. “Maybe, probably, if they haven’t sold them on. Copeland’s story’ll be enough for a warrant, and if they’re where he says, we’ll get them out. We got Janice back. It’s a start.”

“How’s Janice?” She hadn’t seen the other girl since they’d separated at the police station. Carol could still remember the fear in the other girl’s eyes as a doctor had taken her away.

Wainwright shrugged. “Physically she’s fine. But the shrinks say that Copeland did a real number on her. Apparently she’s still more worried about what he’s going to say about her getting out than about anything else. Looks like she’ll be in therapy for a while.” He stopped, then looked at Carol, “what about you? It sounds like Copeland had a nasty setup. I still want you to see one of the shrinks.”

Carol shook her head. “I’ll be fine. He didn’t have me for anywhere near as long. I just want to see him go down for a long, long, time.”

Wainwright snorted, “Oh, he’ll do that. Between what he’s telling us and your testimony he’ll be lucky if he ever gets out.”

Carol smiled. She wanted to see Copeland locked up. She hadn’t told Wainwright that she’d woken up this morning to the words running around her head. She didn’t want to see a shrink. She wasn’t like that. Copeland would get what was coming to him and she’d deal with her own problems. She was sure she’d get over it.

Pretty sure.

Probably.

Maybe.