The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“That would be great. Yes, thank you very much. Bye bye.” Christine set the phone in its cradle (she still had a landline) and turned back to me. She clasped her hands together in front of her, which pushed her breasts together in her tight T shirt and lifted them upwards. She smiled at me and rocked back and forth on her heels.

I returned a smile at her. I liked seeing her happy. It was a nice change from her usually staid, reserved demeanor.

“She said yes! Between your research being done and now with someone to watch the kids, I’m covered. So, you are going to let me come with you right? You know I’d love to meet your family.” She looked around out of habit, her sons were over at a friend’s house and wouldn’t be back for at least a half an hour.

Christine showed then that she was thinking what I was thinking. “We have time. If you want, you can suck on my titties.”

I felt my dick stir at the word. Just something about the word, ‘titties’ and it being uttered by a demure, intelligent, classy lady. “Say it again, only beg this time” I told her as I approached her and put my hands on her hips.

Her eyes became mischievous. I swore then that an unexpected side effect of the drug might possibly be some kind of re-invigoration. It was almost like she was a playful, younger woman. Or, it could just be that I was dicking her right. Having been a virgin before the night I dosed her, I couldn’t say.

“Please suck on my titties, baby.” She tilted her head down, and I realized in that moment what I was sensing. No wonder it was so strange and alien to me, considering the fact that my mother was a narcissistic psychopath, I had never seen this before. Christine was radiating warmth- no! Something more particular than that.

Sustenance! Archetypal in her aspect, the nurturer, the shield-matron, the protector. She wanted to be with me not just for the promise of romance and coital delights, but also it appealed to her instinctive senses. And the fact that she was willing to leave her real children behind to be with me meant that I was her favorite.

Christine chose me over her own children!

‘Of course, the drug I gave her had a lot to do with that,’ I told myself and promptly edited the thought from my memory. Still, my ‘Sophie’ had made her choice. I chuckled as I lifted up her shirt and unclasped the cups on her nursing bra.

Her engorged nipples sprung free. Her areolas were a darker shade of red now, almost light brown and appeared to be slightly larger. I flicked her thick nips with my fingers and heard her gasp before I latched on and drank greedily from her body. I felt her head tilt down and she kissed me on the top of mine.

I slid my hand down into the front of her pants and fondled her. She was wet. I caught her clit between two knuckles and clenched.

“Uhh Nuhh,” she exhaled, the pleasure leaking out of her and consumed by me.

I stopped lapping up her lactic fountain. “You can accompany me.” Her smile was golden. I turned my attention to her other teat. We had plenty of time.

The drive to Oakdale (my old hometown, and more importantly, my mother’s town) was proving uneventful. I felt pride in my restraint. In the trunk was a suitcase full of vials and vials all containing a substance capable of reducing any person into a derelict vessel powered only by a need for sating my lust. And if all I cared about was ‘sating my lust’, perhaps I would have engineered a scenario to ensnare the lone traveling saleswoman at our hotel. Or the two college girls, on their way to the coast to party.

They all had one huge mark against them.

All of them were in their early to late twenties, thus they were too young to pique my interest.

Of course, showing up back home with a woman like Christine, very near Mother’s age, would alert dear old mom to my particular, hmm, proclivities. I knew a woman closer to my age would make for better camouflage, but I also knew this wouldn’t fool Mother. She understood what I liked, as all those evenings she spent walking around in her slinky night gowns, chardonnay in hand, was meant to instill. Christine would just be the reminder of what Mother owes me, and how the burden of that debt was shifted to me. Now, I am her creature.

To the bone.

Mother specialized in a certain skill unique to her and a few Zen masters. Discernment. Not a woman’s intuition, that is she did not bridge various bits of information and arrive at a conclusion, rather she saw a thing for what it was, what it represented, and acted in accordance to its nature. Just bent to her will.

She subverts. I pervert. Which would win?

I grunted in disgust just thinking about it. Sure, I was ‘special’ in the wholly mundane rational. Mother, however, was post rational; no, she was meta rational. I looked over at Christine, happily driving the car. Her presence at home would be problematic and in that moment I decided I did not care. Mother would grill her, Mother would learn, Mother would plan. I would need something else.

“Take the next exit with a motel. I have to think.” Perhaps Christine could help, she was a mom, her perspective could prove useful. ‘Ha,’ I laughed to myself. Bright as she was, Christine was warm and loving. Mother was an Ice Queen and her insight into the secrets people held close approached the supernatural.

‘No, I need something else, something she won’t see,’ I told myself. ‘She knows I hate her, and what I am capable of. She will know that I know this, she will expect an ancillary,’ and then I had it. The King rarely takes the Queen, she moves too fast, too far away. Something must be waiting there for her. Someone that is.

I could see the motel sign from the road. “Christine, we will go there. While you drive though, be a dear and tell me honestly how you feel about your sons, and remember you never lie to me.”

Family relations were always so… troublesome.

The door opened to reveal a haggard, tired face lined with wrinkles. “Hello,” she said, her teeth stained yellow from cigarettes. “May I help you?”

“Miss Reynolds, Miss Jasmine Reynolds?” She nodded. She did not recognize me. Inside I heard a dog bark. She looked back.

“Quiet Vincent,” she shouted at the animal. She looked back at me, intrigued; but weary, very weary. I smiled. I had made her that way. I stuck out my hand.

“Miss Reynolds, my name is Baxter Jones, I work for Valor Pharmaceuticals. With me is Dr. Christine Busby, board certified Neuropsychologist. We are here to talk to you about your son. We believe we have an offer you might be interested in.”

I watched as the light returned to her eyes. ‘Ahh that is what hope looks like.’ She invited us in as she tucked an errant hair behind her ear. I stepped into her house, Christine behind me. I quickly looked around and felt engulfed by her despair, as it seeped from the walls and permeated the air. She smiled at me. ‘Time to take all her hope away.’

Twelve Years Prior:

I crawled through the dirt, my eye swollen shut. Blood poured from my nose. ‘Why,’ was the only thought I had time to produce before a sneaker twice the size of the ones I wore landed squarely in my ribs. I screamed.

“No one’s around to hear you Poindexter.” Zach Reynolds flipped me over and squatted down. He grabbed my throat. My nine year old hands clawed at his fingers. “But if you don’t shut up, twerp, I will hurt you bad.”

It was 3:30 in the afternoon, Oakdale Middle school had been dismissed. I had thought by escaping through the field in the back that I would fool the bullies waiting for me out front. Only five minutes extra walking and problem solved. And I had tricked most of them, but not Zach Reynolds. He was different. He was a monster.

He let go of my throat. I wheezed as blessed air filled my lungs. His hand, now free, balled into a fist. He held it in front of my face. “Sally McShane was in the office earlier, said it was buzzing. You aced some test and was leaving us next week to go to some special school somewhere out of town.” He patted me on the head. I was very, very still.

“That’s good, really. You are like some kind of genius or something. I don’t care about all that.” His fist loomed closer, it blotted out the sun, all the light in my world was gone. “What I care about are those games I’ve seen you trading with the other nerds at school. Not that I care about that geek shit, but those game systems are worth some nice coin.” He popped his knuckles. “Give me everything or I’ll hurt you. I mean bad, I mean, I may not be able to stop myself.” He stood and placed the tip of his shoe against my jaw.

“Don’t try to screw me. I’ve heard about that Red Ring of Death shit you nerds babble about. You try to pawn some broken crap off on me and your hot, slutty mom will never find your teeth.” His shoe pressed into my cheek.

I swallowed the blood in my throat and nodded. “O-okay. I can bring it next week. I loaned—“ His foot pressed down. My jaw creaked. “Tomawwoah,” was all I was capable of saying.

He gave me a thumbs up.

“It has produced incredible results in our tests.” I picked up the plastic cup and pretended to drink. One could never be too careful, if she recognized me this would get ugly, quickly. “But it is now time in our trials to use it on human subjects. Of course, given the nature of the malady it treats, we will need your consent.”

Once we were inside Jasmine had us seated and “excused” herself to fetch something to drink and “freshen up”. She was gone for nearly ten minutes. In that time I could confirm she did make drinks, combed her hair, and smeared on a little make up. What else had she done while Christine and I couldn’t watch?

She nodded along with my spiel, as she did so she leaned in towards me to listen. That button on her blouse wasn’t undone when she answered the door. My eidetic memory confirmed as much. “You think it can work?” I could see the swell of her breasts. Her pale flesh was spotted with large freckles. A picture was forming. All I needed was here.

I merely had to connect the dots.

I smiled. “Complete restoration of all mental faculties is possible, but I cannot promise you anything, only that the drug itself is quite safe. Dr. Busby can explain all the technical details if you like.” I looked around as Christine went through the prepared speech. Jasmine cut her off.

“Sorry, but the truth is, well, I am desperate. I’ll sign anything you need so long as you say it’s safe.” Her hands fidgeted.

“We would like your permission to see him and do some evaluations first. Our information indicates that he’s at the hospital here.”

Jasmine drank from her cup, a cup she would not let stray from her side. She set it down. “Your information is wrong. He’s upstairs. I… see to his needs. If you want, I would like very much for you to see him.” Her eyes went distant.

“That would be splendid,” I told her.

We followed her up the stairs and I noted the second floor was much better maintained. Jasmine kept her despondency with her on the first floor it seemed. She walked to a room at the end of the hall. She knocked on the door.

“Zachary, honey, its mom, I’m coming in.”

Twelve Years Prior:

“Zachary, honey, its mom, I’m coming in.”

She opened the door and looked me over before she stopped and smiled. She was tiny and had dark hair and big, dark eyes. She reminded me of a famous actress. “Oh, Zach you have to let me know when you have company over.” She stepped closer. She saw me, she pretended to not see the bruises. I noticed her not noticing. She stuck out her hand. I took it. Her flesh was cool and soft.

“I’m Jasmine, Zach’s mom. You must be Lisa’s son. Look at you, you’re so little. I can’t believe you are in middle school already.” She spoke rapid fire, I had no time to interject. “Is that the newfangled video game that everyone is talking about. Maybe if someone is a good boy he’ll get one for Christmas.” She winked with comedic effect to her son. I felt sick. “Well, I have to go. You two behave yourselves.” My eyes followed her out as she shut the door.

He slapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t look at my mom, twerp. Besides, she isn’t a whore like your mom.” He held up the videogame controller. Not the one I had modified the night before. It was too early for that. “Now show me how this works.”

I fired up a fighting game for him. I knew it was a prelude for him trying out the moves on me in his room. I humored him until I heard his mom’s car start up in their driveway. I made an excuse to use the restroom and went into the next bedroom instead to see her leaving.

Upon my return to the room I went to the bag that contained my other game paraphernalia and retrieved the modified controller. I made a show of trying to use it myself. He bit, he asked if there was something special about it.

“It’s modified,” I told him. “See the metal plate? Very expensive, it allows you to cheat.” He balled up his fist.

“You holding out on me, twerp?”

“Um, no, honest! I brought it didn’t I? It’s just I wanted to use it, but if you want to try it, all you have to do is plug it in, it doesn’t run on a battery.”

“Well, do it then. How much is this thing worth?” He asked, intrigued.

‘Perhaps he really intends on selling it,’ I thought. I made up a number. “Three hundred new. I think the game store will pay two hundred for it in good condition.”

“Holy shit, plug it in already. Wait, over there?” He sounded surprised.

I faced the wall socket and allowed myself a moment to smile my secret smile. “I told you, its special, with this you’ll be zapping enemies left and right.”

He waved it in the air. “Two hundred huh? Do it.”

The lights flickered all over the house for a while before the main breaker finally tripped.

He was in bed, his room hadn’t changed. The same décor as that day, aside from the scorched carpet. That had been replaced. I almost chuckled. ‘Careful, don’t ruin this. Speaking of ruined,’ my thoughts were of a vindictive bent. I stepped closer.

His stare was vacant, his arms had atrophied. He was under a blanket but I knew the rest of Zach Reynolds had atrophied as well. The electricity had stopped his heart, not long enough to kill him, but long enough to kill his brain. I left my game system there, after.

Of course, I had to stage the scene, with his mom working late all that required to be plausible was a faulty extension cord with an exposed wire running to that particular socket, a dingy radio, and a little water on the bathroom floor. The hardest part was dragging his fat ass to the bathroom.

I think the cop suspected; but couldn’t prove anything. His mother knew, I am certain, but couldn’t say anything. Still it had to be either him or Miss Jasmine Reynolds here who sent that anonymous letter to the Academy. I ended up going to a normal high school. I cost me an extra year in college. Oh well. I turned to his mom.

“Truly tragic.” My voice sounded sincere. I know, I practiced sounding sincere once a week in front of a mirror. “I understand it was a horrible accident.” I looked at Christine. She stood behind his mother.

“Yes, an accident,” her voice sounded dull. She smoothed out her pants, no, she was wiping the sweat from her palms. I began to step towards her. “I just wanted you to see.” Her hand dipped into her pocket. “What you did you mon—“ Christine stabbed her in the neck with a syringe.

The scream died in her mouth before her hand had cleared her pocket. I’m no fool. What’s the point of making a substance like the one I made without having it be fast acting, even in liquid form. Downstairs a dog continued to bark.

“Well done Christine, I knew it was a good idea to bring you along.” She beamed at my praise.

I smiled as Jasmine’s head became limp. “Jasmine,” I whispered as I caressed her cheek. I didn’t mind the wrinkles. They were a hard earned symbol that she had lived, struggled, endured for her child. It was a mark of strength. Instead of fighting that, more women should embrace it.

“Jasmine, I apologize for the ruse, but it was quite necessary. It has been many years since we last met.” I unbuttoned her blouse. I began to see how the freckles on her chest were connected. “I admit that, even under duress, I found you quite fetching. I am sure you know that every man has a type.” I looked her over. Her hair, what wasn’t gray, was still dark. Her pale skin, Her petite form. Just like that actress, they had even aged in a similar manner. I leaned forward and spoke in her ear. She didn’t have the hips Christine had, but in terms of pure aesthetic I had to tell her, “you are mine.”

We were interrupted by a ring tone. It took a few moments to locate it, it was Jasmine’s cellphone and it was in her back pocket. I hadn’t noticed that detail. I was being sloppy. That must end.

I kneaded her ass with my hands as I pulled the phone from her pants. I saw the caller ID displayed. “So that’s her number now.”

I answered. “Hello Mother.”

Twelve Years Prior:

The smell of smoke and scorched flesh was still in my nostrils as I returned through the back door of my house. As it was her way, my mother was waiting at the kitchen table. She looked resplendent in her silk chemise and matching leggings which were crossed primly to fit the tableau she had set. She staged everything.

She always did.

“Hello, Milton, I see you made it back late, so tell me, how should I punish you?” She sipped her wine. “Should I ground you? Perhaps I should take away those video games you are always playing? Hmm, maybe forbid you from seeing your friends again?” I watched as she ran a finger through her perfectly coifed hair.

I smiled, it was my only weapon, but I knew it would shake her. She set her drink down. “Well I don’t see any new flesh wounds on you, I assume Jasmine’s dog has been brought to heel?” She played with her nails.

“Aren’t you ever worried?” I needed the details; my survival might depend on it.

“Worried about Jasmine Reynolds?” She laughed. “She’s screwing her sister’s husband, and I’m sure you left plenty of reasonable doubt, my demented little monkey.”

With what tattered scraps of humanity I had left I summoned my last ounce of outrage. I trembled as I asked, “What would I be like, if you weren’t my mother? What would my life be like?”

She didn’t pause. “You would be loved, admired, sheltered. Soft, weak, pathetic. You would end up as a little cog in a big machine. Due to your intellect you would suffer from increased anxiety and struggle with depression. You would be unhappy. You would die unfulfilled.”

“Like you?” I wanted an answer.

She smiled her secret smile and it was my turn to be shaken. “No, you silly boy.” She stood up, and I took a step backwards. “Tormenting you is what gives my life meaning. Now quiet down before you wake your sister.”