The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Now,” Miriam practically growled. “Would you like to explain why we just walked away from the one thing that could’ve told us what happened to Arclight and Impetus?”

Cypher wilted under the scorn pouring from the magic-user’s mouth, but somehow managed to force the answer through cracked lips before her resolve evaporated completely. It was hard to meet Shroud’s eyes, especially when all the younger woman really wanted was to bury her head between her lover’s thighs.

“Because,” she gasped, licking her lips and trying not to think about sweetly spiced juices. “Because that robot wasn’t the only one who knows how to find the Gadgeteer.”

Shroud’s expression softened minutely, but the irritation continued to smoulder just beneath the surface and Cypher knew that it could reignite without warning. Aware of how little time she might have, the cybermancer continued quickly.

“The villainess has an implanted transmitter,” she explained. “It’s supposed to be a fail-safe in case of capture. But something or someone basically slagged her computers and that means the information was never passed on as it should’ve been.”

“What do you mean?” the mage wondered irritably.

“I mean that the mainframe should’ve told that ‘bot about the transmitter,” Cypher continued. “And how to activate it. But what with all the electronic warfare going on, I’m pretty sure that we’re the only ones who know about it.”

At first, Carol wasn’t sure whether she’d managed to placate the fiery mage. Anger still danced in Miriam’s brilliant eyes and the threat of imminent violence hung heavy in the air. Cypher shivered expectantly, concern etching her face.

“Okay,” Shroud allowed after a positively pregnant pause. “You did good, Carol... So, where are my girls?”

“You lied to them,” the sibilant voice whispered once the intruders had left.

Stephibot shifted uncomfortably, while ghost fingers ran suggestively over her flanks. She was only dimly aware of the repairs taking place inside her wounded innards and that was almost certainly an indication of just hold badly she’d been damaged.

But the presence was right, she had deliberately misled the heroines and Stephibot wasn’t exactly sure why she had done so. The robed woman’s attitude was part of it, but the gynoid wasn’t just being ornery.

“When Mistress was attacked,” the ‘bot explained, as much to herself as the unseen presence. “I wasn’t able to help, something took me out of the fight before it even started.”

“You’re worried that whatever happened before could happen again,” the voice suggested. “So those four are what? Something to soften up the defences?”

“They might be able to beat him,” Stephibot replied without conviction. “And they’ll certainly give the Confectioner something else to think about.”

There was no response, but the gynoid was left with the distinct impression that the presence was brooding. Discomfort trickled through her awareness, the sensation as unexpected as it was unwelcome. She had no need to justify her actions and yet somehow, despite the certainty of that knowledge, Stephibot found herself wanting the other entity to understand.

Seeking to quash the emotional reaction, Stephibot sought out the placid touch of the base mainframe. There was comfort to be found in purpose and, with Mistress’ absence gnawing away at the ‘bot’s confidence, a little instruction seemed liked the next, best thing.

More error messages flashed through her sensorium, even the softest poke at the mainframe’s access node sparking a flood of viral assault. Stephibot’s automated systems could barely contain the overspill. But, once the virtual dust had settled the attacker’s digital debris revealed coding the like of which she had never seen.

“So what happened to their friends?” the voice asked, while its unseen hands bolstered the ‘bot’s ailing defences.

“Crated up and shipped off to Wiltshire,” Stephibot admitted. “Some mad doctor’s secret laboratory.”

The voice fell silent, although the ‘bot was aware of its influence dancing through the shadowy corners of her psyche.

“None of that will matter if we can’t get into the mainframe,” the gynoid snapped. “Mistress will have left instructions. I... I need her. Is there anything you can do?”

“Well,” the presence seemed to shrug. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“An abandoned sweet factory?” Miriam choked.

“Well,” Cypher admitted. “At least he’s staying in character.”

The four heroines stared up at the crumbling, red-brick building, varying degrees of disbelief on each of their beautiful faces. Dawn was about to break and the first tentative glow was beginning to colour the distant horizon.

Cypher had used the information from the Gadgeteer’s computer to activate the villainess’ homing signal. She shut it down again, almost immediately and hoped that no one else would have noticed the answering transmission.

That had led them here, to another scene of urban decay. Slipstream seemed none the worse for her experiences in the villainess’ lair and the other heroines were clearly eager for some payback. Carol, herself, couldn’t quite dismiss the memory of another seemingly abandoned building and just how close they had all come to being defeated.

She conveniently ignored the changes they had all undergone since then.

“Okay,” the robed mystic announced, her eyes becoming glassy as her perception shifted elsewhere. “No magical surveillance or barriers, in fact, nothing magical at all. Cypher, what’s the story on your end?”

“A couple of cameras,” Carol nodded. “But no central hub. There’s a power source down there somewhere, but it’s pretty heavily shielded. And no sign of any computer more powerful than a laptop.”

“We could just ‘port in?” Snowblind suggested, her expression betraying just a hint of unease at the thought.

“I don’t like it,” Shroud shook her head slowly. “This all feels just a little bit too easy. Cypher, glitch the cameras and Slipstream, find us an entrance... but everyone, let’s keep together.”

“Master,” Spice sighed, enjoying the way that title dripped off her tongue. “I felt a touch of power about five minutes ago and now the security cameras are looping the same five minutes of empty corridor.”

The Confectioner smiled down at the naked slavegirl, drinking in the submission that seemed to ooze from her every pore.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged after a moment, stroking his sticky fingers through the girl’s blonde hair. “Take Sugar and make sure the guest rooms are properly prepared. I will attend to our visitors personally.”

Spice shivered at Master’s touch, while his pleasure seemed to burn between her heavily glazed cuntlips.

The brain-washed crimefighter rose gracefully from her knees and carefully edged away from her Master’s presence. She was breathing hard, fighting the twinned compulsion of sluttish obedience. Her arousal practically sizzled and yet, without permission, there could be no release.

Every step smeared her thighs together in quite blissful friction. Spice managed to stifle her mewling complaints, but it was still an effort simply to put one foot in front of the other. Desire lent its slow sashay to her hips and she could imagine Master’s stare boring into her retreating buttocks.

Feet pounding the packed concrete, Slipstream eased back into a more gentle rhythm. The other heroines seemed to emerge from the stillness, their movements shifting from slow tick-tock and becoming suddenly fluid once more.

“There something that looks a lot like an emergency hatch buried under a heap of old mattresses,” the speedster announced, her face twisted with evident distaste. “Just that plus the cameras Carol already found. I don’t know, Mistress, there’s not nearly enough security here, it’s got to be a trap.”

Nodding to herself, Snowblind closed her hand around the pommel of a frozen sword she sculpted from the air’s moisture. At the same time, Miriam conjured a small ball of light and directed it into the crumbling building.

“Agreed,” the mystic accepted, her eyes once again becoming unfocussed. “But while we stand out here, who knows what he’s doing to Mandy and Angel.”

Shroud’s spy-wisp led them back along the path Slipstream had trodden. They swept aside the mouldering mattresses, exposing the rusted hatch. One of the Confectioner’s glitched cameras overlooked the entrance, but none of them could find any other alarms or defences.

The hatch was locked tight, but dropping the hinges to a temperature approaching absolute zero left them fragile enough for the lightest tap to shatter them. A combination of brute force and mystical muscle moved the heavy cover, revealing a polished, metal slide.

Cypher nodded, confirming that the cameras were still dancing to her tune and the light the magic-user had summoned disappeared into the darkness.

This was more like it. The four of them were working like a well-oiled machine and despite the earlier ‘slip’, when she’d referred to Miriam as ‘Mistress’, it almost felt as though the team was back together. Phoebe shook her head, acutely aware of just how familiar this all seemed and unable to ignore the building deja vu.

Shroud’s senses followed her conjured orb down the wide, polished pipe. Some of the descents were a little leery, but there was nothing for anyone to excited about. Still, it would probably be sensible to let one of the other girls take the plunge first, just as a precaution.

Once again she found herself reaching for Amanda’s presence, but the connection was stretched too thin to be of much use. There was simply too much steel in the building’s construction. It wasn’t quite cold iron, but the alloy certainly reduced her ability to pry.

The mage could feel her construct beginning to lose cohesion as it slipped steadily further into the concealed basement. But it had already reached far enough for her to feel confident that this really was the entrance to the villain’s lair.

“Cypher,” she called, drawing the small blonde woman to her. “It looks clear, but keep your eyes open, just in case we’ve missed anything. Slipstream, you take the lead. Snowblind will back you up, while we watch for surprises.”

Carol stepped close, moulding herself into the mystic’s body. Mute obedience radiated from all three heroines as Miriam took more direct control. The trio of voices united in a chorus of submissive need that was enough to make her body thrum in sympathy.

Natasha waited for Phoebe’s trim form to disappear from sight and then dropped into the wide opening. The metal slide was polished and she didn’t need to add any ice of her own. Soft lighting flashed past in a stroboscopic blur as the tube twisted this way and that. The heroine had only a moment to register the brightness opening up ahead, before she was shot out of the slide and forced to tumble across the padded floor.

It took several seconds to regain her feet, but Slipstream was already up and prowling the small room. The Nordic beauty allowed another blade to form around her hand, noting how much drier the air was down here. She scanned the walls and ceiling, registering the poorly concealed cameras and trying to find some comfort in the fact they all knew this had to be a trap.

“What do you think?” Phoebe asked, finally slowing to the point where she was no longer a blur.

Snowblind shrugged, there was only one exit from the chamber and they hadn’t come all this way to just stand around.

“Call them down,” she suggested, her voice low. “It doesn’t look as if anything is going happen until we do.”

Natasha’s transmission was only barely intelligible. Static warped the heroine’s voice, leaving it reedy and thin. But her meaning was still very clear. Both girls had reached the bottom of the slide unscathed, a fact Miriam had already confirmed, using the spy-wisp to follow them down.

“You next,” Shroud decided, slapping Carol playfully on the backside.

The cybermancer pouted, but did as she was told, dropping easily into the shaft and vanishing into the dark. Miriam waited, using the time to turn her perception inward and check her personal shields for flaws or other weak spots.

She couldn’t sense anything metaphysical, but then the most potent magic was often the one that could be hidden in plain sight.

“Down and safe,” Carol’s voice crackled through Miriam’s earpiece, pulling her attention back to the real world.

Her defences were as secure as she could reasonably make them and that would have to be enough. Very aware of the element of fatalism in that thought, Shroud took a deep breath and plunged after her girls.

The Confectioner’s encounters with Ampere had left the villain more than a little distrustful of electronics and, even though that former nuisance was now beholden to him, the lack of confidence persisted.

Watching through one of the many fiberoptic cables threaded throughout his lair, he smiled wickedly to himself at the caution of these intruding heroines.

In reality, the four girls were nothing more than a momentary inconvenience. After all, he had far larger fish to fry. But, the Confectioner had to admit, there was something about hunting superheroines that made all the time and effort involved worthwhile.

His recipes could wait and, perhaps a little more superpowered muscle would work in his favour when he finally confronted the Anaesthetist.

He turned his attention back to the magnifying lens. The fourth girl was about to drop into the chute, the one he had already pegged as the leader. Grinning more widely than any mouth should stretch, the villain tugged hard on a large, metal lever.

Machinery whispered into motion, swinging a precisely machined flap across the tube. In an instant, the route to the other heroines was sealed and a new path had been opened.

A shiver of excitement ran through his syrupy form, adding more ripples to the laughter that shuddered over his liquid skin.

The first inkling Miriam had that something was wrong was the moment she splashed noisily through a curtain of heavily scented water.

She managed to tuck and roll, her soaked body skittering across more polished metal as she burst into a wide, curved corridor. The mystic pulled herself hastily to her feet, noting immediately that her earpiece had fallen silent.

More steel surrounded her, making all but the simplest of enchantments an ordeal. And too many things were happening all at once for the mage to concentrate. A hollow emptiness whispered in her ear, making the slow drip of perfumed water seem almost deafening.

Moving slowly and cautiously, Shroud began to explore. Even a cursory exploration was enough to show that the corridor simply curved back around on itself, forming a circle from which there was no obvious exit.

Heat radiated from the inner wall, making the metal uncomfortable to touch and Miriam was still trying to guess the significance of that when her robes began to come apart. The process started slowly, the material darkened at first, becoming colourless in patches. But it quickly accelerated as the faded patchwork began to unravel.

Shroud was so shocked by this new development, she didn’t notice the holes opening in the inner wall at first. It was only when the motors sprang into action, filling the confined space with their whirring hum, that she became aware of anything except her increasingly bare body. And, of course, by then it was far too late.

The air was suddenly filled with hot, pink mist. Miriam recoiled, trying to escape the clouds billowing around her. But the vapour seemed to cling to her, cooling almost immediately into crackling stiffness.

She gasped, as the air itself began to wrap around her body. The smell of burnt sugar tickled her nostrils, even while more of pink mist engulfed her in its woollen embrace. Everything was sticky and warm, the spun sugar growing thicker and more cloying with every heartbeat.

Despite her shock, Miriam reacted instinctively, channelling her power into action. It was growing harder to flex her fingers and the sugar’s hold seemed to be growing tighter from moment to moment. She tried to push the sticky floss out of her mouth, the sugar tingling wickedly on her tongue as she did so.

Heat washed unexpectedly through the mystic’s body, catching hold of her thoughts and turning them inward. The spells died before they could reach her lips, twisted into dark phantoms of desire against which she was powerless.

Miriam moaned, and the soft foam poured between her open lips. Her hair was matted, body heat melting the cotton candy into slick ribbons. Another, far stronger perfume caught hold of her awareness, the scent of sex oozing sweetly into the mage’s stunned brain.

Lust and lethargy mingled deliciously, dragging Miriam down into torpid bliss from which there could be no escape. She cried out, body convulsing hopelessly in the sticky cocoon, while the same sickly, pink frost began to fill her thoughts.

By the time the Confectioner’s candyfloss maker powered down, the crystallised sugar syrup held Shroud hopelessly in its thrall. Buried beneath soft clouds of fluffy pinkness, the mystic lay writhing weakly, her mind lost to the pleasure that continued to burn into her naked skin.