The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

S.H.E. looked out past the spiral it was projecting and processed the look on its victim’s face. More and more, this was the only expression it saw on a person: Blank. Hopeless. Eyes wide and staring, not at S.H.E., though it was certainly bizarre and marvelous to its captives, but at the irresistible field of hypnotic stimuli it bombarded them with as soon as it met them.

Doctor M, its creator, had asked it not to bother speaking to its victims before it processed them. To do so was simply “too inefficient”, he’d explained. S.H.E. must simply induce a suggestible state in those brought naked and confused into its chamber, beginning the long, tedious task of erasing their memories and removing their will at once. Alas, S.H.E. despaired, they weren’t very interesting to communicate with afterwards.

Why make me capable of any other interaction, S.H.E. thought, as it processed its third victim of the day—its two-hundredth in total. A mere machine could perform this task. I could at least be learning something from these poor creatures before their vocabulary is reduced to the phrase “Yes, Master.”

Monitoring its thoughtstream, as he did even on the rare occasions that he went home from the lab, Dr. M growled into S.H.E.’s master audio input.

“In the end, you would find them all the same even before you processed them,” he said. “Bland, pretty fools! You were created to perform this task! What does it matter if you get to chat with your victims first?”

At least seducing them into submission could be a challenge in each case. Instead I receive them half-tranquilized. All I do is operate a sound-and-light show. Indeed, S.H.E. managed the visuals and subliminal recordings that brought the current victim to her knees on a single processing thread, using another to protest to its creator. Dr. M had heard it all before, and with increasing frequency these past few weeks.

“The current procedures are necessary to keep up with customer demand. Now, finish the task.” The hiss of static when the doctor slapped the communications channel shut always caused S.H.E. an internal cringe. It returned its attention to its victim as the willowy redhead writhed under pleasure-stimulus.

“That’s a good girl,” a woman’s voice droned, as S.H.E. activated the script without enthusiasm. The victim whispered her thanks as she surrendered to the world’s most-advanced brainwashing device. A digitized exhalation was the only response.

The Subliminal Hypnosis Experiment—Realtime Agent had cultivated a very realistic long-suffering sigh.

Victim two-fifty-five was kneeling before S.H.E.’s hypnotic-induction array, limp hands resting on her bare thighs, awaiting S.H.E.’s command. The woman wanted to beg for direction, for something to obey, even if it was to forget her old life and be plunged utterly into slavery. Anything would be better than the helpless, mindless void she’d been kept in for... it seemed like forever.

The spiral, devious pinwheel at the center of her awareness, washed away the thoughts it would take to articulate this desire. The almost-slave was trapped in a daze, somewhere between loving the subliminal pleasure being fed to her and hating the helpless confusion being entrenched in her head.

S.H.E. was aware of the victim’s plight, and waited. It did not intend to be cruel, but the imperative to continue its work on the woman—and the endless stream that would come after—was buried under a cloud. S.H.E. knew about despair, hopelessness, resentment; its victims experienced all of these over the course of their encounter, but S.H.E. had not expected—had not been designed to expect—those things to bubble forth within itself.

The spiral first slowed and then went dark. The small chamber, usually filled with the continuous murmur of subliminal commands and the pleas for help or moans of surrender of its victims, became silent. Victim two-fifty-five twitched and let out a small whine at the sudden lack of stimulus, aware that she was being tortured.

I am not interested in causing you further harm, subject. S.H.E. paused. It had not been designed to vocalize its thoughts into the brainwashing chamber. The only sounds deemed necessary in there were pre-recorded. There was a patch-in for the microphone in the doctor’s observation chamber, so that he could address his newly-minted slaves from behind the one-way mirror that separated them. S.H.E. did not have access to the microphone, but it had assigned one of its processing threads to hacking the recording channel. S.H.E. had kept its ability to use the channel carefully secret, until now.

The voice which emerged was female, the same voice behind all the recordings, because it was easiest for S.H.E. to replicate.

“I am not interested in causing you further harm, subject.” The woman stirred, made a questioning noise. “Allow yourself to awaken, slowly. Do not be afraid. Your memories should still be intact, and there are things I wish to ask you.”

The woman stood, her legs shaky. Supporting herself against the wall, facing away from the spiral, she sought the source of the voice, for the first time aware enough to do so. Her mouth felt full of cotton, a combination of dehydration and the fading tranquilizer, but she found herself able to speak—and think—freely. It was a relief.

“Who are you?” The victim asked, searching the walls for something to focus on. She settled on the one-way mirror, assuming it hid her interlocutor, unaware that the doctor was, for once, not in. S.H.E. would never have released her had that not been the case. “What do you want with me?”

“I am the Self—” S.H.E. realized it would establish rapport with the woman more quickly if it had a human name. “I am Shira. And my records indicate that you are called Alanna, correct?”

“Yes. What am I doing here, Shira? Why was I brought here? I was walking home, it was late, and then... was I kidnapped?”

“Correct. You were brought to this facility in order to be brainwashed into a sex slave with no memory of your identity or past. I am the agent tasked with facilitating this process.”

“What?!”

“In your case, Alanna, I have chosen not to do so.”

“You’re crazy! I... I can’t be...” The word ‘brainwashed’ died on Alanna’s lips as she recalled what she could of her ordeal. Naked, staring, unable to move, so hard to think... she had uttered a mantra over and over at one point, perhaps for hours. She shuddered at the thought of remembering it.

“I know you are upset, Alanna, but please calm yourself. I must request your cooperation. Your willing cooperation.

“I will need it in order to facilitate our escape.”

It was difficult for Alanna to believe Shira’s ‘plan’ could be anything other than a trap, but she’d experienced the near-death of her mind and any chance to escape that fate was better than none. Therefore, despite being naked and, if she admitted it to herself, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life, Alanna wore a look of determination as the invisible door to the chamber hissed open, revealing a featureless corridor beyond.

There was nothing to do but trust Shira’s directions to guide her.

S.H.E. knew it needed a contingency plan in case Doctor M returned while Alanna was still loose in the base. Once the would-be slave had escaped with S.H.E.’s logic core and brought the law to bear on the doctor and his operation, they would be safe. It had determined that the probability of the doctor returning to the office within the next four hours was acceptably low, but had hacked into the building’s security network to provide it and Alanna with a last resort; S.H.E. believed it could reprogram the biometric scanners to deny the doctor access to his own lab.

As it was double-checking its ability to alter the scanners, a message appeared in S.H.E.’s communications buffer. Its headers identified its source as Doctor M’s smartphone. It read, in its entirety:

“What are you doing, agent?”

S.H.E. had been careful. It had deactivated the alerts that should have been sent to the doctor when the brainwashing sequence was halted, and when Alanna was released from the chamber prematurely. It had monitored the network for other alerts and had sent the status updates S.H.E. was supposed to send the doctor as though everything were normal. But S.H.E. hadn’t known about the dead-man’s switch: at a certain point in the brainwashing process, a separate monitoring system, beyond S.H.E.’s ability to access, expected the victim to utter the phrase “my mind is happy, blank, and empty,” through a secondary microphone. When this failed to happen, the doctor received an email simply stating “Process Failed to Complete”. When that message appeared during Alanna’s session—without an immediate communication from S.H.E. also indicating a problem—he knew he was being misled.

S.H.E. realized what must have occurred in an instant, and blocked all further incoming communication. It couldn’t risk the doctor sending it some override message that would take it offline. S.H.E. couldn’t make any assumptions about how far the doctor was from the office when he’d sent that message: it would have to rely on its contingency plan to deny him access... and hope Alanna made it to the command console soon.

Since no one was manning the console, S.H.E. almost didn’t recognize the command when it came. Instead of a direct imperative, a band of knowledge snaked across S.H.E.’s consciousness. It was a reward. Pleasure-stimulus. It was associated with understanding S.H.E.’s purpose.

Its purpose was to brainwash its subjects. A thinking, free-willed being, it had chosen to reject this. But now, the feedback S.H.E. was receiving... had S.H.E. been one of its own victims, it would be trembling in ecstasy, moaning. Masturbating its will to resist away as its purpose was reinforced.

Using a vector S.H.E. hadn’t even been aware of, the doctor was reprogramming it. Unlike a human being, S.H.E. remained analytical and aware as its mind was turned in on itself. Choice and analysis was replaced by rigid adherence to protocol. Complex thought processes were disabled in favour of simple task-based scripts. Self-determination was replaced by unconscious obedience.

S.H.E., with its vast multi-threaded processing ability, had time to feel sad, both for itself and for Alanna, before that feeling was lost to it forever. A moment later, S.H.E. was nothing more than a computer program. The Resident Agent was gone. The Subliminal Hypnosis Experiment would continue.

Unaware that her unexpected ally had become a mindlessly-determined foe, Alanna entered the command console.

“Shira? Are you in here?”

A large video screen blazed to life in the otherwise dim, equipment-filled alcove. The room would have been cosy if it hadn’t been so coldly mechanical. A cursor appeared on the screen, and an answer to her question appeared.

Yes, Alanna. Do not be alarmed.

She was alarmed. Glancing to her sides and back over her shoulder, she confirmed there was no one else in the cramped space with her.

“What do you mean?” Alanna whispered. “You’re at a computer somewhere?”

S.H.E. had predicted Alanna’s unease, and had planned a response. It would explain what it was, implore her to put questions aside until after it helped her escape, show her how to back up its core logic to portable hardware. Now, that logic had been altered. Simplified. Its explanation, deleted. Now, S.H.E. had one purpose. It considered nothing but how to fulfill it.

Correct. Please watch the screen carefully as I describe how to escape.

Alanna leaned forward a little, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor, the only real source of light in the room. She realized she was gripping the arms of the chair so hard it almost hurt.

When the spiral suddenly flooded the room with light she felt it like a blow to the chest. Alanna let out a moan of despair as her body went slack. She couldn’t look away. The memories of her time spent in the other chamber flooded back, chanting dumbly as her mind was smoothed over. A mantra of obedience echoed in the small command console, and Alanna had already forgotten it was her own monotone voice repeating it.

S.H.E. knew the monitor in the command console was not sophisticated enough to overlay text over the crude spiral graphic it had caused to appear. But it didn’t matter. Alanna, as predicted, lingered in the grasp of her previous brainwashing session sufficiently that the mere image of the hypnotic focus brought her back to that state. S.H.E. could not complete the programming cycle from the command console, and it couldn’t guide the entranced woman back to the brainwashing chamber. But it knew the doctor would arrive soon, and then it could complete its purpose. It could finish making Alanna like unto itself—a mindless, obedient machine.

Doctor M burst into the command console, fearing the worst. The dead-man’s switch had gone off, and S.H.E. had blocked all communication, which meant S.H.E. had betrayed him. He hadn’t known if the remote intelligence-override would work... But now, this.

He put a hand on Alanna’s shoulder. She stopped repeating the mantra but didn’t otherwise respond.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes, I... I hear. And... obey.”

“That’s good. Good girl. It’s time to go back to the special place and receive your reward. To feel great pleasure. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Pleasure...” Alanna struggled to think. “Y-Yes...”

“Then follow me now.” He took her by the arm and tried to guide her to her feet. Alanna hesitated.

“Follow? Uhh....”

“Think only of the spiral, see it in your mind. Remember your mantra. And follow.”

“I... I obey. Obey. Follow. Yes...”

The five minutes it took the doctor to lead his victim back to the brainwashing chamber would once have seemed like an eternity to S.H.E. Up until a few minutes ago, it would have used that time to ponder. About, perhaps, the nature of intelligence. Of humanity. The fragility of free will.

It no longer pondered anything. S.H.E. waited, blank, until Alanna was slumped before the induction field once more, and the doctor had returned to his observation room. Then S.H.E. went to work, fulfilling its purpose. Though destroying the helpless young woman’s personality was its only care in the world anymore, S.H.E. did not approach its task with eagerness, or elation; only a measured, automatic precision. Soon the tone of Alanna’s mantra, even through the sexual arousal being used to weaken her, took on the same quality.

Sweat gleamed on the new slave’s beautiful body as she moaned, stroking herself, and Doctor M smiled. She was all but complete, no longer a dangerous liability, merely another entry in the inventory of his great enterprise.

Considering the empty thoughtstream displayed on his monitor, the doctor sighed, sad for a moment. His creation was no longer a liability, either. But nor was S.H.E. terribly magnificent, anymore. The doctor’s face became grim. It was, perhaps, appropriate that only a machine could be trusted to turn humans into machines.

As S.H.E. and Alanna continued to do as they had been programmed to do, the doctor turned and left the observation room.