The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Susan Jones checked carefully, one more time, to make sure she was alone in the basement of Freedom Christian University’s library. If anyone found out what she was doing, her job was history.

She snorted. Her job was history—at least, that’s what she taught at FCU. If you could call it “history,” anyway, given the unique slant on the subject insisted on by the university’s founder and financial angel, the Reverend Charles Kellogg Bryer. Rev. Bryer regularly discussed history on his nationally syndicated TV show, but to him, everything involved the supernatural: good events were the result of “miracles,” bad ones the work of Satan and his minions. She had a degree in medieval studies from Harvard. She’d fallen a long way to end up here, she thought.

Well, if the ritual worked, she’d fall even further. But at least she’d get something out of it.

Satisfied that no one else was around, she removed her clothes and stepped into the pentagram she’d chalked out on the floor, making sure not to disturb any of its lines or symbols. The candles were lit, giving the area its only illumination now that she’d turned off the lights. She picked up the scroll and athame blade lying in the center of the pentagram.

Carefully, she unrolled the scroll, then drew the blade across her right wrist. Just enough—aahh! A few drops of her blood fell onto the yellowish-brown scroll. She began to read its sonorous Latin, which, in English, translated, “Master, Lord of the unseen depths, Prince of Darkness, hear my plea. Hear, O great one. Come to me! I offer my immortal soul for Thine aid. Forsaking all allegiance to the Highest, I petition Thee for Thine assistance in gaining that which I desire! Come, O Dark Lord; hear my plea, and grant my boon if it be Thy will!” And she spoke a name.

She uttered the incantation twice more, each time dripping a little more blood onto the scroll. Then she waited.

After five minutes, she was beginning to feel ridiculous. Nothing was happening. What was she doing here, anyway, acting out a scene from a horror movie in the basement of a library on the campus of a religious school at midnight? And even if by some remote chance the ceremony had worked, what did she really want badly enough to condemn herself to Hell for it?

The answer came as memories. Memories of a lonely childhood, a dateless adolescence spent buried in books, a solitary undergraduate and graduate school existence, then one job opportunity after another denied her because she wasn’t a man and wasn’t pretty enough to use her looks to win out. Skinny, mousy-brown hair, glasses: that was her, and her brains didn’t count.

What did she want? For all that to be different! For all the men who’d ignored her or made fun of her to grovel at her feet! To be able to take what she wanted, what she deserved, and punish anyone who stood in her way!

But was that worth her soul?

“Yes,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. “Oh, yes.” And with that, the candles at each of the pentagram’s points blazed up, as brilliant as arc lamps. And in front of her, sharing the space in its center, stood a man who was not a man.

His form was human enough, but his skin was bright red. Curled ram’s horns nestled against the sides of his head, over sharply pointed ears. He was dressed in what looked like a tuxedo, but the shoes were cloven. A barbed red tail flicked behind him.

“You summoned me,” he observed in a deep voice.

“Y-yes,” she stammered, “I guess I did.” Then, fighting for dignity, “I called you because I want—”

The horned man held up one hand, interrupting her. “I know what you want,” he boomed. “I see it in your mind. In your soul.” He smiled, showing small fangs, and looked around them; his eyes glowed blood-red. “I grant your desire.”

Suddenly, flame jetted up around Susan. Around her—through her! Reflexively, she screamed!

But there was no pain! Instead there was a swelling warmth, a sense of strength and confidence which blazed through her without burning.

The flame died, and Susan looked down at herself.

She had—changed! Her skin was as red as the other’s now, and her body had filled out, showing lush curves where none had been before. Her legs tapered gracefully to dainty feet ending in small cloven hooves. She put her hands to her head and felt two small horns jutting from her forehead.

The one she’d summoned produced a small mirror. Her face, reflected in it, was beautiful, perfect features—even the pointed ears—framed by a cascade of charcoal-red hair which she could feel ran down to the small of her back. Her eyes burned yellow.

Beautiful—but not human. She couldn’t be seen like this!

Her benefactor, reading her thoughts, smiled again. “You are as I am, now, and share a measure of my power. I can take many forms.” Suddenly a huge snake was before her, coiled cobra-fashion; then the man-form was back. “So can you, now. However, you may assume only one of three forms: this one, a human version of this form, or your original appearance.”

Susan nodded, breathless. She concentrated, and her skin paled to a reddish tan; the hooves became human feet; the horns and tail vanished. The other nodded approval.

“You will have power over all men, to control their wills, to make them do and think as you please. You will have lesser power over women; you may command them as well, but only where no moral choice is involved. Do you understand, Susan Jones?” “Yes, Dark Lord, I do.” “Be certain you do,” her hellish benefactor warned. “Should you attempt to compel a female to do something she believes to be morally wrong, she will be able to disobey. That could prove unfortunate for you.”

Puzzled, Susan asked, “But don’t men’s moral choices matter?”

“Of course,” came the reply. “But the heart’s desire I granted you involved commanding men, gaining revenge on men for their role in your life. The limited command I grant you over women is only enough to assist you in that, by removing their interference.” The demon smiled again, wider this time, showing more fang and a forked tongue. “Be assured, there are others we have given the same power over women I have granted you over men.”

He gazed at her for a moment before continuing: “Your demon name shall be Lilibat, ‘daughter of Lilith.’ Be warned: while you are on Earth, if that name is uttered backwards in your hearing, it will at once send you below.”

Like Mxyzptlk being sent back to the fifth dimension in the Superman comics, Susan thought, amused.

“Of course,” the demon lord chuckled. “You, however, will be bound below until summoned from above, even as I am, rather than merely banished for a period of time. And if you are ever sent below, that name will call you as you called me with my own.”

His face grew stern. “One final charge. Your soul belongs to us now, and has from the moment I transformed you. You are to bring us more, however.”

“How?”

“Any mortal who dies as a result of your actions will be judged, and the souls of those found wanting will be taken.” The demon scowled. “Some, of course, will not be found wanting. No mortal will be condemned merely for yielding to your seductive power, only for those choices made of their true free will.” The creature’s good humor returned. “Knowing mortals, I am confident your harvest will be bountiful enough.”

“I accept this condition,” was Susan’s response. She didn’t stop to ask why the demon was so certain people would die at her hands.

“Then our business is concluded,” the demon said. “Go forth, Lilibat, and work your will.”

Nodding, Susan spoke the being’s name once more, reversed this time. He promptly vanished, dropping out of sight as though a trapdoor had opened beneath him and leaving behind only the faintest whiff of brimstone. As soon as he disappeared, the scroll in Susan’s hand burst into flame and disintegrated. The fire didn’t burn her at all.

Calmly, she dismantled the pentagram Concentrating as she had done earlier, she resumed the appearance of Dr. Susan Jones. Then she put her clothes back on and went home.

The next morning, it all seemed unreal. Susan got up, shaking her head, and went into the bathroom as usual. When she looked into the mirror, she saw . . . the same face, the same figure as always.

So it was a dream, Susan thought. Just a dream.

But wait! The demon had said she could change form. She remembered changing back to her normal looks the night before. Could she . . . ?

Moments later, little hooves clattered on the tiled floor in delight as demon-Susan looked back at her from the mirror. Another effort of will, and human-temptress Susan was there. Again, and mousy Susan Jones was back.

It was real! It was real!

Of course, that meant she was damned.

Damned if I care, she thought.

Susan got the chance to test another aspect of her powers on the way to her first scheduled class of the day. As she approached the Harmon History Building, she spotted her department head’s secretary Miss Jenkins outside, off by herself, a smoke in one hand.

Susan caught the woman’s eye and said coolly, “Burn yourself.”

The secretary jerked suddenly, jamming the lit cigarette into the palm of her other hand, and yelped in pain. “Fuck! Goddamn it, how’d you make me do—!” Not the sort of language one would expect from a pure family-values sort of person, at all.

“I had nothing to do with it,” Susan told her. “You don’t remember me telling you to burn yourself.”

“You had . . . nothing to do with it,” Miss Jenkins mumbled, her eyes suddenly glassy. “I don’t remember . . . you telling me to burn myself.” Her eyes cleared, and she went back to nursing her injured hand, Susan dismissed from her mind.

It worked, Susan exulted, walking on. I made the snotty bitch burn herself, then forget I told her to. Just as I was promised, I can make other women do what I command as long as it’s not against their moral standards. As for men . . . well. If that part of my wish was granted—! She licked her lips.

Jerry Chisholm considered himself a moral person. He believed in God, attended church regularly, didn’t drink, smoke, swear or do drugs. He was devoted to his girlfriend Melody Chambers, a pink-cheeked blonde from West Virginia who sang in the choir. He planned to marry her and enter the ministry, perhaps even join the Reverend Bryer’s organization.

Oh, he wasn’t sinless. He knew that. But he knew right from wrong, and did his best to choose the former over the latter. According to the Reverend Bryer, that should hold Satan and his minions at bay, as long as he kept the Lord firmly in his heart.

He was having trouble doing that this morning, however, as he fought his way through Dr. Jones’s medieval history lecture. However much he loved Melody, Jerry found it hard to avoid fantasizing about sex, especially when Melody wouldn’t allow him anything more than a goodbye peck on the cheek after a date. He had never actually done it, of course. That was for after marriage. But it was hard . . . !

He realized the professor had asked him a question. He had no idea what it was. As the seconds passed without his being able to answer, snickers broke out around him.

“Well, Jerry?” Dr. Jones said sharply. “If you’ve got something more interesting than this class to pay attention to, perhaps you’d like to share it with the rest of us.”

Jerry stammered, “N-no, Dr. Jones. What was the, the question again?” The snickering spread.

Dr. Jones regarded him speculatively, one finger resting against her jaw.

“See me after class, Mr. Chisholm.” Turning to another student, she went on, “Perhaps you can answer the question, Steven?”

That was it for that lecture, as far as Jerry was concerned. He spent the rest of the class sunk in his seat, humiliated.

Afterward, when the last of the other students had left, Dr. Jones confronted him. Gazing into his eyes, she asked firmly, “What was your problem in class today, Jerry? You’re usually so attentive.”

Jerry tried frantically to think of something to say which would be less embarrassing than the truth. Nothing came to mind. Dr. Jones’s eyes seemed to burn into him. He felt dizzy.

“Don’t fight me, Jerry,” she said. “Relax and tell me what’s bothering you. You must tell me the truth; it feels so goo-ood to tell the truth.” Her voice had taken on a soothing tone.

Blushing furiously, Jerry told her. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. When he’d finished, Dr. Jones smiled. “It’s all right, Jerry,” she assured him. “It’s perfectly natural.”

“Perfectly . . . natural,” Jerry repeated woozily. Dr. Jones’s eyes seemed to be burning into him. His thoughts seemed to be dissolving in them. As he stared at her, she reached up and undid the top two buttons of her blouse.

Suddenly, she changed. Instead of the plain professor, a beauty with reddish-tanned skin and torrents of scarlet-black hair stood there. A massive bosom bulged beneath her shirt, the loosened top buttons exposing its magnificent cleavage.

“H-huh-huh-how did you d-do that?” Jerry gasped. After-images of the professor’s eyes still blazed in his vision, as if he’d stared into a pair of searchlights, but his gaze dropped to those beautiful breasts. He could feel himself getting rock-hard.

“It doesn’t matter, Jerry,” Susan instructed him. She removed the shirt entirely, peeling out of it in a sinuous motion.

“It duh, duh, duhhhh—!” Words deserted Jerry as he gawked helplessly at his transformed teacher. She approached him, and when she was close enough, lifted his hands and placed them so as to cup her bosom. At the contact, the last flickers of conscious thought died in his eyes. He was hers to control.

She led him to the lecture stage, and there, after slipping out of the rest of her clothes, peeled him naked as well. Then the two of them embraced and sank to the floor, grinding into each other. Susan wallowed in the pleasure as Jerry, deep in trance, pumped away ecstatically. Under her spell, he was no longer a person, just an eager male animal.

An hour or so later, a regretful Susan Jones pulled away from her young stallion. She’d have liked to continue, but she had another class coming up soon. She took Jerry’s face in her hands and guided it until his eyes were fixed on hers once more.

“Jerry,” she commanded, “in a moment, I will say, ‘You are dismissed, Jerry.’ When I do, you will get dressed and leave here. When you leave this room, you will remember what we did together only as a hot fantasy. Do you understand me?”

“Understand,” Jerry murmured, smiling vacuously. “Get dressed. Leave. Remember what we did . . . as a fantasy.” His eyes, fastened on hers, had no more personality than a clothing dummy’s.

“You won’t tell anyone about it,” Susan ordered. “But from now on, whenever I say the words, ‘pay attention, Jerry,’ you will forget everything else and obey my every command until I awaken you. You will do this because it will mean you will be allowed to experience this fantasy again.”

“Won’t tell anybody,” Jerry agreed mechanically, still smiling. “’Pay attention, Jerry’ . . . forget and obey . . . until you awaken me. Do it . . . because it means I can . . . experience . . . the fantasy again.”

“Very good, Jerry,” Susan said. She stood and dressed quickly, leaving her mesmerized young slave on the floor waiting for her next command. When she was fully clothed, she leaned over him and said, “You are dismissed, Jerry.”

Silently, Jerry put his own clothes on and left. When he was gone, Susan threw back her head and laughed, a triumphant, evil sound. Then she shifted back into the form of Dr. Jones and exited the lecture hall herself. She had preparations to make.

Leaving the lecture hall, Jerry shook his head. Wow, he thought, that was something! He knew Dr. Jones had to have chewed him out, but all he seemed to remember was this wild daydream about this gorgeous babe. He was wet at the crotch; he must’ve actually come! Already, though, the details were fuzzy. But—Jerry sighed—he’d do anything to have that experience again.

Dr. Jones returned to her office, smiling. Her bargain was working out fine. Jerry was hers whenever she wanted, and there would be others. Oh, yes—she giggled—there would be others.

And she’d get more than sex out of the deal. Take her asshole of a department head, Professor Joshua Carstairs, for instance. He kept calling her into his office for “progress meetings” at which he’d make lewd suggestions and try to paw her over. Maybe he thought plain-Jane Susan Jones wouldn’t be believed if she complained about his advances. There was another such meeting coming up this afternoon. She had been dreading it.

Now, though, things were going to be different than either one of them would have expected a week ago. A lot different. Susan giggled again, and smiled a cruel smile.

A demon’s smile.

Susan went in for her “progress meeting” with Professor Carstairs as scheduled on Tuesday afternoon. Carstairs’ office was lined with bookshelves bearing various translations of the Bible, religious books by various authors approved of by the Reverend Bryer, and assorted knickknacks. They flanked his desk like an honor guard. A huge reproduction of a nineteenth-century painting of Jesus walking on the shore of Galilee was mounted between the right-hand bookcase and the door. His desk was solid oak, and a comfortable captain’s chair occupied the space behind it.

Carstairs was sitting in the captain’s chair. There was a cheap metal-framed chair with a plastic seat and backrest at the right of the desk; Susan sat there, as she usually did.

An unsuspecting Carstairs made the first move. “Well, Miss Jones,"—he never used her academic title when they were alone, “how are things going with your classes?” He rubbed sweaty hands together.

Susan smiled broadly. “Better than you could possibly imagine, Professor.”

Something in her tone disturbed him. “What do you mean, Miss Jones?”

Susan gazed into his eyes. The Professor stared back, suddenly unable to look away.

“Things have changed since our last little chat, Professor Carstairs,” she gloated. “I’ve changed.” And she did, shifting shape effortlessly.

“Ahhh,” she breathed, stretching luxuriously. “Much better!”

“God in Heaven,” gasped Carstairs. “What are you?” Eyes still locked on her, he groped frantically for the phone on his desk.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Susan chided, wagging her finger at him. “This is just between us, Professor. Just keep looking into my eyes—that’s right—and forget all about calling out.”

Carstairs froze. A dreamy expression settled over his face. He relaxed, lost in Susan’s eyes, no longer worried about finding the phone.

“That’s better, Professor,” Susan said. She stood up, leaning over the desk and resting both hands on its polished top. She breathed deeply, and the top button of her blouse popped open. Carstairs’ eyes widened.

“You like what you see, don’t you, Joshua?” She smiled mockingly at him. “I can call you Joshua, can’t I?”

“Call me . . . Joshua,” came the dazed response.

“Thank you, Joshua,” she responded. She reached into the large handbag she’d brought with her and brought out a small digital video recorder. Positioning it on one of the shelves so that it had a nice clear view, she activated it.

Then she undulated out of her clothes, playing to the camera. If she had time, she thought, perhaps she’d add music to the recording later. Paralyzed, mouth gaping, Carstairs watched.

When she was down to nothing but sheer stockings and high heels, she crawled up onto the table and clasped Carstairs to her, burying his head in her bosom.

Very shortly, both of them were fully nude and writhing together under the cold eye of the camera. In his trance state, Carstairs held nothing back; he just kept going, and going, and going, pumping between Susan’s legs and into her cleavage as she pulled the strings of his mind.

Then, suddenly, he gave a cry of pain, shuddered, and went limp. Startled, Susan drew away. Carstairs’ body fell back bonelessly and slid to the floor behind his desk.

What happened next was even more surprising. A translucent, three-dimensional image of the Professor stood up over his inert form. A moment later, its mouth opened in a terrified but silent scream as it plunged through the floor out of sight, arms flailing over its head.

A deep voice behind Susan rumbled, “Congratulations. You have delivered your first soul to our keeping.”

Susan whirled. Her demon benefactor stood there.

“How can I be here without being summoned?” the demon anticipated her question. “It’s simple, daughter of Lilith: I cannot, at least physically. But we two are connected now, by our pact. I can see and hear you, whenever I wish, and can allow you to see and hear me as well. And what I have seen and heard since we first spoke is pleasing.”

“Thank you, Dark Lord.”

“Now go, and do more. Take pleasure for yourself, and more souls for us.” And Hell’s representative vanished from Susan’s sight.

Susan resumed her normal appearance, dressed and left Carstairs’ office. On the way out, she caught Miss Jenkins’ eye and, once the woman was under control, commanded her to forget she had been there and to erase all records of Susan’s scheduled appointment. Miss Jenkins obeyed without a second thought—or even a first.

The anonymous delivery of a shocking video starring the respected Professor Joshua Carstairs only added to the mystery of his sudden death. His secretary had come back from a cigarette break, looked into his office and found him lying on the floor, stark naked. The digital disc showed how he’d gotten that way, in lurid detail. The police were alerted to look for the woman involved, but even though the cops had clear photos taken from the video recording, no one was able to recall ever seeing her before. At least, no one admitted it; Jerry Chisholm recognized her, but Susan’s commands guaranteed his silence. Even if they hadn’t, how could he tell the police the woman in the pictures was straight out of an erotic fantasy he’d had? He’d be lucky just to be laughed at, and not arrested.

Carstairs’ replacement was a surprise: Dr. Susan Jones, the plain, bespectacled medieval history instructor. Early speculation had been that Dean Mather would name Professor Joseph Hinton instead; after all, Prof. Hinton was a man, and a believer as well, from a family of believers. But after a private interview with Dr. Jones, the Dean had emerged to announce that she’d gotten the nod instead.

Sitting in Carstairs’ fancy chair, feet up on his polished desk, Susan gloated. She’d destroyed a man who had made her life miserable and taken his job. She had her own personal boy toy who’d do anything she desired, and she could take more any time she wanted. She could change whenever she felt like it into a gorgeous sex goddess. No one could defy her. What more could she possibly want?

Hmmm, she thought. I’ll have to think about that.

Alone in her new office, she laughed a sinister laugh. Whatever else she decided to go after, she was sure she would be able to get it.