The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was time.

Spider Barris started the planned sequence by: holding the toenail clipper to his wired left ear and clicking twice, then once, then twice.

Within a second’s fraction, Donna was over the east cow wire. Her exotic dancer’s body squirmed through the leaves, following the route we had finalised last night over white wine. She was no more than fifty yards from the compound when she stopped and held position, her catlike, lidded eyes calmly regarding the MPs walking past her. She caught a few words about cigarettes, or possibly “figure-eights”, before the gerkins rolled through and exited around the northeast corner.

That was my cue to run as fast as I could towards the small window. As I sprinted (well, sprinted is too Donna a word. Let’s say I managed to lope without making much more noise than an animal...) I pulled the grenade’s pin, wound up, and Line Drive! It couldn’t have been more perfect as it crashed through one of the heavy plastic panes and landed right in front of the radioman.

He stared transfixed for a full four seconds. Then his hand was on the radio, although he wasn’t attached to it long enough to phone home. With a treMENDous bang that cost me part of my hearing, the wall blew out. I hurdled in. Two lefts and a right. A quick cut through a shaft.

There it was: the small, aluminum box. I grabbed it and doubled back, reversing my route.

Donna was waiting for me in the ruined radio-room. Her hand was on her hip and her jet-black hair was perfect. Spider was looming over her, with his usual expression — wondering why she was waiting for me. It’s a scene I’ve seen too many times, and not even from a different girl. Spider had blood on the front of his boots for some reason. The scene and we all ran together.

Part II

In the U-Haul, in the lot, we counted our loot. Forty six small plastic test tubes containing powder of blue, white, and red.

“Can’t believe we fricking pulled it off you asshole bastards and punks of liberation trial salad days of the Empire.” Thus spoke Spider.

I spoke back. “Can anyone get me a cigarette?” Donna’s eyes moved down. “One of the good ones. You know.”

“Fine.” Donna’s soft voice gained back its merriment before the end of the word. “Don’t get too high.”

“Bloody bang in the cowboy computer Joe...eh? Fascist drugwarriors what are they after?”

That statement, as much as I hate Spider Barris’s implementation of Newenglish, pretty much summed it. All of the world’s billionaires had apparently joined together sometime in the eighties. By extending New America’s various worldwide movements against drugs, terrorism, and not having basic cable, into the larger media (which they tangentally controlled, through their worldwide satellite and radio holdings), they were quite able to reduce all public discourse to one great conclusion: The Answer Is Yes. Yes to should we invade. Yes to whether the celebrity marriage should break up. Yes to should we impeach that islander. Yes, these things are all related. Yes, your daughter will report you to the counterterrorism tip line if you don’t vote for the senator making waves in Tiger Beat alongside Joey and Corey. Yes, just go along with it. Yes, Big Brother has the best interests of the world in its grand plan. You’re Not Going Along With The Program Unless You’re Going Along With The Program, And You May Exercise Your Free Speech By Buying Another Magazine.

It was absolutely fucking insidious how they turned us against ourselves in the end. By the middle of the 20’s, we couldn’t so much as take separate sides in an issue without two neighborhoods having to duel. The omni-ads, and the magazines at the checkout, and the TV and newspaper and e-stickers, and the goddamn catchphrases just got us. We couldn’t cope.

From what I can figure out, once upon a time there were many gods for humankind: fertility, the harvest, wine, confusion, war, night, the river. Now there is just one...Warm Sterile Comfort. The straights live in it, bathe in it, breathe it, drink it. They’re ecstatic.

But a few people live out their remaining days without the benefit of Madonna’s humble opinion on war. There’s others too, but us three are the most daring I have ever known. Tonight we stole the cancerous New America’s pride and jewel. We stole the ultimate...

“WAKE UP!”

I jerked upwards with a start. I had been sleeping, of course — the newpot. But Donna’s voice had been full of panic. I lit the gas lamp to its highest setting and looked behind me.

Donna looked like a slutty version of the latest teen popstress. She sat on her leather-clad ass with her knees and feet both touching the floor, and her eyes were wild, and her nipples were poking half an inch through her combat croptop.

And beside her on the box was a glass pipette.

“I TOOK SOME!” she shouted, and then winced as though her own words were hitting her.

Oh Christ. Donna. I’m through caring about that girl.

I walked up to her and crouched down. “What are you feeling?”

She shook. “Everything. You’re feeling everything. You mean I am. I am. You’re not like you are okay? It’s great but I cant do it anymore. You’re every thing like in the center, but it’s not you in the center, everything else is. I’m everyone and the world is the world. BUT I CAN’T KEEP IT APART!! I mean oh god get me OUT of THIS!!!”

Something about her description of the state tickled me. I pushed past her and grabbed the folded yellow document from the aluminum box. As I perused, I reflected. Simple inked pictures, like airplane safety cards. This was a prototype, not the final product for soldiers to carry.

There. On page five was Joe Marine dealing with a sweating, addled, bearded Enemy. The sequence showed him looking at the Enemy? No, staring at the enemy. It made sense to me.

I turned to Donna and looked in her eyes. She returned the gaze like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Bit by bit, she calmed. It was the looniest thing. It was like facing down a panic attack. It only took her fifteen seconds to resume breathing slowly, but the fear was still in her eyes.

“Donna? What are you feeling?” She didn’t answer, she just looked at me. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“When.”

When?

“When.”

I puzzled over this for a second as I rubbed my eyes to get rid of the fatigue. Then I looked harder at her. “When what?”

She calmed further. Now she looked spiritual, like a massage victim. “Um...may I.” Someone was not in Kansas anymore!

“Be calm. I’m going to read.”

She didn’t answer, so I pulled the documentation to my lap and took in what I could. It seemed that this was a prototype of a new, highly effective sedative-hypnotic. From the cartoon sequence, I understood that someone would be dosed an indeterminate amount before simply being asked to switch sides, and they would. After a cold or hot shower and a nap, they would come alive and be the perfect double agent. That was as close as I could guess from the pictures.

And then I looked at Donna. She looked back. She’d been looking at me the whole time.

My cock felt a little sore.

“Donna? Donna. You’re on my side now. Everything is fine.”

I shouldn’t have done that, but I did.

She just looked at me, a little amused. I narrowed my eyes and gave her an intense fatherly glare.

She opened her eyes wide and her jaw slacked a little.

“Donna. So rested. So peaceful. You don’t even know yet, but I’m your Master.”

A drop of drool came from her lip and interrupted my thought. I watched it fall. Then I looked up at my disoriented slave.

“You follow all my instructions. You follow ALL my instructions. ALL my instructions WILL be followed.”

She fell forwards onto her arms, still staring at me, and I could see her perfect Donna breasts between her perfect Donna soldiers. And then I snapped out of it. I slapped myself hard immediately. I was thinking of the unattached, brainless women I took from concerts and movies...these women viewed me as part of the scenery. Good for a laugh. They passively watched my seduction and carnality...

“Donna. Get up. I mean, relax. You’re not my slave. You’re back to normal. Have a shower. Have a nap. Just go get what you need.”

Still peaceful — and so eerie — she stood up in one smooth motion, smiled at me, pulled up the truck door, and walked out. I couldn’t hear her footfalls for very long before Spider Barris took her place in the doorway.

“Damn close the door tonight,” muttered Spider and sealed the hatch. He pounded the ground with his boot, turned around twice, and slept where he fell.

Part III

Donna was back. She was making coffee and putting orange donuts on paper plates. Spider was grunting awake from the smell of it. I opened my eyes.

“Donna?”

“Donna’s here.”

“Do you remember last night?”

Her eyes flicked to Spider’s form, guiltily, then casually returned to center. Her brow squeezed. “Nothing strikes me. Why?”

I sighed. “Nothing. Have you contacted the bikers about the sale of this stuff? I figure it’s good stuff. That’s all.”

“Well, they’re going to be in Philidelphia by Bush Day. Shall I bury the ‘stuff’?”

“Barris, wake up! We’ve got a job to do.” I picked up the aluminum box and gave him a vigorous kick. And almost without realizing it I palmed yesterday’s half-used vial and stuck it in my pocket, as we took shovels to the corner garden and deposited our fortunes in the big bank that was the dirty earth. Afterwards, Spider wandered off to amuse himself in the town without joining us for coffee. I went to the van and made myself comfortable.

“Have some coffee,” Donna said to me.

“Have some yourself,” I joked. She sat down with a cup and smiled. She looked hot as ever.

“What is it with you and Spider?”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “He’s useful to us. He stays away most of the time. And no one cracks a better skull.” Having said her piece, impolitic as it was, she laughed.

“Okay. That makes sense.” I returned the laugh. “You are funny.”

At that she burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

She glowed. “Me. I am.”

I went for coffee after all. “You know, that stuff we stole is fantastically dangerous. You were on it last night and it took all my willpower not to simply use you for love and throw you by the road. Plus I have a feeling it’s just as good for a truth-drug. Please don’t take it any more.”

She laughed again. “Oh, that. That stuff didn’t do anything. I remember everything that happened. You made me your slave, Master,” she laughed once more, “and I went to town and used the community showers.”

“Still, who knows.” A dull flashlight came on in my head. “Donna, have another cup.”

She raised her eyebrows and showed a thin row of perfect teeth, then crossed to the coffeepot, and drained a cup without stopping once for air. Then she sat down. She looked a little sick.

“Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“Having more coffee.”

“It was a good pot.”

“Donna, take your hair down and pull your shirt below your breasts.”

Her hands went to her hair. Two unstyled black Venusian manes fell in front of her shoulders. She gave me a quick glance and then pushed the top of her halfshift underneath her (lovely) boobs. Instantly her hands went to her dogtags, examining them.

“Donna? Why did you do that?”

She said something about checking her dog tags were right. At this point I was ready to see the pattern. When I told her to do something she thought it was her own idea!

“Play with your breasts.”

Like a naughty schoolgirl, she turned away and rubbed her nipples with her fingertips. Her expression was pure nonchalance.

My cock got hard and my mind fogged over. I wanted to be into this.

“Get naked now.”

A funny look came over her then. She touched her stomach, her legs. “I’m so itchy,” she said. “I think I’m turning red...please check this...I hate this feeling.” And with rapidity her clothes were all off. And so were mine.

She looked at me warily. “I didn’t say we were going to goddamn fuck, buster. I asked you to check my skin problem.” When I didn’t respond, she considered, and said “Are you going to do it, or not?”

“No.”

She just stared, annoyed beyond freedom of movement.

“Take my dick in your mouth, Donna.” This was it.

I could not explain the sequence of expressions that went across her face just then. Poets couldn’t do it justice. But she made it all look natural. And then she was on her knees, smiling up at me, with my stiffening member between her lips. “I can’t believe how attracted I am to you. It was just so..deep..I couldn’t let myself before...”

“Move your mouth up and down. On the shaft. Move your tongue. Back. And. Forth....aaaahh....”

She smiled, in love.

Part IV

Donna’s clothes were off and I was humping her warm and flawless ass against the mattress. She was taking me in exactly as I had told her to do a minute before. I entered her and she stretched her body as I reached the end of my stroke. Then her hole tightened as I jerked out. Finally she pushed against me as I entered her again. In, out. In, out. It was heaven.

Then I realized how submissive she was. This wasn’t a conquest. This was a dominance game. I slowed down, and as good as it felt, I didn’t have it in me anymore. So I pulled out and sat down. Donna gave a little hurt noise and came up to me on her knees.

“Master Lover? Have I displeased you?”

I looked at her for a moment, then said, “It’s not you. I can’t give myself to someone who accepts it so easy, anymore.” I thought again of the tiresome sheep-like women at the malls and nightclubs. “I can get that anytime.”

Donna started to cry a little, but it was childlike and superficial. “I thought you loved me. Or did I? Oh, God.” She slumped in her chair. I looked at her again.

“Donna, didn’t it feel great when I had you over the chair?”

She looked back. “Certainly.”

“Would you like to experience that again now?”

She looked down. “No.”

“Yes you do.”

“Well, maybe I do.”

I sighed. “Too bad my cock is way too large to fit in your cunt. You’re stuck, little girl, because you need to come, worse than you ever knew, and I’m a monkey wrench and you’re just a model car.”

I admit it took me less than three seconds to steal a peek. She was crouched between her powerful thighs, pussy soaked and puffy, humping air. Her head was jerking forwards and backwards and her abdomen was tight as a board. I got hard instantly.

I laid on the ground. “Look at my dick. You need it. It’s calling to you.” Her face reflected the unique drama inside...every instinct demanded she impale herself on me, while still believing I was much too large. I helped her. “It might fit.”

She tacked to me and slowly, gingerly, lowered herself down. This exquisite feeling was spiced by her facial expressions, a blend of impossible desire and cold, purely imagined terror. I watched the show.

“Lick my balls. Lick them.”

She turned a hundred and eighty degrees, screaming, then bent over entirely, shaking, pulled my balls as far away from my body as she could, and tongued them frantically. I groaned in pleasure.

The door opened and Spider Barris jumped inside. Something dark and hard hurt my head, and I felt a great, familiar pleasure, and then the world faded into a kind of post-orgasmic slumber.

Part V

The first thing I could tell you is that I couldn’t move. The other thing I could tell you is that it was cold. Eventually I rose up entirely and pulled the wet washcloth from my face.

Donna was back in her usual leather gear, standing over Spider. His face was ringed by something white, and he stared at Donna submissively.

She looked over at me. “I gave him the drug. To paralyze him, you know? I threw it at him when he went to finish the job on you.”

“Why did you do it? Save me?”

“I thought it would be fun to play your slave. I feel bad for the guy, though. Was it wrong?” She laughed yet again.

“No, you did well.”

She beamed in idealistic glory.

“Where did you get the drug?”

“From your jacket. I saw you put it in, you know. I sort of notice everything you do. Lately.”

I walked over to Spider. He looked as mad as always. But this time I decided to make him happy. I started to stare. Not as I stared at Donna, originally. This was another message — although equally primal.

“Spider Barris. You are now an agent against the top hundred billionaires in New America.”

Spider looked a tiny bit alarmed.

“You will stop at nothing to dose them with our disorientation drug. Once you have their mind at attention, you will recruit them to become agents as well.”

Spider had a look of determination about him now.

“Once enough billionaries are on our side, they will begin to filter the wealth back into the other 99.9% of the world. They will invest in any and all charities and small businesses that approach them. Bill Gates alone has enough money to buy the entire world’s population food for a month. That money should be moving through the community, not sitting in Swiss bank accounts.”

Spider looked bored.

“Leave now and take the disorientation drug with you. Your society of anti-billionaries is called the Dis-Orient...and your secret symbol is the Glass Pipette! Nothing will stop you. Have lots of gay, gay sex if you have to!”

Spider Barris got up and left, digging up the aluminum box on his way out. I glanced at Donna. She smiled and shrugged. On a whim, I hugged her. She pushed me away and turned her back. I smiled and shrugged.

Donna’s pregnant. I haven’t seen Barris since this incident.

It might not be long now. I just saw a picture of the new 2036 silver hundred-dollar plate. In the bas-relief eagle, just below the left claw, the Patriot missile has been replaced with a pipette.