The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The burly men carried their unconscious cargo through the alley to the designated spot. The larger of them took a small device out of a shirt pocket and pressed a button.

The air shimmered. The big men walked forward, carrying their captive into the quivering distortion. If there had been any witnesses, they would have seen the men and their live package appear to shrink, as if receding rapidly into the distance. In a few seconds they were gone altogether, and the air in the alley returned to what passed for normal there.

Somewhere else, another patch of wavering air appeared. Two men, carrying the limp form of a third, seemed to approach through it as if from some vast distance. Finally they arrived, and the rippling of the atmosphere stilled.

“Made it,” the bigger man said. The two of them dumped their burden into a comfortable chair, one of a number of seats around a group of tables in front of a large stage. Many of the chairs were occupied, and servers moved among the tables bearing trays. To one side was a long bar of polished oak, behind which were rows of bottles and stacks of glasses. On stage, a bevy of gorgeous, scantily clad girls went through a high-kicking chorus routine.

It might have been any of a number of posh clubs in any of a number of cities anywhere in the world—if it hadn’t been for what stood across the room from the bar, in the direction from which the three men had appeared. There, a massive apparatus squatted. Screens and dials adorned its face, surrounding a single huge crystal. A few moments before, the crystal had been lit with a dazzling white glow. Now, its light was fading, already a dull red. Seconds later, it would be dead black.

A tall, skeletally thin man with a large head haloed with gray hair approached the figure slumped in the chair. After a brief examination, he produced a small syringe from one pocket of the white lab smock he was wearing and injected the other man.

The body in the chair stirred and opened its eyes.

“Ah, good,” the tall man said. “You’re awake. Welcome, Mayor Eisner.”

The seated man struggled briefly to get up. He failed. His muscles didn’t seem to be working right. “Where am I?” he said hoarsely. “What’s going on here?”

“Tsk, tsk,” scolded the lab-smocked figure in front of him. “How clichéd.” He sighed. “Oh, well. To answer your questions, in order: Welcome to the Club Tartarus, the favorite entertainment spot of what I believe you once called—what was the phrase?—oh, yes, the ‘Elite of Evil.’ How trite. And you are here, Mayor, to receive your heart’s most secret desire.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mayor Eisner demanded. “And how would you know anything about my heart’s desire, anyway?”

The thin lab-coated man stepped closer to Eisner. “Believe me, I know all about desires—especially the ones people are ashamed to admit they have. You might say,” and he smiled a nasty smile, “it’s my specialty.”

Eisner gasped. Shadows had concealed the other man’s features until he’d moved, but now Empire City’s mayor could see him plainly. He recognized the beak-nosed face with its large, hawklike eyes and wild halo of gray hair. “Dr. Id! Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“As you can see,” the lab-smocked figure in front of him responded, “reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

Eisner again struggled to rise from his chair, and again was unsuccessful. Observing him, Dr. Id chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll restore your mobility soon enough. When I do, I guarantee you won’t want to attack me, or flee from this place.” He paused. “Not that you could get out without help anyway. Club Tartarus exists in its own pocket universe, the perfect concealment from all those nosy super-powered vigilantes with whom its clientele must deal. The only way in or out is through the dimensional translator.” He gestured at the massive device along the wall opposite the bar.

Mayor Eisner looked at him coldly. “Whatever you’ve got in mind, it won’t work,” he promised.

“Why don’t we wait and see, shall we?” A gong sounded, and the chorus girls scampered off the stage. “Excellent! The main attraction is about to begin!” Dr. Id grinned. “I think, Mr. Mayor, you’ll find this interesting.” He chuckled. “Oh, yes. Very interesting indeed.”

The gong sounded again, and an unseen announcer’s voice said, “The Club Tartarus is proud to present its star attraction, appearing here and nowhere else. Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues and co-conspirators, let’s have a big hand for our very own . . . Miracle Woman!”

The crowd clapped wildly as a woman appeared. Six feet tall, magnificently built, with blue eyes in a perfect heart-shaped face and a thick mane of amber hair which cascaded halfway to her waist, she was wearing a tight-fitting red, white and blue costume which bared a great deal of leg and cleavage.

Eisner choked. “That . . . that can’t be the real—!” Words failed him as his eyes locked onto the beautiful babe in the spotlights. Despite himself, he felt a growing arousal.

Dr. Id noticed. “That’s not what your body is saying, Mayor. Now why don’t you relax and watch her perform? When she’s done, we can chat more.”

Eisner didn’t respond to that. He couldn’t. He had eyes, ears, awareness only for the beauty in the costume as brassy music began to play and she swayed to its rhythm.

Watching the Mayor, Dr. Id smirked. He’d studied the man carefully after targeting him, and now it was paying off.

Eisner had a secret: he was desperately, hopelessly in lust with the glamorous do-gooder Miracle Woman. He collected every souvenir of her adventures he could get his hands on, tried to be there whenever she made a public appearance, wrote admiring op-eds in the Times, anything and everything he could think of. He even, as Id had found by hacking into his personal computer, had a private collection of computer-edited photos of the heroine in various fantasy outfits or totally nude. If the Doctor had wanted to ruin him, he could simply have arranged for that fact to become public.

But as it happened, by the time he’d made that discovery, he’d had a much better option available to him.

As Mayor Eisner watched, the blonde bombshell slithered to the sounds of the music and began to peel away her garish garments, leering suggestively at the audience and basking in their cheers and howls of applause. Dr. Id enjoyed the show as much as anyone. More, perhaps, since he was responsible for it. . . .

TEN MONTHS EARLIER:

Miracle Woman swooped down in front of the gray stone building, senses alert for any possible treachery. The message her informant had relayed to her had said that Dr. Id had been seen entering and leaving the structure. If it was true, if the Doctor of Depravity had set up a headquarters here, she needed to be on her guard.

She had a hard time believing Id could really have returned. In his last confrontation with the League of Virtue, he’d been caught in the explosion which had wrecked his hideout. The blast had leveled a whole city block. He wasn’t invulnerable. How could he possibly have survived?

The costumed crusader took hold of the building’s wide corrugated metal door. It was locked, and apparently barred on the inside. That meant nothing to her. A powerful jerk of her smoothly muscled arms, and the door folded upward with a scream of tortured metal. She stepped inside.

She found herself in a dark, cavernous chamber filled with wooden crates and cardboard boxes. It might have been unused for months, but the air smelled too fresh for that. Light spilled into the space in a narrow strip from an open doorway across from her. Boldly, she strode over and through the opening.

The moment she crossed the threshold, a massive armored door banged down, cutting off her retreat. Inspecting it, Miracle Woman guessed she could break through, but it would take time.

She wasn’t going to get that time. Her keen hearing detected a suspicious hissing sound. Gas? She had to get out NOW!

She giggled. What was wrong with her? She was in trouble, she had to get away, run!

She giggled again, her muscles relaxing, and slumped to her knees, a slack smile on her face.

The hissing sound stopped. Miracle Woman toppled over backward, legs folding under her until the five-inch heels of her costume boots poked into her buttocks. She knew vaguely that she should get up, but it felt so good to just lie there. The floor underneath her felt soft, as if it were padded. Soft was good.

She laughed stupidly. It felt good to laugh. She kept on laughing, thought dissolving in the feeling.

Eventually she noticed that someone else was in the room. With an effort, she stopped laughing and focused on the person standing over her.

“Doctor . . . Id?” she asked.

“The same,” came a familiar voice. The gaunt man cackled and rubbed his hands together gleefully, then brushed a hand through his tangled gray hair in a mock salute. “Enjoying ourselves, are we?”

“Hee hee, what’ve you ha ha ha, done to me, hee?” The super-heroine could barely get the words out as the laughter took over again.

“Just given you a little something to loosen you up, my dear,” Id answered. “A drug of my own design, delivered as an ultrafine powder. Perhaps you thought it was a gas. It stimulates the reward centers of the brain. Subjects experience incredible pleasure—pleasure which leaves them utterly defenseless. But you know that, don’t you, my pretty?”

Miracle Woman only moaned. She was no longer laughing. The sensations she was experiencing had taken on distinctly erotic overtones now.

“It’s just about impossible to think now, isn’t it, my beautiful enemy? You can’t think, you can only feel; you need someone else to think for you. Yesssss.” Dr. Id sighed. “It won’t last, of course. Pity. Still, it should hold you long enough.”

The world’s most powerful woman offered no resistance as her longtime enemy bent down and gently straightened her legs, laying her out flat on the padded floor. If anything, she squirmed into his touch.

“That’s right,” he soothed. “Just relax, end enjoy the feeling. I’m going to leave you now, for a little while.”

“’S okay,” Miracle Woman murmured. “’S fine.” Her hands wandered, beginning to massage her ample bosom. Through the skintight fabric of her costume top, it was obvious her nipples were hardening.

Dr. Id smiled. Everything was going according to plan. Miracle Woman’s physical resistance was—well, miraculous—but it wasn’t unlimited. The super-powerful euphoriant he’d synthesized had her firmly in its grip. And once the next stage in her conditioning was completed, she’d be his to use in any way he chose. He licked his lips in anticipation, then turned and left the room. His victim barely noticed.

Time passed. Under the influence of Dr. Id’s drug, Miracle Woman didn’t care; she was too busy. Within minutes after the demonic doctor’s departure, she had slithered out of her costume and begun thrashing ecstatically on the floor. Hands which could smash steel instead caressed her own body intimately.

Abruptly, the dull white walls and ceiling came alive with images. The change was startling enough to draw the captive crimefighter’s concentration away from pleasuring herself.

The images were of her—full-color, three-dimensional images, both still pictures and animated clips. Several were simple mirror-views of her as she lay there; others were clearly taken from some of her past adventures. Then, gradually, they began to change.

“Who are you?” an androgynous, echoing electronic voice asked.

“M-Miracle Woman,” she gasped. “I’m, I’m Miracle Woman.”

“And what do you do?”

“F-f-fight . . . crime,” she panted. “I’m a sup . . . super . . . I fight crime.” The pleasure roaring through her made it hard to think, hard to find words.

The images on the walls and ceiling continued to change. Now they showed her dancing and writhing, peeling off her costume to unheard music. Some of them showed her wearing other outfits, sexy garb she’d never worn in real life. The image-Miracle Women seemed to be having the time of their lives as they capered and pranced seductively. The pictures came faster and faster, a flood of visual input, overwhelming her pleasure-addled brain.

“Are you sure?” the voice asked her.

“S-sure of what?” She felt dizzy, lost. Even the floor seemed alive with the dancing videos now.

“Are you sure what you do?”

“Y-yes.” She fought it. “I’m a super . . . I fight . . . I fight crime?” She did, didn’t she?

“Are you sure?” The voice and the images kept at her, confusing her, disorienting her until at last she could no longer tell whether she was the real Miracle Woman or one of the hundreds of images. The mirror-views had blended into the clips from her colorful history and the other pictures, and they surrounded her, seeming to enfold her completely until she saw nothing else. They had begun to speak, too, all in her voice, merging into a meaningless babble. The only other sound she could hear was that of the electronic voice questioning her, guiding her.

“Who are you?” it asked.

“I-I-I don’t know,” she whimpered. “Can’t remember.” Her mind was in turmoil, cavorting erotic images of herself crowding out rational thought.

“What do you do?” it continued.

“I don’t know,” she said again. “I can’t . . . please, I can’t remember, help . . . !”

“I’ll help you,” the voice agreed. It sounded more human suddenly, almost familiar, but she couldn’t remember—! “But you must trust me completely. You must do as I say, accept what I tell you, or I won’t be able to help you. Will you trust me completely?”

“Yes! Please!”

“Will you do whatever I say, and accept whatever I tell you, without question?”

“Yes! Yes!” She was begging. Anything, she’d agree to anything if it meant she could remember who she was and what she was supposed to do!

“Then listen carefully,” the voice said. If she had still been capable of thinking for herself, Miracle Woman would have recognized it as belonging to Dr. Id.

“Your name is Miranda Watt. You are a dancer,” Dr. Id’s voice instructed her. The name meant nothing; its only purpose was as a placeholder in the identity he was constructing for his captive. He was sure she had a secret identity, with a real name attached, but he had no use for that information now. “An erotic dancer. You exist to bring pleasure to men, to inflame and then satisfy their desires. You have no other life, no other purpose. You want no other life or purpose. Repeat this, and believe it.”

Miracle Woman repeated Id’s suggestions and believed them.

“You have taken the stage name of Miracle Woman, and pretend to be a super-heroine as part of your act.” Bending down, Id rhythmically stroked his helpless subject’s hair; she sighed. “Sometimes you imagine you really are a super-heroine. It turns you on to do so. You have many images in your head of yourself as a costumed crimefighter, but they are all imaginary. Only your life as a dancer is real.”

“Yes,” Miracle Woman murmured. Dr. Id’s pleasure drug was beginning to wear off, drawing her down into a delicious languor. Soon she would be deeply asleep. “I . . . understand.” She mumbled Id’s suggestions back at him.

“How do you feel now?” the devious doctor asked.

“Sleepy.” The subjugated super-heroine yawned. “So sleepy.”

Dr. Id smiled. His euphoriant’s afterglow was taking hold. “In a moment, you may sleep,” he told her. “But first: who are you?”

“My name is Miranda Watt,” she answered, giggling drowsily.

“What do you do?” was the next question.

“I am an erotic dancer,” she replied.

“What is your purpose in life?”

“I exist to bring . . . pleasure to men. To inflame and . . . satisfy their . . . desires.”

“And what do you call yourself when you are on stage?”

“My stage name is Miracle Woman.” Another sleepy giggle. “Same ‘nitials as . . . my real name.”

“And what do you do on stage?”

“I dance,” she said. “Dance and . . . take off my clothes. Pretend to be a . . . super-heroine as part of . . . my act.”

“Very good,” said Dr. Id. “You may sleep now. Sleep. Sleep. . . .” Miracle Woman’s eyes closed, and her body relaxed completely.

From his concealed vantage point, Dr. Id watched with satisfaction. The drug had opened her to suggestion just as he’d planned, and the computer-generated imagery he’d devised was eating away at her sense of identity. It was only a matter of time now.

When she awoke, the process began again. First the drug, then the images and the voice, pounding away at her. This time, before being put to sleep, she was helped to her feet by Dr. Id and led to a side chamber, where she used the toilet and was given a sponge bath by a pair of female flunkies.

On the third round, she was fed. By then, there were no more thoughts of resistance. The conditioning was firmly setting in her mind, and she was growing addicted to the drug and the pleasure it brought. She would do anything, believe anything, to get more of the drug and the pleasure.

She had lost track of the number of times she’d been through the routine when Dr. Id came to her for the final test.

“Good morning, my Miracle Woman,” he greeted her. “Do you know who I am?”

“Pleasure,” she responded automatically. “You are the man who brings me pleasure. You are the man I must obey.”

Dr. Id smiled wickedly. “That’s right. You must obey me.” He removed his lab coat and continued, “Dance for me. Dance, my beautiful one. Dance, and feel the pleasure of bringing me pleasure.” He pressed a button on a small control pad attached to his belt, and seductive music filled the air.

And Miracle Woman danced. The music guided her, controlled her, programmed her movements as pleasure shot through her body. She was vaguely aware that Dr. Id was watching, breathing raggedly, and that a bulge had grown in the front of his trousers. The knowledge that he was aroused excited her more, and she danced even more feverishly, tearing away at her outfit.

Her spike-heeled boots were the last to go, and when she’d ripped them off, she flung herself at Dr. Id. His clothes were tossed away in seconds, and she pulled him to the floor with her, burying his face in her massive chest and guiding him into her.

He responded as any man would, spurting powerfully into her as her strong thighs squeezed him from the sides. Then she guided him into a new position, plunging his member into her cleavage and using her breasts to massage him to another climax. Then it was back down again. . . .

Finally he had to order her to stop. He was close to passing out, and feared she would keep on working at him mindlessly until he had a heart attack or stroke. He, after all, couldn’t match her superhuman stamina. He barely found the breath to give the command.

“Sleep, my lovely,” he gasped. “Sleep now, until I awaken you.”

She obeyed, closing her eyes at once and relaxing, a peaceful smile on her lips. Dr. Id fell asleep seconds later, head pillowed on her shoulder and hands at her breasts. When the Doctor awoke, eight hours later, he was exultant.

“She’s been here ever since,” Dr. Id concluded. As a rapt Mayor Eisner watched the entertainer on stage, the super-villain had gloatingly recounted to him the story of his greatest foe’s enslavement. Id suspected the Mayor had been hearing him with only half an ear at best; the politician was now watching, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, as the performer finished her act by subduing a huge python which had been released to coil itself around her nude form. She easily broke free of its coils and stuffed it back into its cage, then locked the cage door. As the audience clapped, whistled and cheered, she turned to face them and bowed, nearly brushing the stage floor with her massive mammaries before straightening up to pose with legs spread and fists on hips.

Eyes on the his stunned listener, the archvillain went on: “Naturally, she lives here at the club. I can’t very well take the chance of her being seen on the outside and recognized for who she really is, now can I? Of course not. That would spoil everything!”

“Uh,” Eisner finally managed. He kept on staring at the beautiful performer as she gathered up her discarded costume. Finally she swept majestically off the stage. He sighed.

Dr. Id smiled. Eisner was hooked; now to reel him in. The villain murmured, “How would you like some time alone with her, eh?”

Mayor Eisner blushed scarlet. He didn’t have to say anything; the quickening of his breath and the small damp spot which suddenly appeared at the crotch of his trousers spoke for him.

Dr. Id spoke into a small device: “Ego, would you please escort our star performer to my table when she’s finished freshening up?” Ego, Eisner vaguely recalled, was one of Id’s long-time henchmen.

Presently, a tall, mournful-looking fellow in an expensive tux approached, accompanying the magnificent woman Eisner had dreamed about for years. Her finale had convinced him she was the genuine article; it would have taken genuine super-strength to do what he’d seen her do.

“You called, Doctor?” she said, in the melodious voice Eisner had adored since his teens. He bit back a moan.

“Yes, my dear,” responded Id. “Mayor Eisner here is a great admirer of yours. I want you to show him a good time, a very good time. Do you understand me?”

The woman grinned lasciviously and stretched. “Oh, I think I do,” she purred.

Dr. Id produced two bottles, a large one from somewhere under the table and a small one from a pocket. “I’m sure you’ll know what to do with these, my dear.”

“Oh, I think so.” She gathered up the two bottles in the crook of one arm, then extended her other hand to Eisner. Barely aware of what he was doing, he took it, allowing her to lead him away.

She took him backstage to what was evidently her private suite, and beckoned him inside. Eisner could hardly believe it was happening. Somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice was warning him there had to be a catch, but he wasn’t listening.

Miracle Woman sat him on a big, soft couch and, looking down at him, spoke: “Dr. Id said you’re a big fan of mine. Is that true?” Eisner croaked wordlessly, and his beautiful companion purred, looking at his pants, “Yes, I can see it is.” Producing a couple of fluted glasses, she opened the large bottle and poured; the smell of a fine vintage wafted through the air. She offered one of the glasses to Eisner, and they drank.

Eisner sighed, setting down his glass. “You’re so beautiful. So strong. So perfect. . . .”

“I’m so glad you think so,” came the answer. “What would you do to have me, to have all of me?”

“Anything,” Eisner panted. “Anything.”

“Anything?” The glorious voice held amusement. “Anything at all?”

“What—do you have something . . . particular in mind?” The warning voice at the back of Eisner’s mind was stronger now.

“Not really,” Miracle Woman said airily. “But Dr. Id might want something, sometime. Would you do something for him if I asked you to?”

“Wh-what?” The warning at the back of Mayor Eisner’s voice was quite loud now. It shocked him back to a measure of self-control. “But he’s, he’s a dangerous criminal, a super-villain. Please . . . please, I’ll do anything for you, but don’t ask me that!”

Miracle Woman only smiled. Her master had warned her that Eisner might try to resist, might say no despite his infatuation with her. The Doctor had prepared her for that possibility.

She opened the small bottle Id had given her and waved it under the Mayor’s nose. At the first whiff of its contents, his eyes crossed and he gasped, straining reflexively for more. It was working just as promised.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” she teased. She poured a bit of the liquid in the bottle onto the fingers of her free hand and rubbed it into her exposed cleavage. Then she closed the bottle, put it down, and sat on the couch next to the Mayor. Her strong arms encircled him, and one hand drew his face to the damp cleft between her breasts.

With a whimper, Eisner surrendered, desperately clutching at her as the powerful pheromone perfume wiped away what remained of his resistance. He was lost, lost, in a world drawn from his most forbidden fantasies. His tongue shot out, lapping away, drawing in more of the drug.

Before long, the politician and the former super-heroine were nude and writhing on the couch. Miracle Woman took her partner to the limits of his endurance and beyond the greatest ecstasy he had ever imagined. Again and again he came, until at last he lay spent with his face nestled in her bosom.

It was time. Gently, she raised Eisner’s chin until he was face to face with her. Watching him try unsuccessfully to refocus his eyes, she giggled. He was ready.

In a new tone, she commanded, “Mayor Henry Eisner, listen to me.”

“Yes,” he responded softly. “Listen.”

Miracle Woman regarded her conquest. Part of her performance was something called the Voice of Submission, which allowed her to enthrall those she’d beaten in battle, or who had accepted her dominance over them in other ways. Guys from the audience would play the “villain” part, letting her “defeat” them and “put them under” with that ability. The Mayor was responding as if it were real and she’d used it on him.

Well, she thought, why not go with it?

“Mayor Eisner, you must obey me, isn’t that right?”

“I must obey you,” Eisner agreed, helplessly enslaved by the gorgeous gladiatrix’s quite genuine super-power. His obsession with her made him want to obey, want to submit, opening him to the Voice’s effect after what little resistance he might have offered had been destroyed by drugged perfume and ecstatic sex.

“That’s a good boy.” The still-naked Eisner wriggled like a petted puppy. “Now listen carefully.” Miracle Woman paused to remember the script Dr. Id had prepared for her to use in this situation.

“Soon you will be leaving here. When you do, you will forget you were ever brought here. You will forget what happened here.”

“Soon I will be . . . leaving here,” Eisner mumbled. “I will forget I was brought here. Forget what . . . happened here.”

“But if Dr. Id ever contacts you, you will obey his instructions. You will do this even though you do not remember coming here, because if you obey Dr. Id, you may get to visit me again, and you’ll do anything to be allowed to visit me. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand.” Eisner repeated Miracle Woman’s suggestions.

“And if I ever contact you,” the corrupted crimefighter continued, “the moment you hear my voice, you will at once fall into the wonderful relaxed obedient state you are in now, and do whatever I say until I release you. Do you agree?”

“Yes,” Eisner whispered, drifting. “I agree.”

“Very good. Then you are released, Mayor Eisner.”

The Mayor blinked, emerging from his trance. “That was . . . wonderful,” he murmured.

“It’s time for you to go now,” Miracle Woman said. “It wouldn’t do for you to be missed. It might upset people, and we don’t want that.”

“No,” agreed Eisner. " We don’t want that.” Without further prompting, he reclothed himself, and Miracle Woman put her own costume back on. When they were both fully dressed, she ushered him back out to the club’s seating area, where Dr. Id and his beefy henchmen were waiting. The Doctor glanced over at his former adversary; she nodded, and he smiled.

“Well, Mayor Eisner,” he announced, “it’s been a pleasure. For . . . several of us, I’m sure.”

Flushing, Eisner could only nod.

Turning to his thugs, Id went on, “Show Mr. Eisner out. Never mind the bag, boys. Trust me, it’s not needed.”

The two thugs with Id took hold of Eisner’s arms and pulled him up onto the platform of the dimensional translator. With a free hand, the larger one pressed the button on his control device, and suddenly, the air in front of the three of them began to waver. Dr. Id’s stooges pulled Eisner forward, and the trio appeared to recede into some unfathomable distance until they were gone. The malevolent mind-molder rubbed his hands in satisfaction. With Mayor Eisner’s help, he’d undermine the League of Virtue bit by bit until at last he was ready to destroy them altogether. Only when they were at his mercy would he reveal that he had been responsible for their downfall.

Dr. Id’s eyes gleamed.

This time, his plan couldn’t fail. . . .

EPILOGUE:

Dr. Id laid down the copy of the Times his henchmen had smuggled in, and smiled. Despite former Mayor Eisner’s departure from the scene, the forces he’d set in motion were still operating. And soon, perhaps, it would be time to give them an extra push—once his study of Eisner’s successor was complete. And in the meantime, there was always the beautiful “Miranda Watt” to entertain him.

Cackling triumphantly, he headed for the performer’s private rooms.