The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“What are you telling me? That we’re being played?” Giotto Falcmaro stood up from his desk and paced around the glass-and-stone walls of his underground office.

“It looks that way,” Janine answered. “When I met with Casselbeck—”

“Who?”

“Hobart’s Chief of Staff.”

Falcmaro whirled on his assistant. “You met with her? Christ, Janine, we’re supposed to be insulated from all this!”

“I know, boss. I wouldn’t have gone unless it was important. But I was careful. I had a full anti-surveillance kit with me, I wasn’t followed, we’re clear.”

“Time will tell.” Falcmaro’s declaration was icy. He hated being in a wait-and-see position.

“At any rate. Casselbeck said they’re in a bad way. The vote passed the House, sure, but all their internal nose count has them way down in the Senate. The press from back in Oregon is killing Hobart’s spirit. A lot of her bully tactics are coming back to bite them. They haven’t broken any dismissable rules yet, but their opponents are organizing against her hard. They’re afraid she might have to resign.”

“How in the hell is this good news?”

Janine blinked her large, almond eyes. “It’s not, boss. I’m telling you that Cavenshaw has been jerking us off for weeks. You suspected, and now I’m giving you confirmation.”

“That’s more than Justin and his AMD boys could manage,” Falcmaro said bitterly. The Asset Management Department of Tellamon often functioned as Falcmaro’s least savory muscle. Their methods were often barely legal, protected by discretion and Tellamon’s legion of attorneys. In Devin’s case, they had been tasked with gathering information about how the strange consultant worked his magic. They had come up with little.

“But here’s the interesting thing, boss.” Janine raised a manicured eyebrow. “Casselbeck claims that Cavenshaw has Hobart under some kind of ‘mind controlling influence.’”

Air circulation systems hummed in the sudden lull. Falcmaro’s jaw dropped. Janine had never seen that happen before. “You don’t fucking say.”

“My hand to god. She wants our help to get Hobart back to normal and try to untangle this whole mess.”

“That would really be a feat.” The damage that had been done to Hobart’s public reputation could hardly be undone. “Besides, she does realize we’re the one who hired the mind controller, right? Why would we help her undo his work?”

“Because then she’ll tell us how he’s been doing it.”

Janine had seen cartoons when she was a child where a greedy character’s eyes would turn to dollar signs. The spark that suddenly lit in Falcmaro’s eyes was similar, but wholly more dangerous. “You think this could be a trap?”

Janine considered. “Possibly. If it is, she’s taking a real risk to set it.”

Falcmaro leaned back against a humidor set into the wall. He tapped his finger against the glass door in thought. Janine waited patiently. This was the analytical stance that had won Falcmaro a world-class fortune. He deserved all the time he needed.

“We go for it,” he decided at length. “Cautious optimism. We can’t rule out her being on the level, and the potential rewards are too great to ignore.”

“Yes, sir.” Janine hesitated. “Boss, if I could be so bold… May I run point on this?” Falcmaro gave her a questioning look, and she elaborated. “Asset Management has bungled this every step of the way. I can run the op and get it done safely.”

Falcmaro barely had to give it a thought. Janine had made it to his inner office by being one of the most intelligent, competent people he had ever known. In his world, ‘assistant’ wasn’t a term for a glorified secretary, but exactly what it said: she assisted Falcmaro on everything, serving as his good right hand. For something as important as the Hobart operation, he could find no better agent.

“Do it. Take over down there and direct all operations to secure Cavenshaw and whatever this ‘mind control’ schtick is. Clean and with minimal exposure.” He paused, ruefully shaking his head. “Mind control. I can’t believe this is what it’s come to.”

Janine blew out her cheeks. “I know. If I hadn’t seen it myself…”

“But we have. I have. And now it’s going to be mine.”

Emily opened the front door to her luxurious Forest Hills house. She hadn’t been here in a couple of weeks; she also kept a small apartment closer to the Capitol, and with her world blowing up recently she had been pressed for commute time. Inside the red brick archway, she disabled the security alarm, turned to go into the living room, and cursed in surprise.

“God damn it.”

“Hi there, sweetheart,” said the man standing in her foyer.

To Emily’s credit, she didn’t drop her handbag in shock. “You could have called,” she remarked in stride.

Carmichael Hobart—“Mikey” to his friends—did not turn to watch his daughter walk past him. He simply stood there, hands in his pockets, implacable in that maddening way that he had. Sometimes it seemed to Emily like his classic stance of exaggerated calm was the most infuriating thing a man could do.

“I did,” he called after her. “I called all of your office lines. I called both your cells. I called both your homes. I emailed you. I sent an intern on a plane, business class, to personally hand you a letter. I could have called?”

Carmichael followed Emily through the living room and into the kitchen, a wary distance between them. “It’s possible that I’ve been avoiding those calls,” she said. “I hope that doesn’t upset you.”

“Sweetheart, ninety seconds ago was the first time in your entire life that you have walked into a room and seen me without giving me a hug. That upsets me. You dodging my calls just mystifies me.”

Emily got an aloe water out of the fridge and carefully regarded her father. “I’m sorry if I mystified you, but this isn’t a good time for explanations. You disagree with me on some things right now, and that’s all right, but while tensions are high we should probably just play alone in our separate corners.”

“Being separate has been our problem. We need to come together on this.”

Emily mock-considered. “Mm, pass.”

“Emily.” Carmichael’s voice was teddy-bear soft. “What have you gotten into?”

Emily hated him for that. Scream at her, threaten her, plead with her… She was ready for all of those. But her father, doting and sensitive as he’d always been, was concerned for her safety. It was enough to make her want to puke. And shake her resolve, a little.

The two of them had always been close. Closer than any father and child she had ever known. Even from the time she was little, the two of them had felt a mutual respect and trust that was unbreakable. He had always planned for her to follow him into the family business, just as he had followed his father. Despite that, he had put away his own fantasies and given her his full support when she decided to enter politics.

He was right about one thing: normally, even a serious conversation between them would be punctuated with hugs and dry inside jokes and gentle good humor. For a moment it pained Emily not to have that any more. It had been there just a few weeks before. Where had it all gone?

She softened her voice to match his. “Ok, Dad. What are you concerned about?”

“You know what I’m concerned about.”

“Oh, so your little girl—”

“It’s not my little girl that worries me,” Carmichael snapped. “It’s my Congresswoman.”

A silence lingered between them for a moment, tight as a violin string. “You should have just left me alone.”

“And just watch you implode? How could I? I’m your biggest fan, and I don’t even recognize you anymore. Literally, if I saw you on the street, I wouldn’t know my own flesh and blood.”

“You saw me a month ago.”

“Not like this.” He gestured, to Emily’s body, wrapped up tight in a blue striped band dress, the neckline giving way generously for her cleavage. “You look like every father’s nightmare when his teenage daughter—his little girl—says she wants to be a beauty queen.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I thought you weren’t worried about your little girl, just the Congresswoman.”

“I exaggerated.”

“I’ll say. I’m hardly imploding.” Emily hopped on the counter and crossed one leg over the other, bouncing her foot cheerfully.

“Right, your poll numbers are holding. There’s a case building for your removal, but who cares about something silly like that? What in the hell have you been thinking? Look at me. Look at me. Where have these policies been coming from? What happened to your basic sense of propriety?” When Emily refused to answer him, he stepped closer to her. “Have you completely lost your moral compass?”

“I’ve learned when a moral compass is useful to me.”

Carmichael slumped into a chair, deflating. He had begun his life as a logger before going to work for his father, and his broad musculature still showed it. He looked a bit like a pensive gargoyle mourning off the edge of a building.

“I remember when you first said that you wanted to come here. Be a Congresswoman. I was so proud. We were always worried… With the way you look, how you loved the pageant world, plus the family money. Who knew if you’d just sit back and lead the easy life. Take your allowance and lounge on a beach, party away your whole life. Most women in your position would have. But you had this drive. The best parts of me, the best parts of your mother, of your grandfather, all rolled up in you. That endless energy.”

“I remember,” Emily said. She thought of a quote, oft-repeated in the Hobart household, that her father had first said to her when she was a girl. “There are good guys in this world and there are bad guys, and the good guys need help.”

Carmichael remembered the saying, too. It was his poor way of explaining to his 12 year-old daughter that an international company had just ruined their hometown, and there was nothing they could do about it. He remembered the futility of it all. The hope that it had sparked in young Emily.

“Exactly. So what the hell happened?”

“I don’t expect you to understand. But a little gratitude wouldn’t be out of line.”

Carmichael sneered. “Gratitude?”

“Argent stands to make a lot of money here, Dad. Because of me.”

“We have enough money, Emily.” Carmichael might as well have been lecturing a rebellious toddler. “There’s only so much we can even use. Taking any more is just greed. Or spite.”

“What about the rights of shareholders?”

“What about the rights of people? You used to have your head on straight about this. You knew how to look after people.”

“And now I’m looking after the only people who matter.”

“At what cost!?” Carmichael shot to his feet. “That kind of exploitative attitude is exactly what we’ve always stood against. Just because we can flex a lot of muscle doesn’t mean we should.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We’re rich. Hard work, ingenuity, cunning, they made us rich. And now that money can make us more money. What’s the point of having muscle if never use it?” She snorted in derision. “I look like your nightmare? What’s the point of looking this good if you don’t show it off?”

Carmichael was horrified. “I can’t let you keep going down this path. You’re going to hurt too many people.”

“Little people. Ordinary people. Poor people. Fuck ’em.”

“This isn’t you. It can’t be you. Are you on drugs? Is someone threatening you?”

Emily stared at her father, not trusting herself to answer him.

Carmichael tried again. “Emily, no matter what this is, it’s not too late to walk away. Your family loves you. I love you. We can make things right. Get you clean, get you back to your old self. You can be good again.”

His earnest concern for her plucked a heartstring. A pressure in her chest leaped out to him, desperate for exactly that help. Just like a girl with a skinned knee, she’d fallen and hurt herself, and she needed her father to rescue her and make it better. She’d always been able to count on him for everything, no questions asked. No recrimination. He had been the one person who had been by her side her entire life, believing in her unfailingly. He would never give up on her, never judge her, never hate her.

It would be so easy to break down right then and there in the kitchen. Tell her father how badly she’d messed up. How she’d been attacked and manipulated by a monster who’d wormed his way into her life through an evil kind of sorcery she couldn’t begin to understand. It wouldn’t take much. Just one little admission. “Help me, Dad. I can’t control myself. Someone’s hurting me.”

Just that tiny opening and the great paragon Carmichael Hobart would whisk his daughter away. Take her to some cabin in the country where there were no politics and no press and no phones and no Devin. She could live there for a while. The world would question where she had gone. She might lose her job, she might lose her influence, but she would be able to heal and be whole. Her father would look after her. All he needed was a tiny opening.

Emily had known that before she ever walked into the house today and seen her father. She had known when she saw the news article that alerted her to the fact that he was working against her behind the scenes. She would always be vulnerable around him. His presence and persuasion had the potential to rouse whatever tiny bit of distress still lurked in the back of her mind, desperate to escape Devin’s control.

“If there’s anyone who could take me from you, it’s Dad,” Emily had told Devin, three nights ago. “I can’t be trusted around him.”

Devin had made Emily tell him everything about her father, about their relationship, about how she felt around him, about how much she valued his counsel. She had held nothing back, speaking in glowing terms about the man who had raised her to be the best things he saw in himself. Devin had listened with a growing frown on his face. Emily could tell how jealous Devin felt of Carmichael, of the genuine admiration and love that Emily had for her father, none of which had taken any kind of mind controlling influence to achieve.

“You’re going to have to purge that out of me,” Emily had told Devin. “You’re going to have to target my relationship with my father specifically.”

“You’d want to do that?” Devin had been confused. “You want to destroy your feelings for him?”

“I want to do whatever I have to in order to stay with you,” she’d answered.

Perhaps his jealousy was why Devin had leaned so heavily on her in the following days. He had taken her advice to heart with a furious vigor. Emily had spent more time under the influence of Devin’s broadcaster recently than she had since the first couple of weeks they had known each other. He hadn’t gone more than a few minutes at a time; he couldn’t risk Emily’s intellect or mental stability. Instead they had had a dozen small sessions a day, breaking down Carmichael in Emily’s mind until he was nothing. Devin had told her all sorts of truths, helping her see the world as it should be. As it really was.

“I love you more than anything,” she had repeated after Devin. She’d been standing in his living room, naked, her fingers laced behind her head and her breasts thrust out, on display for him. “I’ll do anything for you. I never want to leave you. I always want to be with you. I’ll do anything to be with you.”

She was on her knees later that day, Devin’s cock resting heavily on her face, his balls sliding across her lips, while he taught her more. “You’re the only man who matters,” she assured him she understood. “I don’t care about any man but you. I want to put all my energy into making you happy. Only you.”

She was glassy-eyed, laying back on the couch with her fingers circling her clit when she learned who her father really was. “Carmichael Hobart is nothing. He’s an imposter. You’re my real father. You’re my daddy. Any affection I thought I had for Carmichael Hobart, I really have for you. You’re my daddy. You gave me everything I have. Everything I am.”

She was face-down on the bed, Devin pistoning into her from behind, a tattered thong hanging off her hips, when she decided that she hated the man who had always pretended to love her. “Carmichael Hobart is evil,” she agreed with Devin, the hum of his broadcaster hanging over her like warm mist. “He always lies to me. He’s a bad man. He only cares about himself. I hate him. I hate him. He’s not my father. He doesn’t care about me. I hate him. He doesn’t want me to do what’s right. He doesn’t want me to be a slut. He doesn’t want me to be happy. I hate him. I’ve always hated him. I don’t want to ever see him again.”

Emily was on her back with Devin straddling her chest that night. Devin had told her that with tits as gigantic as hers, they needed to be fucked. She believed him. It felt amazing, his lubed up cock sliding between her boobs while she confessed her devotion to him. “I’m so happy you help me to be a better person,” she gushed as his cock slid against her lips and then back down between the canyon of her tits. “I can’t thank you enough for being so good to me. I’m so glad I can finally admit how much I hate that man.”

It had all been completely necessary. Without Devin’s help, she almost certainly would have broken and gone back to her father. Even so, as she was standing in the kitchen with Carmichael, she felt the pull that he had on her. I can’t believe he hurt me so bad, lying to me all these years, but I still feel something like love for him.

Emily steeled herself, remembering her lover’s advice. “I am ‘good,’ Dad. I’m better than good. Can’t you just be happy for me?” For once, just let me be my own person, asshole.

“No. Not a chance. We’re going to stop this mad crusade of yours, and then we’re going to get you the care that you need.”

Emily laughed bitterly at the idea of her father trying to commit her to some kind of psychiatric institution. “I doubt it.”

“I’m the Chairman of the Board of a pretty powerful company in my own right. On top of that, I’m the father and mentor of the creator of this insane law. I still have cards to play. People will listen to me. I can derail this whole thing.”

Emily nodded. “I was actually worried about that exact thing. I didn’t really think you’d try it until I saw some quotes you gave—anonymously—in a Forbes article not long ago. No one else would have thought anything of it, but I know your voice, and I know how you think.”

She checked the time on her phone. “A couple of my girlfriends are coming over for a little party—and yes, I mean that in a lesbian fuck fest kind of way, not like a cute little sleepover—so I’ll get to the point and hustle you out of here. The thing is, you’re not the Chairman of the Board any more. Not unless I say so.”

“I know that you activated your share options in the company. But that doesn’t come even close to gaining you a controlling interest.”

“No, I’d have to buy up the difference, wouldn’t I?”

“That would cost almost $300 million.”

“296.4, actually.”

Only then did Carmichael’s face register real fear. “There’s no way.”

“I have friends with very deep pockets, and they really don’t want you ‘derailing’ my work.” Carmichael’s hand shot to his pocket, his cell phone already coming out. “Don’t bother,” Emily assured him. “I finished the buys two days ago. Shell corporations, you know. All owned by me.”

Carmichael moved cautiously, his eyes on Emily like she was a coiled snake. “So what then? Should I go pack up my office?”

“You’re being dramatic again, Dad. No, you can keep running the company. I really don’t have much interest in it at the moment. I’m having fun here, and your management is good for my bottom line. But say one word against me or my ‘crusade’ and I’ll kick you to the curb and sell the company to Tellamon for pennies on the dollar, so help me god.”

If Carmichael could have shot lightning from his eyes, he would certainly have been doing so at that moment. “You used that last bit in your oath of office, too. Are you sure you know what it means?”

Emily smiled, sickly sweet. “You know, you might not like this dress, but plenty of other people do. You wouldn’t believe the kind of attention I’ve been getting since I decided to stop dressing like some frumpy little office peon and started flaunting what I’ve got. Or maybe you would believe it. You watched it all happen in real time. It must have been so hard for you, watching me grow up into this. Watching my body blossom. Knowing how much everyone wanted your daughter. Watching my tits grow and knowing how much everyone wanted to fuck them. Watching me on stage, enjoying that attention. You couldn’t ignore how everyone stared at me, and how much I liked it.”

Carmichael turned away, embarrassed, and Emily continued. “Miss Universe. They don’t give that out to just anyone. They were voting your daughter Most Fuckable Bitch in the World.” She reached behind her and tugged down on the zipper of her dress. It fell away from her shoulders slowly, peeling off of her bare breasts with languorous ease. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? It’s fantastic. I can have anyone I want. Seduce and fuck anyone.”

“Emily!” Carmichael hissed. But Emily refused to be cowed.

“God, it gets me wet just thinking about it. Dressing up to get fucked, walking out the door, everyone staring at me everywhere I go. A man bending me over, taking me. Or, who knows, another woman. Did you know that I was bi, Dad? You’ve always been so open-minded. Are you proud of me for opening my mind, too?”

The dress fell off of her. She hadn’t worn panties today, and she stood in her kitchen before her father, naked down to her ankles. She hopped up on the counter, spreading her knees apart, her pussy glistening in the light of the overhead lamps. “Are you proud of me for opening my legs? I do it whenever I can.” Her fingers gently probed around her pussy lips, smearing her juices across her knuckles.

“I wasn’t kidding about my girlfriends coming over. They love eating my pussy. In just a few hours I probably won’t be able to stand from cumming so much. Although… I might not even make it until then.” Emily’s clit opened up welcomingly for her fingers, the hood pulling back just in time for her to squeak happily as she stroked it.

She opened her eyes and locked her smokey gaze with Carmichael’s horrified one. “It’s so good to be such a slut,” she declared.

Carmichael stumbled over himself getting out of the room. Emily closed her eyes once he left, enjoying her pussy, lazily playing with it while her father banged against furniture in his rush to leave the house. His infuriating calm when she’d entered the house was nowhere to be seen now.

Emily didn’t know what Carmichael would do now. She hardly cared. She’d taken his teeth out; without the power of Argent Capital behind him, any of his complaints would be sour grapes, lost to the wind of public opinion, meaningless as smoke on the breeze.

Oh, he was a smart man, certainly, and driven. It was possible that he would come up with some way to thwart Emily’s carefully-laid plans. But it would almost certainly be too late by then. Emily was so close to victory, too close for new threats to emerge.

She felt good. Righteousness piled on top of her horniness. She came once against her fingers, just to take the edge off. She was still feeling the haze of release when the doorbell rang.

She flung the door open to find Moira and Maddy waiting there, along with a dark-haired girl that Emily didn’t know. They were all dressed in their cocktail best. Maddy had bottles of wine in her hands.

The three women’s faces turned to shock when they saw Emily there, naked except for her patterned peep-toe heels. She towered over them. Her long, dramatic curves looked absolutely majestic. The taught line down the center of her stomach was like a laser guiding the eye from her boobs down to the flowering of her pussy.

Emily spared them a greeting. “If you’re gonna drink that wine, you’d better do it fast. We’re getting down right now.”

Moira flashed a wolfish smile at her. “Fuck yes.” She rose to her tip-toes to kiss Emily, their tongues hungrily hunting for each other. Maddy’s lips were locked on Emily’s nipple before they even got in through the doorway. The new girl closed the door behind them, and the four of them locked together until they collapsed on the sofa, their moans melting into the walls of the house.