The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Strobe was out patrolling Venus City. She felt proprietary over it, as one of its super-powered defenders. She worked hard to keep crime out of her city, like they all did; and on nights that were tranquil, like this current one, Strobe really felt she was seeing the fruits of her own labor.

She was not, of course, the only who could claim credit for a quiet night like this; but she’d been working particularly hard lately and she was grateful to find herself in a night that demanded no strenuous fight from her. She had the requisite above-average strength, though she still had acquaintances in the city’s defense sphere who were more powerful than her.

Her main ability, even beyond her slightly enhanced strength, was her power to illuminate her body, to use that light to temporarily disorient her opponents. That was where she took her name from.

Strobe was a brunette— her true name was Samantha Gold, and Samantha Gold was just seemingly any other ordinary adult woman, but Strobe kept her real identity private, as most of her colleagues did— she dressed herself in a black leotard with only an insignia on the chest which she could light at will— and she wore a pair of sensible fighting boots and gloves to complete her outfit.

She had ventured beyond her usual territory this night; she was getting out towards the outskirts of the city now; things weren’t very populated out here, but there’d been so little happening in the heart of things downtown she’d kept broadening her parameters, finally ending up here.

As she came down the hill and reached a more level clearing, Strobe realized she could see up ahead that there was a sprawling building— or maybe several buildings, she thought as she stepped a little closer. It looked more like a complex once she was a little further down; all of it looked very industrialized, which surprised Strobe. She didn’t often get all the way out here, but she had been in about this area give or take a few months back, and at that time it had all been bare land.

Not to mention that she knew the city plans covering everything within city limits— and she’d been looking through them just a week ago on an unrelated mission, and she’d happened to glance over this area at that time on the way to looking for the information related to her actual mission at that time. And Strobe had a good memory— she could say with confident authority that when she’d glimpsed the city plans then, they had declared that this area was still bare land. If she went back to the city archives and looked again, they would tell her the same thing.

But this place was not bare land— clearly. It was a whole complex made of concrete that wasn’t on the books and that hadn’t been there two months ago. It wasn’t Strobe’s first day out on the streets. She knew what that added up to. Something nefarious was clearly underway. And so— so much for a quiet night and an easy patrol. She had to go over there and find out what was going on.

She had gotten down the hill, and across the field. It struck her that there was no fence around the property. She’d infiltrated multiple secret evil lairs before— but they usually had gates, had fences. Villains had people they wanted to keep out— namely, people like Strobe, who could defeat them. Who would defeat them, who did, every time, who always did in the end, anyway, even if sometimes along the way it took a few tries.

Villains were usually at least a little nervous about being stopped. But whoever had built this area came off seeming a little fearless. Almost like they were trying to invite challengers because they were so convinced of their ability to win.

It was of course possible that with a quick construction schedule they just hadn’t gotten to putting up the fence; but as Strobe crossed the place where the fence should have been, she felt that the omission of it had been intentional.

It made her wary— someone this confident, unless they were completely delusional, probably had a good reason to believe in their own strength and ability— probably had plenty of life experiences to justify it. Which meant Strobe was walking into danger all by herself— but she was brave. She never would have lasted as long as she had if she hadn’t been— so while she was wary, it didn’t deter her, even as the buildings rose up, around, above her.

They all looked drab and the same from the outside— there were few windows on any of them, just imposing wall after imposing wall— eventually, here and there, there would be a door to provide a way inside. Strobe wasn’t ready to enter.

A shadow shifted ahead— down the wall, disappearing around the corner of the nearest building. Strobe wanted to curse herself. She’d just walked straight over here but had in no way attempted to check if there were any threats nearby. She had no idea what kind of complex this was, what kind of beings might be here. It wasn’t beyond the possibility of imagination that she might find things nonhuman— or human beings much enhanced above the baseline, but she’d just strolled into the center of the complex as if she was walking along a sidewalk.

Part of what made Strobe as good of a superheroine as she was was her natural curiosity, and her determination. Now that she knew there was something else out here, she had to know what it was. Now that she knew there could be someone else out here, she had to know who they were.

That meant following in the direction that the shadow had swished— but the unexpected presence of others had been a wake-up call, so as Strobe walked forward again, she kept herself close to the side of the nearest building until she had moved ahead and reached the corner, to look around it.

There she saw it; there were others here— they were human, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous— Strobe held onto the wall beside her, as she looked past its end corner, trying to get a sense of who she was dealing with.

There were three of them, standing in a huddle talking together. They were just a few feet ahead of Strobe, so she could get a good view of them; each one had a nice figure— full breasts, shapely waists; and each one was wearing a gimp latex suit, all of them black, which encased them from the neck down. Their faces were the only things exposed, and their hair— it was clear from the way that shining latex wrapped around their bodies and held them that they were wearing nothing underneath them— the suits were skintight, and conformed perfectly to their bodies. Strobe thought she could discern even the nipples of the three women poking through their suits— even at this distance, as each stood with her legs a little apart, thought she could discern the outlines of pussylips.

Each woman wore a slightly glazed expression, with eyes to match— just in their body language, their role was clear to Strobe: these were minions, and the one they reported to had to be at least a little scary. She’d seen mind control before, seen mind controlers before, had bested them before— the glazed look was the telltale giveaway. The latex was a new complication— she wasn’t sure what that was about— or what the exact control holding these minions mentally captive might be. She couldn’t liberate them right now, though it would have made her job more simple.

She realized, then, with alarm— the three of them were looking at her— they’d seen her face— the first one talking had not been chitchatting. She’d been reporting. And she had already seen Strobe.

Now the three of them ran for her, and Strobe wasn’t just going to stand where she was and wait. She stepped out into the open, in her best fighting stance, with her fists ready. They reached her.

She was ready for them in the position she was already occupying. She threw a fist towards the closest one and turned that one’s head with the momentum of the throw. She didn’t want to hurt any of them too much; they were still more or less innocent, women who’d been their own people before they fell into evil clutches.

It was hard to fight three at once when they all kept grabbing for her; the second one caught her hold, Strobe beat her off, the third; Strobe beat her too. But her fists weren’t enough. They kept coming for her, with the singleminded determination that might have been expected of the mindless. She needed her true power; she gathered her charge, and sent out her beam of white light, directing it into each of their faces from her starting source; that disoriented her three attackers. She could change the color of her light too, but on this occasion she had wanted only to blind.

Unfortunately, she had been feeling so triumphant in that moment she had not been watching the shadows. Light was her domain, light was her affinity, shadows were not her dominion. But in the shadows, more of the latexsuited women had congregated, and when the three she’d fought fell to the ground covering their eyes with their hands, the ones lurking in the dark pounced forth and grabbed Strobe out of her victory pose to drag her away, drag her into the building just behind.

She fought their hands, tried to beam them, but there were seven traveling around her all together, and at least three or four hands crisscrossing her chest to block the emergent point of her lightsource.

It was at that moment that Strobe felt something prick the baseside of her neck where it went into her shoulder— she couldn’t discern what else she was feeling, but the second later, an encroaching darkness was creeping in, advancing centerwards from the edges of her vision, and her last knowledge was the feeling of her body going limp in their hands— the fight in her muscles melting away, the light from her chest extinguishing.

She stayed down there in the darkness for sometime, and down there, she could not know the duration of the passing forwards that elapsed; but after an unknowable interval, she was slowly emerging back into a conscious state. And the first thing that she realized was that she was now wearing exactly the same latex gimp suit as the minions she had fought outside— as the minions who had captured her. Skintight, clinging, she was naked inside, and it squeezed her nipples erect, it enwrapped every part of her in a way that was uncomfortable.

It disturbed her that she looked the same as the other minions. She wasn’t the same as them. She was Strobe— but they had taken her suit away from her, the suit she’d made with her own hands when she’d first decided to fight evil. The suit with her signature insignia on it; her boots, her gloves. It was like they had wiped part of her identity away, and she felt naked with it stripped and gone— she would have felt less uncomfortable if she’d been forced to sit there without a stitch of fabric on her.

The other thing Strobe realized was that she had been fixed to the chair; it was a comfortable, padded chair, with a high back, against the wall. The room she was in was small, and dimly lit— her antithesis, a challenge to her, the kind of darkness she liked to fill and illuminate. She could get her light to go through even a foreign material like latex— it would just take a greater effort; but Strobe didn’t know what she was about to face next, and she wanted to conserve her efforts.

She’d underwent torture before— she thought she could do it again— but there was nothing in the room except the padded, upright chair she was bound to— and a similar, empty chair immediately in front of her. She didn’t see any torture implements around her— she didn’t see anything to fear, but that only made her more afraid. If this room was so innocent and unassuming, it must mean there was a worser secret weapon which would be deployed on her.

She worried, too, that the latex was the mind controlling thing, as she sat there, in silence and dimness. But her mind was perfectly clear— the latex wasn’t doing anything to her, apart from making her a little uncomfortable physically, as well as emotionally.

She had to sit there waiting. Whatever they’d used to knock her out had since dispersed— she was quite clearheaded now, waiting in boredom and trepidation, slightly impatient.

It wasn’t that she wanted to face whatever horror was waiting for her. It was just that she wanted to know what to expect. What it was she would need to fight and overcome. To do that, she needed something to happen first.

The door opened. The thing she’d been waiting for, it was happening now. And now she could know. And now she could respond as necessary; someone was coming in, her potential torturer: and then Strobe saw her.

She had long, red hair that fell in loose and flowing waves. She was wearing a latex gimp suit too, but hers exuded power instead of helplessness. And it wasn’t solid black, of simple design. Sections of it were black, sections of it were red; a red corset over a black base, black sleeves that ended at the wrist. Red legs; all of it tight, formfitted, the red matching the shade of her hair. Her face pretty; she sat down at the chair in front of Strobe, wearing a sly smile. She extended her hands towards Strobe’s face, in which she read a questioning glance, and to which she spoke, “You’ll understand shortly.”

Then her hands connected to the sides of Strobe’s face, and distantly Strobe heard someone breathe out a noise of shock. But inside her head it felt like an explosion. All light, all color, moving fast. She was completely disoriented, thrown into so many dispersed parts, and through the chaos she heard a voice and saw a memory; “I’m Miss Behavior,” it said, and she had found the mistress to the minions, the foe she would need to vanquish; she was remembering her smiling slyly, or maybe Miss Behavior was intentionally projecting her likeness into Strobe’s mind to give her something to latch onto in the chaos.

“I want to know more about you,” Strobe heard next. It was still light and colorsmeared in her imagination, and she’d lost her captor’s likeness, had nothing to focus on anymore.

“You think of yourself mostly as Strobe, but who are you hiding underneath? Who were you first?”

There was pain in her mind, the curtain of it being torn apart and passed through, she would have cried out if she’d remembered how to speak or felt connected to her body at all.

“Samantha Gold,” she heard Miss Behavior speak. She knew her true identity; a threat to all the people Strobe knew and cared for, tried to protect. But there was something Strobe could say back in a thought.

“And you’re one of those secret telepaths,” Strobe conveyed. She would not think of herself as Samantha, she needed her protective armor. “You’re doing this to me through touch.”

“Clever Samantha,” Miss Behavior conveyed back. Strobe felt so inferior; her true name had been revealed, but Miss Behavior still had her privacy. She would only know her by her moniker. The inherent power differential of that made Strobe a bit despairing.

She’d heard of telepaths. But she’d never faced one before. It was a rare gift that only presented itself in a sliver of the population. For typical methods of mind control, Strobe had strategies of resistance. Strobe had training. But this was outside of all her knowledge. She didn’t know how she was supposed to react, didn’t know how she could possibly win.

She had to find her body again for a start. As long as she was trapped in her mind, Miss Behavior had total control. She drew herself back into a mental whole, and sought her body. Miss Behavior was letting her. Was observing.

Strobe had found the light inside herself again. Sometimes she felt more connected to her powers of illuminating than she felt to anything else, and it was that sense of being able to place them that led her back into her body.

She could feel it now, out around the boundaries of what was happening in her mind. It was only a vague form, but she could trace its presence.

And it was her best defense in this position.

She found the placement of sending a beam directly up into Miss Behavior’s face, to the vicinity of her eyes, in the hopes of interrupting the ongoing telepathy, in the hopes of getting the control over her own mind back.

But there was Miss Behavior, present in her mind on a chair she seemed to have placed there, her legs slung over the side, watching Strobe’s thoughts like she was being very entertaining.

“A nice little trick,” was her smiling comment. It felt almost like approbation. “Beaming light at me while you can barely feel your body, let alone control it. But Samantha. I can close my eyes to the light you emit. In fact, sometimes I prefer that. It helps me concentrate on the telepathic connection. Thank you, really. The light feels lovely and warm on my face.”

That was Strobe’s best chance, and it couldn’t even do anything. Her disappointment was supreme, and her mind was laid open for Miss Behavior’s scanning. Every response was a thing Miss Behavior could watch happen. There was nothing she could hide, nowhere she could put it. She had the faraway feeling that she was squirming, but Miss Behavior just kept watching her, now saying nothing, seeing everything.

It felt like something foreign had crawled up inside of Strobe’s head and curled up there. In a way Strobe guessed it had; but it felt close, felt claustrophobic, like someone was invading her personal space, standing almost nose to nose. And not someone she liked, but someone who was being overfamiliar, someone who was being a nuisance. Only it felt like so much more of an invasion, at much closer quarters.

It was an itch she just couldn’t reach, no matter how hard she tried— and as she struggled mentally, the radiating feeling of being entertained that Miss Behavior was putting out seemed only to increase. This frustrated Strobe. It also angered her. She had no real method of pushing back against what the woman was doing to her. She felt like a fish caught on a line, twisting in place, and Miss Behavior was only playing with her, watching Strobe, amusing herself. What did she even want with Strobe? Why did she want her?

Strobe wished now that she had never come to this complex. When she had seen it on patrol, she should have simply continued walking past. She shouldn’t have come up and looked around. She should have written it off, gone home— waited until there was a whole team involved, waited until some preliminary research had been successfully completed.

She’d done everything wrong, and look where it had gotten her. And what would become of her now? There was just no way to know, while Miss Behavior kept refusing to tell her. She was above pleading for information and explanation. But only barely above it.

“Come on, Samantha,” Miss Behavior chided. “You can figure out what I’m really going to do to you if you apply yourself.”

She could— as soon as Miss Behavior said it, Strobe knew that she could. She realized she already knew— she just hadn’t wanted to think about it.

“You’re going to turn me into another one of your minions,” Strobe said. Would have spit if she had been speaking with her mouth. “Just one of your drones.”

She hadn’t wanted to think of it because thinking of it meant looking at how little hope there was. Here she was faced with a powerful telepath who was already constraining her mind— it was obvious now that the only method of mind control that had ever been used was this one, this thing that was already happening in her head. This was how Miss Behavior had changed all those other women, and Strobe was already inside of one form of Miss Behavior’s mental control. The villain would easily be able to overtake her, she had already thrown her into sufficient chaos that Strobe believed it possible.

“Good, Samantha. You’re being clever again— thank you for doing it when I asked. I could tell your thoughts how to organize themselves into new patterns, and they would do it just like that. But that isn’t the most fun way to do it . And I don’t believe any work is worth doing unless it can be made into something fun. It’s what’s gotten me where I am today,” she finished.

Strobe was shocked when she found herself looking around the room again— she realized, blearily, that Miss Behavior had removed her hands from the sides of her face. There was no physical contact, which meant there could be no mental connection.

It was as Strobe was looking around the room that she realized it wasn’t how she remembered it— she wasn’t bound to the chair she’d been sitting in before— they were in a different room, now, and this one had a very simple, serviceable bed, and nothing else.

Which they were sitting on together.

Everything in this complex seemed so simplistic, so perfectly ordered— exactly what was needed with not a thing extraneous— the fact that they were on a bed made Strobe want to be nauseous— but Miss Behavior gave her another sly grin, and then leaned forward and started kissing her.

The only point of contact was their mouths now— sometimes their noses, brushing each other— nothing else. The telepathic connection this time was a lot less overwhelming than it had been before— this time, it left Strobe completely centered in her body. And Miss Behavior was not presenting a likeness of herself in Strobe’s thoughts. It was more like there was a whisper behind everything, wind moving through trees that seemed to carry a voice on its back— it left Strobe feeling a little disoriented— then it whispered to her she didn’t need to worry about that.

This was more familiar territory for her. These were simple brainwashing techniques— but she didn’t seem able to resist them with the typical methods she would have usually used. There was something omnipresent about that whispering, as if it permeated every corner of Strobe’s mind, leaving no space in which it was not sounding out for her hearing.

“Something is touching you all the time,” Strobe heard when she really strained for it. “My latex. And when you feel it holding you, you know I am holding your thoughts, and you can never break free of that control.”

Strobe shook her head. Miss Behavior was kissing up the side of her face, licking small lines sometimes here, sometimes there. She did it as she cast the words into Strobe’s head, balancing the two acts with each other.

“The pleasure makes it truer,” Strobe heard again. It was like each word echoed a thousand times after itself in the vast expanse of Strobe’s thoughts— there was nowhere to turn where she would not hear it.

Strobe could actually squirm her body now— but hands had found her breasts and groped them through the latex, sometimes moving lower to touch the ridges of her pussy outlines through the latex lower down.

Miss Behavior reached lower— then Strobe felt her own suit shift. She had forced their to be a slit in the latex, and now she had her fingers under the suit, against Strobe’s skin, and Strobe couldn’t help but cry out— somehow, feeling like the latex was literally impressing Miss Behavior’s fingers to her body made the sensations more intense.

Now Miss Behavior had gotten her second hand down there— she had three fingers teasing at Strobe’s clenching opening, and two fingers swirling around her clit. Strobe looked down and saw those parts of Miss Behavior’s hands erupting out of the latex, jutting from it.

Like Miss Behavior had made herself a part of Strobe’s body; gotten even beneath her own control of Strobe to control her even more directly, even more powerfully. It was a paradox that twisted, then twisted back on itself, and left Strobe more disoriented than ever.

But the pleasure that was resulting from the direct manipulation of Miss Behavior’s digits was confusing things even further. It put fire all through her body. It increased Strobe’s mental chaos manyfold; she felt herself becoming increasingly dizzy— and then Miss Behavior’s mouth was back against hers as all the rest kept happening, and Strobe had to kiss at it desperately, lapping Miss Behavior’s tongue with her own, tracing circles with it in their mouths, in the space between them. Strobe was gyrating where she lay, and every second that passed seemed to clarify a central truth.

The latex she was wearing held all the control Miss Behavior had exacted upon her— and as long as it was touching her, she couldn’t be free. She couldn’t think her own thoughts— she could only act as Miss Behavior wanted her to. She could only be a perfect, obedient minion. She could only be a perfect, obedient drone. And as long as Miss Behavior’s latex control was holding her, that was all she wanted to be.

She would never be allowed to take the latex off— she would never be allowed to want to— and the longer she was washed in that same control, the more old parts of her, irrelevant things from who she’d been before, those would all fall away. She would ever be sculpted into the most perfect drone, and it was already happening to her.

“You don’t have to call yourself Strobe anymore,” Strobe heard. “You can be Samantha until you forget how to do that, too.”

For some reason she wanted to hold onto her self-appointed moniker. Strobe. She wanted to be Strobe. Things in her were pulling at that, trying to take it away, while the pleasure pulled at her on the outside, Miss Behavior still working, but Strobe was holding onto it determinedly.

“You don’t need it,” she was assured, “you want to let it go. You can let go, all the responsibility. Just be Samantha, and then you’ll be ready to become the person you’ll be in the future— my drone, just like all the others, forgetting what came before. You don’t need the past anymore, while you have the present and the future.”

It was hard to remember these were all words in Samantha’s head when all of them were so well-chosen and so convincing. Samantha thought they were the best chosen set of words that had ever been put together— Samantha… was there something else she had called herself before? Was there something else she had been before, something else she had done? She couldn’t remember now, and couldn’t bring herself to care. She only wanted to be in this bed, feeling these things, all her focus on Miss Behavior, and all of Miss Behavior’s focus on her.

Miss Behavior— making love to her mind and always talking in it, in a constant rush of ideas and thoughts that swept Samantha by, but which all seemed so true— and she touched her, encircled her clit, fitted her fingers inside.

And most importantly, held her in all, all of that latex control. It was clinging to her skin, it had her everywhere, and there was no way to remove herself from it. She was squirming and shifting, now not even to try to escape, but just to enjoy everything that she was feeling. She was submitting to the pleasure, submitting to the control— like a good drone always should. She wanted to do just what Miss Behavior told her to, whatever Miss Behavior told her to do. There was nothing she would balk at, nothing that would make her hold back. Samantha knew that now. She would completely give herself to any task that was laid before her— she would disappear into it, become the task. No obstacle would be insurmountable, no consideration would make her hesitate, no argument could ever make her reconsider.

What she had really become was Miss Behavior’s tool, ready for use. Her mistress would only have to point her at a problem and she would tear the problem apart until it was solved the way her mistress wanted.

She was so filled with joy and gratitude for a moment. She must not always have been like this, a happy drone doing as was expected of her, providing use, giving in, giving up. But she was like that now— Miss Behavior’s happy little drone, thinking right thoughts, thinking thoughts fed to her, thinking the best thoughts of all when she thought nothing and lapsed into being consumed by the pleasure.

Samantha thought she liked that the best— being thoughtless and pleasure-filled. Miss Behavior’s control was working on her— and it would keep working her over forever, even when she had left this bed, even when she wasn’t physically in Miss Behavior’s presence.

Knowing that was music in her heart. Joy spilled through her again, and more pleasure too. She was so very grateful to be a drone.