The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 1

The courtroom was buzzing with low murmurs as the clock ticked toward the start of the hearing. The room was beginning to feel tense. Judge Eloise Sinclair had her silver hair tied neatly into a bun as her piercing gray eyes scanned the room. She tapped her gavel lightly, a gentle warning to the chattering spectators to settle down.

“Order in the court,” Eloise announced with authority, though there was a slight hint of impatience in her voice.

At the prosecutor’s table, Vivian Hart stood up, adjusting the lapels of her tailored blazer. Her blonde hair, cut into a sharp bob, framed her face, which radiated confidence. She turned to the jury and addressed them with the charisma of someone used to commanding attention.

“Well, isn’t this just rich?” Vivian said, loud enough for the defense team to hear. Her blue eyes flicked toward Clara Hayes, the defense attorney, who was hurriedly shuffling papers at her desk. “Selling fake products, defrauding consumers, and now, conveniently, running late to his own hearing. Quite the picture of responsibility, isn’t he?”

Clara, seated at the defense table, glanced up with an apologetic smile that barely masked her own nervousness. Her dark curls framed her face as she tried to muster some composure. “I’m sure my client has a perfectly reasonable explanation for his tardiness, Ms. Hart,” Clara said, her voice calm but strained. “And, as we’ve stated, the claims against him are not only exaggerated but entirely baseless.”

Vivian scoffed and crossed her arms. “Exaggerated? You mean to tell me the dozens of complaints about fake reality-altering remotes—sold under the laughable name of Jester’s Imaginarium Inc.—are a coincidence? Please. Your client’s business is a scam, and the public deserves better than to be conned by a snake oil salesman in clown’s clothing.”

Judge Sinclair sighed, rubbing her temples. “Ms. Hart, I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from inflammatory language before we’ve even begun. This is still a courtroom, not a circus.”

Vivian raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Of course, Your Honor. I’ll save the theatrics for the evidence.”

Across the aisle, Clara let out a quiet breath and adjusted her papers. “Your Honor, my client is a legitimate businessman. Jester’s Imaginarium Inc. has sold thousands of products, all of which have been thoroughly tested—”

Before Clara could finish, the large double doors at the back of the courtroom creaked open. Heads turned, the murmurs returning as Mr. Jester finally arrived.

He walked in with a deliberate, unhurried stride, his tall, wiry frame covered in a long, dark trench coat that billowed faintly with each step. His face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat that cast shadows over his features, though his eyes—piercing, intelligent, and ever so slightly mischievous—gleamed beneath the brim. He carried a polished cane with a silver jester’s head as the handle, though it seemed to be more for show than support.

Without a word, Mr. Jester made his way to the defense table and removed his hat, revealing jet-black hair streaked with silver. He gave Clara a brief, almost imperceptible nod, then took his seat, leaning back as though the proceedings were of no great consequence to him.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Jester,” Judge Sinclair said, her voice carrying an edge of warning.

He inclined his head toward her, a slow, deliberate gesture. “My deepest apologies, Your Honor. The traffic was... unpredictable.”

Vivian’s voice cut through the silence that followed. “Perhaps it’s time your client starts respecting the court’s time as much as he disrespects his customers’ intelligence.”

Mr. Jester turned his head toward Vivian, a faint smile playing on his lips. His voice, smooth and low, carried an almost hypnotic quality. “Ah, Ms. Hart. It seems you’ve already judged me guilty. I do hope the rest of this trial isn’t as... predictable as these opening remarks.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Clara cleared her throat, trying to steady her nerves. “Your Honor, my client is here now, and we are ready to proceed.”

Judge Sinclair raised her gavel, giving a pointed glance to both sides. “Then let’s begin. But let me make one thing clear: I will not tolerate any more snide remarks or interruptions. This is a court of law and you shall treat it as such.”

Mr. Jester’s faint smile grew ever so slightly as he settled into his seat, his cane resting across his lap. “Of course, Your Honor. I wouldn’t dream of playing games with you. Though, I must say, it does seem a bit dull here.” Judge Sinclair in response just rolled her eyes.

Vivian Hart took center stage with her tirade. Her voice rang out, sharp and scornful, directed squarely at Mr. Jester.

“This entire enterprise is nothing but a con! A ridiculous, elaborate ruse to exploit people’s gullibility. ‘Reality-altering remote’? Give me a break. The very idea is absurd, and the fact that your company has made tens of thousands off this scam is infuriating.” She gestured to the jury, her tone dripping with disdain. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is not just about false advertising. This is fraud at its most grotesque, and I intend to prove it.”

Mr. Jester, seated with a relaxed posture at the defense table, raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable save for a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

When Vivian finally paused to catch her breath, Mr. Jester leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. His voice was calm, almost playful. “Which remote, Ms. Hart? This one?”

In a flourish, he produced a sleek, black remote from within his coat and pointed it directly at her. Before anyone could react, he pressed a button marked with a small speaker icon.

Vivian’s mouth moved in reply, her face twisting into indignant expressions as she continued her rant—but no sound came out. The room froze in collective shock.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the gasps of the spectators and the soft clicking of Helen Sainz’s stenography machine as her fingers hesitated, unsure whether to keep typing.

Vivian’s furious, soundless gesticulations grew more animated, her hands flailing as if trying to pull words from the air.

Judge Sinclair leaned forward, frowning deeply. “What is the meaning of this?”

Mr. Jester shrugged with a disarming smile. “Your Honor. Just a demonstration of my so-called ‘scam.’” He clicked the same button again, and Vivian’s voice abruptly returned mid-sentence.

“...a fraud! A liar! A—” She paused, blinking in confusion, realizing that everyone in the room was looking at her with a bewildered expression. Her eyes darted around the courtroom, noting the stunned expressions. “What happened?”

“Do go on, Ms. Hart,” Mr. Jester said.

Vivian’s confusion morphed back into anger. She slammed her hand on the table and pointed at Mr. Jester. “I demand to see that remote right now! I have documents here that prove how many people you’ve scammed selling that remote, however no one was able to provide one to submit into evidence.”

Her heels clicked against the floor as she stormed toward him. But before she could take more than a few steps, Mr. Jester calmly pointed the remote at her again and pressed another button.

This time, her body froze mid-stride. Her face remained locked in an expression of outrage, her arm outstretched, her entire form as still as a statue. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe.

The room erupted into chaos.

“What in the—?” Judge Sinclair stood, her gavel in hand but momentarily forgotten.

The jury exchanged panicked whispers, and Helen Sainz stopped typing altogether, her hands covering her mouth. Tina Collins, seated among the jurors, leaned forward in her chair, her face a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

At the back of the courtroom, Officer Grace Lin sprang into action.

Grace had been watching the trial with her usual detached professionalism. A no-nonsense officer in her early thirties, she was known for her unflinching discipline and unwavering sense of duty. Her short, slicked-back hair and sharply pressed uniform gave her an air of quiet authority. She was the kind of person who always seemed ready to act, and this bizarre situation was no exception.

Reaching for her holstered sidearm, Grace began to approach Mr. Jester with measured but deliberate steps. “Alright, that’s enough. Put the remote down, now.”

Mr. Jester turned his attention to her, his smile widening. “Ah, Officer. So quick to restore order. Admirable, truly. But I’m afraid you’re about to learn something fascinating about time.”

He pressed another button on the remote, this one marked with a small rewind icon and a “—4x” beneath it.

Grace’s movements slowed to a crawl. Her steps, which had been brisk and confident, became sluggish, her legs lifting and lowering as though wading through tar. Her hand reached for her firearm, but the motion was painstakingly gradual. Her normally sharp features slackened slightly, her mouth opening ever so slowly as if preparing to bark another command. But no sound escaped her lips.

The courtroom fell into an eerie silence once again, all eyes fixed on the surreal scene.

Mr. Jester stood, placing the remote on the table in front of him with a casual flourish. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, gesturing to the frozen prosecutor and the now nearly-motionless officer, “Allow me to assure you: this is no scam. My product works exactly as advertised.”

The tension in the courtroom was thick enough to cut with a knife. Judge Sinclair rubbed her temples, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Mr. Jester,” she said sharply, her tone laced with exasperation, “This has gone far enough. Whatever tricks you’re pulling, they won’t save you from the consequences of your actions. This court does not tolerate pranks.”

“This sure ain’t a prank your honor. Perhaps you need a more convincing demonstration.”

Mr. Jester raised a single hand, “Oh, Ms. Hart,” he said, almost pityingly, “so quick to judge, yet so blind to the wonders of true innovation. Allow me to demonstrate exactly what this ‘hoax’ can do.”

He raised the remote, aiming it squarely at Vivian.

“What are you—” Sinclair began, but before she could finish, Mr. Jester pressed the change channel button.

A kaleidoscope of static-like light engulfed Vivian and her indignant expression as the transformation overtook her. The courtroom fell silent, all eyes fixed on the prosecutor as her entire appearance began to shift. Her sharp, professional suit morphed into a cheerful white chef’s uniform, complete with a double-breasted jacket and a tall, floppy chef’s hat. The scowl on her face melted away, replaced by a warm, maternal smile.

When the light faded, Vivian looked around, her previous fury seemingly wiped from her memory. She clutched a large mixing bowl in her hands, a wooden spoon poised and ready to stir. “Oh my goodness, everyone!” she chirped, her voice now sugary sweet and dripping with enthusiasm. “Welcome back to Vivian’s Kitchen! Today, we’re going to bake something truly special!”

Judge Sinclair blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “What in the world is—”

But Vivian wasn’t listening. Her attention had shifted to the pile of carefully prepared evidence she had brought against Mr. Jester, which was stacked neatly on the table before her. With a cheerful hum, she scooped up the documents, flipping through them as though they were ingredients in a recipe.

“Hmm, these look perfect for my secret chocolate cake recipe!” she said with a delighted giggle. She tore the documents into strips, tossing them into the mixing bowl like they were flour. “A little bit of this... and oh! Let’s not forget the ink!”

The courtroom gasped as Vivian picked up a fountain pen, uncapped it, and began squeezing ink into the bowl. The dark liquid oozed over the shredded evidence, staining it black. She reached for a glue stick next, twisting the cap off and smearing its contents into the mix with reckless abandon.

“Have you added your secret ingredient in it yet chef?” Mr jester asked excitedly.

“OMG! I almost forgot. Thanks Mister” Vivian chirped as she pulled down her pants, bringing her clean shaven pussy into view, spreading her legs slightly he brought the bowl down in between her legs and began pissing into the bowl.

The gasps in the room were now replaced by disapproving sounds of disgust.

“Ms. Hart!” Judge Sinclair snapped, her voice sharp. “Stop that this instant! You’re destroying the evidence!”

But Vivian only giggled, twirling her spoon as she stirred the absurd concoction. “Oh, Your Honor, don’t be such a sourpuss! Cooking is about fun! And trust me, this is going to be the best cake anyone’s ever tasted!”

Mr. Jester leaned back in his chair, watching the chaos unfold with a grin. “How do you feel about the remote now, Vivian?” he asked, his tone almost playful.

Vivian paused her stirring to beam at him. “Oh, it’s wonderful! Absolutely life-changing! I don’t know how I ever lived without it!” She returned to her bowl, humming a cheery tune as she poured the bizarre mixture into an invisible pan, which somehow materialized in her hands as she mimed the action.

The absurdity reached new heights when, without warning, the static glow from before reappeared—this time emanating from the bowl itself. When it faded, the shredded documents, piss, ink, and glue were gone, replaced by a perfectly baked chocolate cake, its surface glossy and adorned with delicate swirls of frosting.

Vivian gasped, clapping her hands together. “Oh, it’s perfect! A masterpiece!” She picked up the cake, balancing it effortlessly on one hand as she spun toward the courtroom. “Who’s ready for a slice?”

The courtroom erupted into chaos as Vivian began handing out pieces of the cake, slicing it with a knife that had also somehow appeared out of nowhere. Jurors reluctantly accepted the dessert, their confusion evident, while others looked too stunned to refuse. Something compelled them to bite into their slice, even though they all knew the ‘secret ingredient’ nobody found the cake to be any less appetizing than a regular chocolate cake.

“Ms. Hart, stop this nonsense!” Judge Sinclair barked, her face red with anger.

But Vivian ignored her, placing a generous slice of cake on the judge’s desk. “Here you go, Your Honor! A little sweetness to brighten your day!”

Mr. Jester chuckled, his amusement plain as he surveyed the scene. “You see, Your Honor,” he said, gesturing toward the transformed prosecutor, “the remote doesn’t just alter reality—it makes it better. Wouldn’t you agree, Vivian?”

Vivian, now nibbling on her own slice of cake, nodded enthusiastically. “Abso-lutely! It’s the be-st inven-tion ev-er!” she also seemed to be touching herself with her mixing soon shoved underneath her pants.

The judge’s gavel slammed down, her expression a mix of outrage and disbelief. “Mr. Jester, enough of this insanity! Restore her to normal at once!”

“Mr. Jester!” Eloise barked, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “You will restore everything to normal immediately, or I will hold you in contempt of court!”

Mr. Jester turned toward her with a smirk, resting his hands casually on the remote. “Oh, Your Honor,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re so rigid. So bound by rules and protocol. I can see why fun isn’t exactly your forte. But don’t worry—I’ve got just the fix for that.”

Eloise glared at him, her silver hair gleaming under the courtroom lights as she leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of her desk. “What are you talking about? I demand—”

Mr. Jester raised the remote and, with the same calm confidence as before, pressed and held the rewind button.

The judge was immediately engulfed in a shimmering, static-like glow, as though her body were being unraveled and reassembled by invisible threads. Gasps filled the room, the noise of the crowd filling the room. Slowly but surely, the years began to melt off Judge Sinclair’s appearance.

Her silver hair darkened to a deep, glossy black, cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. The faint lines of age on her face disappeared, her features sharpening into youthful elegance. Her posture straightened, and her frame grew leaner and more energetic. By the time the glow subsided, the formidable Judge Sinclair was gone. In her place sat a strikingly beautiful woman in her early twenties, her wide, almond-shaped eyes blinking in confusion.

She looked down at herself, her judicial robes now draped awkwardly over her slim, youthful figure. “What... What’s happening? Where am I?” she asked, her voice higher and softer than before, with a tone of uncertainty.

Before she could proceed further, Mr. Jester interrupted, leaning forward with a grin. “Well, well, that’s better, isn’t it? You’ve got your youth back, Your Honor. Though, I have to say...” He gave a dramatic pause, glancing at the remote in his hand. “You still don’t seem to know what’s best for you. A shame, really. I think you need a little more… personality.”

Aiming the remote at the now young Eloise. He pressed the change channel button.

The young judge was once again enveloped in light, but this time, it shimmered with an absurd array of colors—reds, blues, yellows—all swirling around her like the static of a broken TV set. The transformation was instantaneous, and when the glow faded, the room collectively gasped.

Gone were the somber judicial robes. In their place was an outrageous ensemble that looked like it had been ripped straight from a children’s television show. Brightly colored overalls with oversized pockets, a neon-pink bow perched atop her head, and mismatched striped socks pulled over chunky red sneakers. Her face was painted with exaggerated makeup: rosy cheeks, glittery eyelids, and an enormous, toothy smile.

The new Judge Sinclair—or rather, whatever she had become—sprang to her feet, radiating manic energy. She clapped her hands together, bouncing on the balls of her feet like an overexcited child. “Oh wow! Hi, everyone!” she exclaimed, her voice now cartoonishly high-pitched and full of cheer. “I’m your super-duper fun host, Ellie the Game Queen! Who’s ready to play some games?”

The room was stunned into silence, save for a few nervous laughs from the jury, as though they couldn’t quite process what they were seeing.

Ellie the Game Queen, as she now called herself—leapt down from her dais with the energy of a five-year-old who’d just consumed a gallon of sugar. “Come on, everyone! Let’s play a game! How about... Simon Says!”

The colorful host clapped her hands together, sending a ripple of unnatural energy through the room. People visibly stiffened as though an invisible force had taken hold of them.

“No, absolutely not!” Clara stammered, trying to resist, but the moment Ellie shouted, “Simon says stand up!” the entire room—jury, spectators, and even the stenographer—shot to their feet.

Ellie giggled gleefully, her exaggerated expressions making her look almost puppet-like. “Good job, everyone! Now, Simon says... hop on one foot!”

The room devolved into a surreal spectacle. Tina Collins, the forewoman, looked mortified as she awkwardly began hopping in her heels, her professional demeanor crumbling. Helen Sainz, the stenographer, hopped at her desk, her chair clattering over as she tried to keep up. Even the jury members hopped with increasing frustration, unable to resist the childish command.

“Stop hopping!” Ellie suddenly shouted, but when a few people froze mid-hop, she wagged her finger. “Oops! Simon didn’t say! Keep hopping, silly billies!”

“Looks like you silly billies need to be punished.” Ellie said as she stroked her chin. “I know! Simon says stop hopping. Everyone who failed came to the front. Simon says you will get naked and get spanked by me 10 times!”

First in line was none other than Clara, she looked over at Mr Jester almost pleading with him to stop the madness. But he just winked in reply.

As soon as Clara reached the game queen, Ellie clapped her hands causing Clara’s clothes to dematerialize. She was just in the process of covering herself up when she felt the judge grab her by the hair and toss her over her knee. The first spank came without warning, the sound travelling across the courtroom. “ONE!” Ellie shouted with glee. Clara was crying now but no sound escaped her mouth.

The humiliation was palpable. Professionals who had once carried themselves with dignity now looked like an uncoordinated group of schoolchildren, all under the spell of the overly animated game host.

Mr. Jester leaned back in his chair, watching the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction. “Ah, the dignity of the court,” he mused aloud. “You’ve got to admit, Your Honor—oh, I mean, Ellie—it’s much more entertaining this way.”

Ellie, stopping midway from delivering another spank to the defense attorney’s ample ass, clapped again. “Let’s keep playing! Simon says… play with your no-no parts!”

The room descended further into chaos as adults in suits and skirts dropped their hands down to their crotches openly masturbating in the courtroom. Mr. Jester chuckled, his fingers hovering over the remote as he observed his masterpiece of absurdity.

Suddenly he felt a small tickle at his cheek as a small metal object clattered to the floor. Looking down he saw a single bullet rolling away from his feet. Almost amused, he looked at the only possible source of the bullet. Officer Grace Lin had finally managed to aim her gun at the enigmatic defendant and seemed to have gotten a shot off, only for it to bump harmlessly against his cheek.

“Looks like this courtroom could do with some more changes” He said as he pointed the remote at the officer once again.

To be continued.