The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Penny Peckerpacker threw the dildo as hard as she could against the wall. Her aim being what it was, it missed the wall and instead went sailing out through the open window and out of her life forever.

“Fuck!” Penny shouted. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!!!” She kicked her bed hard in frustration and let loose a new storm of invective.

(It was at this point that her neighbor, one Miss Dustycunny, decided it was time to close her own window. As she did so, she discovered a mysterious tubular object in her morning cup of hot chocolate. Miss Dustycunny had been a confirmed and distinctly virginal spinster from the age of at least seven, and the purpose of the object was a total mystery to her. She pulled it out of her cocoa and sniffed it. Through the rich chocolate odor there was a hint of something strange but oddly compelling. Hesitantly at first, she extended her tongue and took a taste, then another, and then licked the whole thing slowly and thoroughly clean. The whole experience left her light-headed and more than a little flushed.

(While she drank her cocoa and tried to recover herself, she tried to puzzle out what the strange object was, how it got into her house, and what she should do with it. In the end, quite recovered and feeling somehow guilty for something, she opted to use it as a new perch for her parrot. The parrot, a clever bird, quickly found the on switch. The following morning, after a restless night of strange dreams, Miss Dustycunny was horrified to find her poor parrot on the floor of its cage, legs up and pining for the fjords, but with a distinct smile on its beak.)

“Damn,” Penny said quietly at last as she sat on her bed and nursed her broken toe. “I need a cock, a real cock.” She sighed. “If only I could get one without a man attached.”

Penny spoke from long and rather painful experience. She was still quite young, having a freshly minted Ph.D. and a new job as a biochemical engineer in a major pharmaceutical firm, but she was experienced beyond her years in the ways of the unfair sex. She’d been putting up with all kinds of nonsense from the males surrounding her since she first played spin-the-bottle in grade school.

Innumerable men fell in love with her, which was annoying because it meant that they wanted her to reorder her life around them. Several had asked her to move in with them or tried to move in with her, which was worse since that basically meant that they wanted her to become their combination mother, maid, sugar momma and whore. Not that she minded the whore bit. One man had actually had the effrontery to propose marriage. Penny smiled at the memory; she wondered if the doctors had been able to restore function to that little snippet of flesh.

And if men just wanted a night of animal sex, which was fine with her, they wanted it on their terms and with their preferred positions. And the sex was never good enough to justify the totally unnecessary efforts of the poor sap to woo or seduce her. They tried elaborate scenarios involving dinners, movies, plays, concerts. They bought her drinks they thought would get her drunker faster, only to end up so sloppy drunk themselves they couldn’t perform. They slipped her roofies rather than taking the far more useful Viagra. (As it happened, roofies did nothing to her. She rather figured that she’d been dosed often enough in her life that she’d developed something of a mithridatic tolerance.)

And if she tried to cut things short by telling them, “Enough of this, let’s fuck!” their male egos would be bruised and they would be unwilling or unable to perform. Or else they would cum just as she was getting started, wham, bam, thank you zzzzzzzzz.

She had even tried playing streetwalker once, with miserable results. The first john she picked up just wanted a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. The others apparently were vying for an entry in the Guiness Book of World Records for the world’s smallest dick. And she didn’t even want to think about the cop.

The only thing that kept her trying it was the fact that for some reason nothing other than a genuine male organ was truly satisfying. Oh, she could make herself cum easily enough; but the orgasms on those rare occasions when a long, thick dick was pounding into her and pumping her full of hot jism at just the right moment—they were worlds beyond anything else.

Penny sighed. “Face it, girl,” she said to herself, “there’s may be only one thing that men are worthwhile for in this world, and they may not even do that well, but you’re not going to get what you want any other way.”

Penny hobbled into the bathroom and pondered her problem as she showered. She thought it over as she dressed and grabbed a bite to eat and as she drove to work.

She needed more than just a working cock, you see. She needed a male body attached to it, but one which was just barely smart enough for sex. One that was nice and muscular and musky and sweaty and hung like a horse and stupid and “Oh, God, I’m gonna cum.…”

Fortunately, she was at a stop light at the time. Also fortunately, the cop who had his eye on her was so caught up in the sight of a woman kneading her own breasts and finger fucking herself while the light cycled twice that he didn’t see any reason to interrupt. Instead, he got out his cell phone and captured the whole thing, sharing it with the guys at the precinct and putting it up on YouTube as soon as he got home. He, at least, had a very nice day.

Penny was not exactly late to work. “Not exactly,” in that her supervisor, Rod Rockrump, was later than she. He showed up not two seconds after she sat down by her current experiment in the lab. His odor preceded him. He had biked to work again and came bursting through the door, hot and sweaty, hard muscles bulging underneath tight his cycling clothes. He grabbed the bag with his civvies from his desk and headed off to the shower. “Morning, Penny!” he shouted as he left the room. “Coffee!”

As the post-orgasmic glow slowly ebbed away, Penny zipped herself back up and headed towards the coffee maker. She practically dropped Rod’s cup as she started to fill it. Her hair very nearly uncurled itself. She had an idea. An awful idea. Penny had a wonderful, awful idea.

She smiled to herself, and she looked all around. There was nobody present, no one else to be found. She laughed and she chuckled as her grin slowly grew. “I know how to fix things! I know what to do! It’s a man-cock I need to stay happy in bed—since I can’t find a man-cock, I’ll make one instead!”

Some time later, Penny leaned back in her chair as she sipped at her own coffee. She glanced at Rod, who was seated by his lab bench, eyes vacant with a silly grin on his face. His own coffee cup was empty.

Penny pulled out a fresh notebook and pen and started jotting notes. This kind of project was obviously not anything she could keep notes on that just anybody could walk in and read, but after a sixth grade project on Leonardo da Vinci, she had hit on the idea of using upside-down Russian cursive written backwards with a 47° counter-clockwise slant on alternate letters to provide herself with a secret writing system that only future generations could work out. She had no doubt but that future generations would find it worthwhile.

“Hmmmmm,” she mused as she sipped her coffee. She quickly jotted down, in no particular order:

THINGS TO DO

1. Crank Rod’s brain down to the minimum necessary to take care of eating and pooping and shit like that
2. Give Rod a permanent? hard-on
   1. Maybe give his boner a real bone? Check into dogs (crossed out) bulls
   2. Question: How big can I make his cock and still fit it inside me?
   3. Which has a bigger cock, anyway, a bull or a horse?
3. Make Rod multi-orgasmic, no refractory period—bigger balls?
   1. Just what do guys make cum with anyway? How quickly do they make it? Probably need a liter or so a day.
4. While we’re at it, may as well make it possible to change his flavor. Chocolate cum! Yippee!
5. Rod doesn’t have any family, does he?
6. Does he need to be able to talk?
7. OFF SWITCH!!!!!
8. Better get him to write up several months of reports for the upper-ups so I’m free to act
9. FIRST THING put him under my complete and permanent control
   1. Make him do all the work cockafying himself???? YES!!!!!!!!
   2. Well, as much as he can manage. Which probably ins’t much at all.
10. Self-lubing (why should I do all the work?)
    1. quest. how many bodily fluids can we get him to excrete at the same time? How many can taste like chocolate?
11. Cum on command, first time, every time.
12. No means NO! (Well, when I say it—remove Rod’s ability to disagree like that John Kerry movie)

Penny took another sip of her coffee and looked the list over. “Oh, well,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll think of more stuff later.” She tossed the notebook carelessly aside and ignored the crash of glass as it knocked a beaker off the bench. She’d get Rod to clean that up later if he could do it without his hazmat suit. She glanced at her watch and strode over to Rod. “I’ve got a couple of hours before this wears off,” she said to herself. “If it were done, when ‘tis done, then twere well it were got under way.”

She pushed some flasks aside to make room on his lab bench and sat herself down. (Only one broke, and the fumes dispersed fairly quickly.)

“Hello, there, Rod,” she said, smiling. He just grinned back.

“Rod?” she said. “Can you hear me?” She poked him with a yardstick, in as tender a spot as she could manage.

He continued to grin but nodded.

“Good boy.” She felt like patting him on the head and giving him a Scooby snack.

“You know, Rod, I have great plans for you. Nobel Prize plans, if there were any justice in the world.” He just grinned back.

She poked him again. “Rod, who am I?” she asked him.

“Penny,” he said. “Pretty Penny Pickled-pepper-packer-picker.” He giggled.

“No, Rod,” she said. “I am your Mistress. Do you understand that?” He nodded. “Tell me in words what that means.”

He nodded again. “It means that I cheat on my wife and have sex with you instead.”

She slapped her forehead then whacked him with the yardstick, breaking it. “Oy gevalt,” she said, “not that kind of mistress, you farblondjet schmuck. The kind with a capital M. I’m obviously going to have to load you up on some BDSM porn.” She suddenly had a chilling thought. “You don’t have a wife, do you, Rod, not really?”

He shook his head. “Significant other? Girlfriend? Or, for that matter, boyfriend?”

Another shake of the head. “Lots of one-night stands, then, eh, Rod?” she said and poked him jovially with what was left of the yardstick. The one splinter it left behind didn’t seem big or deep enough to bother with right away.

He gave his head another shake. “You at least jerk off, don’t you?” she asked. His smile turned into a little-boy pout and he shook his head slowly. “OMG, you’re not actually a virgin, are you?” He nodded. “Wow,” she said, half to herself, “I didn’t know that there even were virgins in the wild anymore. I thought they were all kept in circuses and zoos and otherwise had gone the way of the trilobite.” She turned her attention back to her former supervisor.

“So, I guess you had a strictly religious upbringing, then,” she said and he nodded, still pouting. She chuckled. “Well, Roddy my lad, we’re going to fix that for you, how does that sound?” His stupid grin returned.

“What about family? Any family members you keep in touch with? Anybody who will notice after you fall off the edge of the earth and vanish?” He had to think hard for that one. He finally managed to grunt, “Sister,” and fell silent.

“Do you see your sister often?”

Another long pause and grunt. “Flag Day and Christmas.”

“Send her letters, have long phone calls, any kind of regular communication?” He shook his head.

So far so good, actually. Destroying his social life should be a snap and have no unfortunate side effects. She took a deep breath and continued the interrogation. “OK, what about Facebook? MySpace? DeviantArt? Flickr? Twitter? Xiaonei? LinkedIn? Second Life? Gaia? Jaiku? Friendster? Blogspot? Anything online?”

He perked up immediately and spoke without any hesitation. “I,” he said firmly, “am Admiral Etherianus Jenkins, the Explorer, guild leader of the Clan Sissyfranshia on the Sisters of Elune server.”

Now it was her turn to look stupid. “What the hell is that?” she finally asked, having tried to parse his answer six different ways without success.

“World of Warcraft,” he explained and despite the drug kept talking a torrent. “We’re one of the top guilds on the server, and tonight after our regular twenty-five man Naxxus raid on heroic, we’re going to…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” she screamed and swatted him hard with the remnants of her yardstick. Her whole body was trembling. “Good God,” she said, “no wonder you don’t have a life. You’re a goddam fairy.”

“Night elf,” he corrected automatically. He had apparently had this conversation more than once before.

“Whatever,” she said, and quickly scrambled to retrieve her notebook. She clicked her pen and jotted down, “12. No more Internet for Rod except EMCSA.”

She stood and brushed herself off. As she did, she noticed a new hole burned into her lab coat, probably something she’d spilled that morning. She should get Rod to clean that up, too, whatever it was. “Hell,” she said to herself, “by the time I get done with him, he’ll be too dumb to read or do anything on the ‘net except slobber over pictures of Bianca Beauchamp. Internet should be fine so long as I supervise him and keep him away from MMORPGs.”

She strode over to Rod and looked him over. His face had gone blank and his body was twitching occasionally. His nose was turning purple, too, evidently a side effect of the drugs she’d given him. She made a mental note to do something about that. “All right, then,” she said, “once more unto the beach.”

Now, even though he had a Ph.D. in molecular biology, Rod Rockrump was essentially an administrator and, as such, something of a dumb cluck. It took Penny well into the evening, some diagrams on the whiteboard, extensive use of Google, two downloaded movies, and several more cups of spiked coffee before she was at all confident that Rod understood even that she was in charge now. She was by no means confident that he was completely under her control yet, so she dosed him with something that should keep him knocked out until the next morning, led him to the back room with the emergency cot kept for the occasional all-nighter, tied him up with some cord cut off of a venetian blind, and gagged and blindfolded him with strips of fabric ripped off of her lab coat. With any luck, he wouldn’t free himself, choke, strangle, or be poisoned by the time she got back.

Even though she was dead tired herself, she went to an adult toy store on her way home. There were a few things she’d need in the morning—cuffs, chains, maybe a nice butt plug just for fun, and of course lots of magazines and videos. She was also in the market for a new dildo, although they didn’t have any that were any better than the one she’d thrown away that morning. She was just wrapping up her shopping and making for the cashier when a scruffy looking guy in his mid-thirties with more chin stubble than hair came sidling up to her.

“Hey, babe,” he said, trying to look suave and sexy but not even making it up the scale to sleazy. “So, you’re into the kinky stuff, huh?”

She stepped back, set all her purchases down on a table of DVDs, and looked him over. “OK, bub,” she said, “pants off!”

His eyes went wide and he made little burbling sounds. He backed up a step, bumping into a rack of cheap paperbacks. “Um, I mean, um…” he stammered.

“Come on,” she said impatiently. “You wanna fuck me, fine. Pants off, let me see if what you’ve got is worth my trouble. If it is, I’ll fuck you silly here and now.”

His eyes got even wider and he started to move towards the front door. She grabbed his tie and pulled him close. “Listen, you butt ugly fuck monkey,” she said, “I said pants down.” She tugged at his belt and managed to whip it off him. She smacked him once with it, then tossed it aside, grabbing at his fly. She ripped it open and had uncovered about half of his jockey shorts when he managed to wriggle free and made a dash for the door, his jockeys turning simultaneously brown and yellow as he ran.

“Shit,” Penny said. “What does a girl have to do to get fucked in this town?” She looked around. Most of the other patrons returned to their pretense of not paying any attention to her, no, none at all, when she felt a tug on her sleeve. She looked down and there was a pop-eyed man smiling up at her. He had horrible posture, bad teeth, and dirty fingernails, but he wore a rather snazzy suit, neatly trimmed mustache, and a monocle. He even wore a boutonnière.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he said in a voice that aspired to be a bad Peter Lorre impersonation, “but I must say You handled that gentlemen extremely well.”

“Well, so you say,” she said. “But how come we’re not making the beast with two backs on the floor right now?”

“An unfortunate outcome,” he admitted. “I certainly sympathize with Your frustration, but he was not worthy of Your time or effort. Few would be.”

“Like you would be, huh? Well, appearances can be deceiving. My offer goes for you, too. Show me a nice package and I’ll show you a good time.”

He chuckled softly, “Oh, no, Miss, not me by any means. A life of hardship has left me unable to perform even to my own satisfaction, let alone that of a refined woman such as Yourself.” He sighed and took a pinch of snuff.

“I was,” he continued, “going to offer services of a different sort to You. I think I may be able to help You deal with the rather unpleasant problem You appear to be facing and would be more than happy to do so.”

She looked at him in surprise. “And what makes you think I’d be willing to fork out my hard-earned cash for a fancy-pants personal pimp?”

“Ah,” he said, “I fear I did not make myself clear, as that was not my intention at all. To begin with, I do not require much for my own personal needs, as my greatest pleasure is in providing the proper service for my employer. In any event, Your lab coat suggests the sciences, and as it happens I have some slight experience along those lines.”

“Like I can afford a lab assistant,” she scoffed.

“Let me suggest a trial period, Miss, completely gratis,” he said as smoothly as someone with his vocal cords could manage. “Even in this economy, I wager that I can swing enough grant money in Your direction to pay for my own salary and provide for the facilities to engage in, let us say, some fascinating and discrete experimentation in human psychology and physiology. Give me one month. If I do not satisfy, I will leave, and You will be none the worse off.”

She looked around half-panicked. Everyone was still studiously pretending not to notice her. She pulled the little man to a corner and spoke quietly to him. “Just what makes you think I’m trying to do something I don’t want people to know about?” she hissed.

He smiled. “Oh, that was a rather simple deduction, Miss,” he said. “Consider it a sample of what I can do. As it happens, I think that it would be most fascinating to produce an improved male who will service the woman in his life but otherwise not make a nuisance of himself. And in the case of such delicate work, surely it is prudent to have the voluntary participation of two individuals, to keep the others properly supervised?”

She thought, swallowed hard, then thought a bit more. “You’re on,” she said.

“Thank You, Mistress,” he said. “You shan’t regret this.” He bowed deeply. “My name,” he added gravely, “is Reaves.”