The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’ve calmed down.

I’m safe. The bastard knows it. He’s been texting me non stop for the last hour.

“Clarice, where are you?”

“Still waiting for you.”

“Clarice, wth”

And so on and so forth. But I eventually had to answer.

“Clarice, what happened? We need to meet.”

“Yeah, not happening. Whatever you have to say, I’m not coming near you to hear it.”

“Why the aggression? Hold on, you’re not blaming us for the crash are you?”

“I am blaming you for fucking with Deb’s mind and trying to do the same to me.”

“What? Come on. You can’t believe this.”

“Oh yes. I can. I saw it. Felt it. My prediction ability has gone full comic book. And I know yours did too. ”

A few minutes without any answer, then...

“Yes it did, but I mean you no harm, I swear.”

“Then prove it by sending Deb to meet me alone.”

“I’m sorry, but the crash did something to Debbi. She’s terrified to be away from me now.”

“Right, and you’ve got nothing to do with that? And stop calling her Debbi, she’s not one of your STD skanks.”

“Come on, Clarice, your vision must have been twisted by the trauma of the crash or something. And I understand, but stop lashing out like this...We all got hurt. It doesn’t have to

be like this.”

“Yes it does. You killed my friend. You’re dead to me, you bastard. Oh, and I know you’ve got a GPS location app. You’re probably checking it right now but let’s not get cute here. I’ll

know every time you try to sneak up on me. I’ll be gone before you even get there.”

And with that, the conversation was over. I turn off my phone and walk across Las Vegas boulevard, headed for the Luxor’s pyramid behind the stoned-looking Sphinx. I’m in no mood to play, but I need enough money to outrun Chris. It’s Lady Luck time.

Oh yeah, raking in the dosh. I only had randomly-occurring visions before, but now I can follow the future of every object I focus on. I know where the ball is going to fall in the roulette. I know the 10 next combinations of any slot machine. The cards? It’s like I’ve got x-ray vision, baby.

The blackjack dealer is showing his best poker face, but he knows the athletic redhead who doesn’t even know the hand signals is here to fuck him up. Oh, I’m not stupid enough to win every round, but I do win when it counts, and I’m earning fast. I’ve just been here for an hour and I’m up to $40000 dollars. Enough to escape even if that bastard convinces the FBI to go after me. I focus and look at this hand’s outcome. I’m getting a 20, him 23. Party time.

“Double down.”

I lock my hands in prayer, pretending to be stressed even though I know that’s a win. We flip the cards up. The house busts. I do my best floozy impression and squeal.

“Oh yes yes yes thank God!”

I rake in the dough and allow myself a giggle. I’m on top of the world! But then...

“Miss, could you come with us, please?”

Shit.

Okay, Clarice, how about you fuck with a Strip casino after you’ve figured out exactly how your new power works? I was so focused on the cards I didn’t even see two gorillas coming. And that’s the best case scenario here! What if fucking Chris had snuck up behind me and dropped my IQ to 50? I mean, I’m still in deep shit but at least I can waddle through...I hope.

“We have eighty-five blackjack tables here, we see people counting cards every day...”

Says the pit boss, a balding fat guy with an ugly purple suit. “But your trick is some next-level shit.”

“What do you mean?” I giggle. “I just had a lucky streak...”

“Yeah, luck doesn’t get you over forty five grand in one hour. Neither does counting for that matter. You completely curb stomped the odds. And drop the bimbo act, sweetie, female counters do this all the time, but they bother with the looks instead of just coming in as a damn lesbian.”

I frown. What did that asshole just call me? Anyway, he’s not going to be fooled, so...

“I did not physically altered the outcome of the deal. Nothing I did was illegal.”

“Bwah ha ha! Did your homework, did you? Well, that’s true, we can’t arrest you, and we don’t generally punch girls for counting. But with the system you have, I think I’m willing to break a few rules.”

He opens the door and prepares to leave.

“I’ll let these two gentlemen work you over until you’re ready to tell your secret. Goodbye!”

Aaand he leaves me with the two WWE enthusiasts. As soon as the door shuts, one of them silently grabs my arm. I’m hit with a vision of being pinned down on the floor. I feel a surge of adrenaline.

“Let GO of me you bastard!”

He doesn’t. I’m no twig, I work out, but I swear those guys are closer to bears than humans. I pour all my strength into slipping out of his grasp, but no dice. Fear sets in. I wonder if they’d go all the way and rape me. The thought clears my head of anything but white-hot rage. I try to bite the skin off his fat arm. He just grunts then turns me around, locking my arms behind my back.

“Ow ow ow!”

The other confirms my fears and goes for my chest.

“Gyaaaaah!!”

I explode. I let out all my rage, all my strength. I pull so much my muscles burn up. I’m not a damsel in distress. I can’t let myself be raped in a dank basement. I can feel his dirty ape hands molesting me. And I actually manage to pull one hand away and elbowing the bastard in the stomach.

“Ghuh!”

He felt it but he catches my arm again. The other pinches my nipple through the fabric. Bastard. Bastard bastard bastard.

“FUCKING DIIIIIIE!”

“Ha ha ha, cry more you little bi...bi...bbbbb...”

His eyes are spinning around. What the fuck? I’m glad he stopped groping me but this is creepy as hell.

“R...Randy? What’s happening?!” Yells the other brute, loosening his grip on me.

“Ghhhaaaaaah...”

Randy-boy falls on the floor, shaking like a leaf. Dammit, he’s completely out. His friend grabs my chin and forces me to look at him.

“Did you do that to him, you cunt?!”

“I hope I did.”

I look in the shithead’s eyes and focus my anger.

“There’s no way I’m going to let you...ah...aaaargh...”

And down he goes. Motherfucking powers...Did I kill them? Nah, they’re breathing. Shit, gotta get out of here fast. I go through their pockets, grab some cash, and get the Hell out of dodge.

There is a strange kind of comfort in knowing than powers that shouldn’t exist are nothing if you’re reckless and stupid. I still don’t get why they grew like that, but at least I understand they have their limits. Hell, they might just have grown out of trauma from the crash and be bound to wane over time as I calm down.

So I took things nice and slow. Got a hotel room, settled down, went shopping a bit while keeping my senses on high alert. I had a vision of seeing them on the Strip, but it was too crowded for them to see me. They were asking people if they’d seen me, though.

Thankfully, Vegas is a big place, and I went from casino to casino, making only reasonable bank this time. I bought a red wig to enhance my bimbo disguise though. Not that I lik doing that...quite the opposite! But it’s the easiest role I can play, Chris would never expect me going Rhianna red. It took some getting used to actually, I wasn’t expecting to turn so many heads with my disguise. I mean, I did try my best to make a convincing head turning floozy in a tight dress and high heels. But still, I got a disturbing amount of hotel room key propositions from the degenerate drunken gambling community mistaking me for a high class ‘working girl’.

Drinks are free in Vegas, but in this get up I could get just about anything I want. Besides, looking airheaded is a good cover for me keeping my eyes on the back of my head. I just play whatever while being sure I’m safe and only bet big when I see a double down coming.

And casinos don’t make a fuss out of a few grand in winnings. Last time was an extreme case. After a few rounds of my new strategy, I find they are much more likely to offer alcohol to a winner. Which is my cue to go to stop playing and go to the bar and leave soon after. Here, much safer than trying to disprove math and hoping that losing a few hands makes it less impossible.

After three days of this, I have thirty grand and no psychos after me. Chris hasn’t sent the authorities after me either. And he wouldn’t exactly need to use his powers to convince them to look for a poor, traumatized plane crash survivor. That would be comforting, but...that also means he’s making it really personal.

Tomorrow, I leave Nevada.

“One ticket for the 6:20 PM Los Angeles please. Full fare.”

“Yes, one moment please!”

I pay up, all in cash, and a minute later I’m ready to put all this shit behind me. Where to? I’m not sure. LA’s just a refuge. I think I’ll go way abroad. Maybe join my parents on their cruise.

I arrived in Las Vegas when the plane crashed on McCarran’s tarmac, I’ll be leaving through North Las Vegas airport. I doubt that douchebag would be able to predict this move, but still, I’m at my most vulnerable right now. I open my mind to any and all threats. I’m so sensitive, I even avoided someone harmlessly brushing against me five minutes ago.

I’m almost out of this nightmare, but...there’s something tugging on my heart. I want to know what that bastard Chris is up to. I mean, not for him...any semblance of crush I ever had for him is gone but...I want to know if poor Deb’s okay. I whip up my phone and mentally prepare myself for whatever that douche typed to try and lure me out.

...And I almost drop the damn thing.

Chris sent me a few texts, then stopped for a while...Only to send me four video messages. And they are all titled “Debbi’s bimbo slut makeover.”

My hands tremble. It feels like I’m sinking inside my own body. I almost send a psychic wave to my phone. It feels a lot like the Luxor situation, but here...I also feel shame somehow.

Why? What do I have to do with this?! I want to send the phone flying and go straight to the boarding area but I am compelled to click on the first video. No, don’t do this to yourself Clarice you know he’s provoking you he’s...

“Hi, Clari.” Greets Chris. “Me again.”

Chris is taking a video with his cellphone camera in a casino lobby, right next to a roulette table. Deb stands beside him, looking empty and lost. His eyes, meanwhile, are full of confidence...arrogance, even.

“You’re right! I shouldn’t have pretended to still be some kind of moralfag. I’m a God now, after all. I make the rules. So I’m done pleading with you, my little fortune teller. We are playing my game now.”

He spans the lobby with his left hand, turning around as he bellows...

“Heeeellllo, Ladies and Gentlemen, and welcome to Extreme Makeover: Pooorn Staaaar Editioooon!”

Nobody pays any mind to his over the top game show host impression. Good thing I use headphones for my calls because the airport would have been a different matter.

“We are here at the Bellagio casino in fabulous Las Vegas with our contestant Deborah Aragon! Wispy little thing as you can see, but juuuust you wait! If she wins this gamble, she will get the makeover of a llllifetime!”

Seriously, the fucker is shouting and he doesn’t one weird look. Even the security guards look the other way.

“Ready to play, Deborah? Then place your bet and do that thing you do!!”

She took a $100 chip and nonchalantly placed it on the roulette board. Controlling a bouncing little ball? Deb could have done that easily before the crash. Now it wouldn’t even be a challenge. He’s making her win the game by using her own telekinetic power!

Chris wraps his arm around her narrow waspy waist and smiles smugly at the ‘camera’, because the dealer immediately spun the roulette and the ball neatly landed into the 11 slot—Deb’s bet. He was as sure of the outcome as I am.

“11 winner.”

And voilà, they’re $3500 richer. Chris claps his hands in grandiose fashion.

“Cooongratulaaations Deborah! Your plane-Jane days are behind you! You win a super bimbo slut makeover! Confused stares on the faces of the other gamblers as the pile of chips is pushed to them.

“How does that make you feel sweetie?” He is playing it up for the camera. Me in other words.

“...Um good?” Shit, she’s really shocked...

“Well my dear Deborah, don’t you worry because the first part of your fantastic lifetime makeover is...a brand new personalityyy!”

My stomach hurts. My hand flies to cover most of my vision. I can’t take this and yet I can’t look away. He puts his hand over her head and...No...No, no, Chris, goddammit, His power couldn’t be that strong could it? you can’t be that evil, stop doing this. Debbie’s eyes open wide, her mouth contorts into a retarded smile. We’re friends. Or we were friends anyway I don’t know doesn’t it mean ANYTHING?!

“There you go, Deborah! Or should I say Debbi?”

“Huh? Oh, hi Master!”

“You’re going to become my very own Barbiedoll princess, with pretty clothes, blonde hair and big boobs! Isn’t that great?!”

“Tee-hee! I cant wait! Can we start NOW?”

Wait, is she LOVING the idea of becoming his skank!?

“You know it, babe. Every girl deserves to be my type.”

“Ohmigaaaaawd I love being sexy n’ stuff! I love YOUUUU! I hope Clari don’t mind we are hooking up nowsies... ”

“Well, that feminist bitch won’t be able to spoil your fun now. You’re my bimbo slut now!”

“Yaaaaay!”

And there she dances like all functioning neurons have left her brain. She looks the same, but...she’s gone. Her pale eyes stare vacuously at the camera as she tongue kisses him deeply. She is straddling his leg and rubbing on him until he breaks her embrace with his hand. He holds her back while she sucks on his finger and addresses the camera.

“Well, unless Clarice comes to the President suite of the Bellagio tonight...” Says the monster, looking at the camera again. “Only you can stop me...Each day you ignore my call or keep us waiting, Debbi and I will be out with a wad of cash polishing her up image into a lush sexy bitch a man can be proud of. Peace!”

End of the video.

Received : Three days ago.