The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Do you play with yourself, Mrs Worth?”

I blinked stupidly at her. I was seated in a straight-backed chair, my hands twitching limply in my lap like wounded butterflies. Dr. Beatrix Ashwood Mackay was seated at a small table a few feet opposite me. I sensed, rather than saw, other presences in the warm, dimly lit, low-ceilinged room. Primitive, atavistic antennae within me vibrated to the scent, and slight warmth of other bodies, other women, just behind and to either side of me.

I blinked again.

“Come, come,” she repeated, with infinite patience. “It’s a simple question, for such a bright girl...do you play with yourself, do you masturbate?”

I nodded dully. To save my life, I could never have begun to tell you why.

“And do you climax? Do you achieve a clitoral, or vaginal orgasm?”

This time my unruly tongue decided to obey me. “Fuh...fuck you, you vuh...voyeuristic bitch...”

She gave an almost imperceptible little nod of her head. One of the presences that I had sensed near me materialized at my side, and slipped my woolen-nylon blend skirt brusquely up over my thighs, bunching it about my hips. She hooked the fingers of her other hand into the crotch panel of my cotton panties, and with a swift jerk pulled them down around my knees. I heard faint tearing sounds as they ripped, and felt a rush of cool air wash over my already-overheated genitals.

“Those cost money, you know,” I muttered sullenly.

“Please demonstrate for me, if you would be so kind, Mrs Worth.”

I dug my nails enthusiastically into the soft skin of my bare flanks, trying to rouse my body from its torpor, and my mind from the gauzy, cotton-candy cloud that had enveloped it.

“Go..go rent a porn video, and a vuh...vibrator..., you sick, twisted fuh...freak...”

Dr Mackay considered this, a small, wry smile playing upon her lips. At length she spoke again, in the faintly patronizing tones of someone lecturing a small and slightly backward child.

“Mastery of our own bodies is the doorway to mastery of ourselves, and our destinies, Mrs Worth. Men have known this for centuries, and have used this knowledge to subjugate, and control us for their own ends. Now we are teaching women throughout the world to take this control back for themselves. When women take back the power over their own sexual gratification, when they reject the shame and guilt that male-dominated societies have for millenia imposed upon them about their bodies’ physical needs, to manipulate and oppress us, then we will have taken the first giant step toward empowerment of ourselves as individuals, as free agents in a world without limitations or strictures imposed upon us simply because of our gender.

“Do you understand all of this, Mrs Worth? Do you have any questions you would like to ask? Or would you like to demonstrate to me now your own level of control over your own body...”

My fingers twitched again, as I slowly raised my left hand from my thigh, middle finger extended toward her in a universal expression of contempt. She laughed softly, shaking her head.

“I knew I’d not made a mistake with you, Van...You don’t mind if I call you ‘Van’, do you? ‘Mrs Worth’ is going to become awfully formal, and stilted as we begin to become better acquainted. And we are going to come to know each other quite intimately, I assure you.”

At another minute gesture of Dr Mackay’s left hand, the two women on either side of me leaned in toward me again. One wrapped slender leather straps around each of my exposed thighs, midway between my knee and hip, tightening them until they bit deeply into the pale flesh, then spread me open with them, securing the straps to the front legs of the chair. The other took my wrists and pulled them behind my back, tying them to the chair behind me with more leather thongs. I tugged half-heartedly at the bindings, knowing that I wasn’t about to effect my release from them, even had I been in complete control of my body, and my faculties, which was far from being the case at the moment. The second woman then moved nimble fingers down the buttons of my suit jacket, twisting them deftly through the eyeholes, opening it and pulling it back over my shoulders, and down my arms. The one who had bound my legs then expertly unhooked the front closure of my brassiere, and pushed the straps of it down my arms as well.

I sat there in stunned silence, blushing furiously, all but naked and feeling completely ridiculous, as the two women melted back into the shadows behind me. I’d never even seen their faces, just their hands and arms as they bound me, and undressed me. I looked back toward Beatrix Mackay, my eyes narrowing in anger.

“Just what every woman dreams of...having her body controlled by yet another person, or persons, for their own ‘altruistic’ ends. I’ve got a husband already, thanks, Bea. I really don’t need anyone else, male OR female, trying to pull my strings.” I glared at her furiously; she simply returned my stare in a completely phlegmatic fashion. Livid, I plunged ahead.

“Please don’t misunderstand me Doctor Mackay...or...Bea... or whatever the fuck you’d like to be called. It’s not that I’m finding fault with your brave new orgasmic world here. It’s just that I’m having a little trouble imagining where I might find the time to fit some of life’s more eclectic little activities into such a demanding schedule of sexual shenanigans. Like tying my shoelaces, or shaving my legs, or taking a pee, for instance.”

I fell silent, not trusting myself to go on. I was trembling; I had never been so completely enraged in my life.

She simply nodded again, saying nothing for a few moments, only continuing to stare at me intently.

“Yes, I understand completely,” she said at length. “Your sense of your own sexual identity, your own self is so hopelessly tangled up in your confused apprehension of your various personae as mother, wife, housefrau, and general factotum and geisha girl that you really can’t perceive the difference between an act of sexual fulfillment, of your own personal fulfillment as your own woman, and tying your shoes. That is the tragedy of your life, Van. Fortunately, it is not an irremediable one.”

Beatrix Mackay got slowly to her feet, stepping around the table and laying a cool, dry hand on my rather embarrassingly warm, and now slightly moist thigh. My entire body had in fact begun to glow softly, and shone faintly with a dull matte finish of perspiration. I wondered again what had been in that snifter, besides Armegnac.

“We can change all that for you, Van...empower you, if you will. Allow you to tap into the enormous reservoir of energy and power that your own sexuality can make available to you, is waiting to make available to you.” She slid her hand impudently up my leg, slipping it around to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, her fingers glissading slowly up toward my rapidly warming sex, stopping just short of paradise. I heard a strangled little sob an instant before I quite realized that it had come out of me.

“You see? Your body is just waiting to unleash that power within you, just waiting for you to take control of it, tap into it, and use it for your own ends. Our own ends...” She moved her hand whisperingly back down my thigh; I shuddered hard as she lifted her nails from my skin. I felt my hips lifting minutely from the hard surface of the chair, as if my body were reaching of its own volition for her departing hand. I flushed crimson, and forced myself back onto the hard seat, squeezing my eyes tightly shut in sheer humiliation.

What she could make one agree to if she really put her mind to it...

With my eyes closed, I missed what passed between she and her ‘assistants’ next. All I knew was that their hands were on me again, loosening the straps that held me to the chair, lifting me to my unsteady feet as they quickly shucked the few remaining wadded articles of clothing from my body. As I stood confused, and trembling, now quite naked, I felt a cold swab of something across my left buttock, followed by a quick hot stab as the needle was plunged into it. I began to perspire almost immediately, and in earnest now; my skin was quickly coated with a hot, oily sweat, and my nostrils filled with the almost overpoweringly sexual odor of my own body. I blinked rapidly, my nostrils flaring, mouth hanging slightly agape as I felt a bewildering array of physical sensations sweep over me in dizzying succession. First heat, then icy coldness gripped me, then searing heat again. My skin tingled as if an electrical current were being passed through it, and I thought inanely of those poor frogs in my high school biology class. Then a tremor that seemed to start in the soles of my feet, and travel up through the marrow of my bones, through the very core of my being, gripped me, and shook me like a rag doll, or some tiny helpless animal in the jaws of the last predator it would ever know. I gave another strangled sob, and my knees buckled; I would have fallen to the floor but for the women on either side of me, taking me under my slippery arms, and holding me more or less upright between them. It was then that I felt the burning tingle between my thighs, and the warm, sticky syrup that was beginning to ooze from my treacherous seam. I clenched my teeth to stifle another sob.

“Wh..what have you given me.... God, what have you done to me...” I whispered fiercely.

Beatrix Mackay smiled, running her hand lightly over my flushed, febrile cheek.

“It’s just a little ‘cocktail’ of my own design...Rohypnol, mixed with minute amounts of a central nervous system depressant, and amphetamines. ‘Roofies, cocaine, and benzedrine, in the vernacular of the singles’ bars and dance clubs. It has been designed exclusively with the sensitization and ultimate sensory overload of the individual’s physical and mental defenses in mind. To break one down, as it were, physically and emotionally. Or as that monster Lyndon Baines Johnson once put it so succinctly: ‘Get them by their balls, and their hearts and minds will follow’—or, in your case, darling, your clitoris, and vagina...”

I had never in my life felt so utterly out of control of my body, my mind, my self. My feverish skin was pebbled with gooseflesh beneath the greasy film of perspiration that slicked it, and I shuddered violently at irregular intervals, as wave after terrifying wave of incomprehensible sensation rippled through me. Fear was like a palpable taste in my mouth. I felt myself drooling, the saliva dripping from my slack jaws, and mixing with my body’s other secretions. I was beyond shame. I was very nearly beyond caring. A latch clicked softly somewhere to my right, and I turned my eyes dully toward the sound. A panel in the wall slid open, and two other women stepped through it, supporting a third, as naked as myself, between them.

Jolie...