The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dana’s perceptions were strange. Fluid.

Her eyes were getting better at catching motion, but when something wasn’t moving she forgot about it quickly. She was getting better at discerning the direction of sounds. A crackle of a leaf kept her attention for far longer than a moving leaf; she would stay staring at the source of the sound for minutes afterwards.

She was crouching in a bush. Its leaves were thick, dense, dark green. She’d heard a sound from the other side a minute before and had ducked and frozen solid.

Another sound. It was a light tic, as of a small twig breaking. Dana crouched lower. It might have been the wind or a small animal, she didn’t make any guesses. Her imagination didn’t stretch that far; she only knew that the prospect of something unknown nearby sent a tingle up her back.

Redhead leaped over the bush and tackled her.

They rolled over twice in the soft earth and when they came to a stop Redhead was on top, claiming her like a prize, their hands clasped and pressed into the damp soil. Dana played at trying to get away. Their legs became entwined as they “struggled” and though it began innocently a look soon crossed both of their faces, and the play fighting slowed, then stopped.

They looked at each other. Spots of sun shining through the bush made patterns and shadow puppets on their naked skin.

Redhead moved her hips the teeniest tiniest bit.

Dana’s mouth opened the teeniest tiniest bit.

She lifted her leg and they slid together at the pelvis, their legs interlocked like two pairs of scissors.

Oh that felt very good.

They began to move against each other slowly, methodically. Curiously. Dana was shaved and Redhead, having never heard of a razor, was not, and it created a unique sensation for the both of them. Their breathing became faster. The act took on a certain desperation and lost its gentleness, but at the same time lacked the certain businesslike force that some animals have in the act of lovemaking, and it also lacked the impersonalness: animals don’t look each other in the eye, and they don’t obsess about the beauty mark under the other one’s ear, like Dana was, even though she couldn’t remember the word for it, or any words at all. It just fascinated her.

Afterwards they curled up in the bushes, legs still intertwined, and fell asleep hidden under the leaves, their flushed skin mixed in with the green.

They were woken by Cleo’s pawing. Am swatted her away but she came back.

She held up a bundle of furry clothing, made of leopard skin or whatever it was they wore that looked like leopard skin, with the tail wrapped around it to hold it together. It was Dana’s new clothes.

Redhead took Dana by the hand and led her out of the bush, and together she and Cleo dressed her. First they ran their hands over her body, brushing off the bits of dirt and leaves. Then they lifted her arms. The bra fit her well, after some tightening. Then the loin cloths and the leather strap that held them together, and the long fuzzy tail that hung off the back.

The leather strap felt good. Dana moved, feeling it.

Finally the two little cat ears. Fixing them to her head was a delicate process and it took them nearly twenty minutes: tying them on with a thin leather strap, hiding the strap under Dana’s hair, getting it just right, comfortable, so that it felt invisible. The ears were meant to be permanent except when they had to be replaced because of wear and tear.

The girls stood back and examined their work.

Dana looked just like them, albeit much more defined. The outfit felt good; it was freeing, but also had the tightness of the straps over her hips and under her arms. She moved, testing it.

Redhead smiled, kissed her, and dove off into the bushes.

“Rrr,” Dana said. She chased her.

By noon the line of trees was approaching, the three Marines were sweating, and Max’s limp had become more pronounced. They’d walked in single file the entire way; Kit, as their tracker, insisted on it.

They’d gotten lucky on three points: one, the girls had taken the same route back to the forest as they’d taken to the base the day before, making their nearly invisible trail just barely discernable to Kit’s eyes; two, they’d left in the middle of the night, and the damp early morning air helped to preserve bent stalks of grass here and there where they had passed; three, Dana was wearing combat boots, which tramped the foliage much more than the girls’ bare feet.

At the edge of the forest they got lucky again and found a thin foot path leading into the dense foliage, but after twenty minutes it petered out and they were left standing around, picking bits of twig off of their uniforms, unsure on how to proceed.

Kit went off to scout the area and the others took a break, sitting on a fallen log and drinking from their canteens. Max winced as she sat.

Glass glanced at her surreptitiously. She seemed cranky. That was actually a very good sign: if Max was seriously worried about Dana she wouldn’t be annoyed. She wouldn’t be anything. Glass knew from personal experience that when lives were on the line, Max’s face would take on an almost casual blankness as she blocked out everything but the task at hand. If she was annoyed it meant that she knew she had the spare brain cycles to spend on being annoyed.

He didn’t think all of that in those words. He just saw the look on her face and subconsciously relaxed.

“I suppose once this gets out I’ll get shipped off someplace fun, like the north pole to document alien penguin fucking for the next three years,” he said. He poked at the ground with a stick.

“Maybe.”

“And what about the women? What are they going to do, order all female soldiers to fill out a form about whether they’ve ever had blushy thoughts about another woman?”

“Probably.” She squinted at a nearby tree like it had a secret. “Only up on the main ship, though. Down here it’ll be handled in-house, before we even tell the people upstairs what’s happening.”

“How are you gonna do that? It can’t be hid.”

“Everyone on the ground will be told the situation, and every woman will be given the option of requesting reassignment, no questions asked. Then we’ll choose another group of women randomly—a larger group, at least twice the size of the first—and send them, too. No one will know why anyone else got transferred. They’ll guess, sure, but no one will really know, unless she wants them to. Considering that my girls are not shy, that’ll put the number we’re actually protecting at a small percent of the whole that gets reassigned. It’s not a perfect solution but it’s the best we can do on such short notice.”

Glass’s stick poked through a leaf, stopped.

“Wow. You really thought this through,” he said.

“Got to.” She screwed the cap back onto her canteen. “Havard and Iverson and Olson will agree. They’ve been around long enough to recognize a situation that we’ve got to get ahead of, before the people upstairs start making laws about it.”

And in a rare display of candor, Max winked. “It’s not disobeying orders if the orders haven’t been given yet,” she said.

“That is damn sneaky, Ma’am.”

A yellow LED on the side of her radio began to blink. It was a signal: Kit wanted them to come, but didn’t want to talk into her radio for some reason.

“Suit up,” Max said.

Kit had the feeling that she was being watched.

It was, maybe, a subconscious thing: maybe she’d seen Isis’s eyes peeking at her through the foliage as she entered the clearing, but they were so well hidden that she didn’t realize it at first. Whatever caused the feeling it made her stay there, examining the plants along the edge, until movement from the other side caught her eye and she saw the outline of a girl.

They froze, looking at each other through the leaves.

Kit reached for her radio and touched the signal button, but even that slight gesture was almost enough to send Isis running. She withdrew farther into the foliage.

“Wait!” Kit said. “Wait, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Isis hesitated. Her eyes flicked to Kit’s rifle. There was no way she could know what a gun was, but she did at least recognize that Kit was holding something large and heavy in her hands.

“I’m putting it away, see?” She slung it over her shoulder, careful to not make the movement too sudden. “It’s ok. Come out. We just want to find our friend.”

Isis just looked at her.

It was annoyingly catlike behavior.

Without even thinking, Kit tried a trick that sometimes worked on house cats: she bent slightly, as if to offer something. The girl took one hesitant step out of the bush.

“Good. That’s a good girl. I’m not going to hurt you. Come on.”

Another step.

“Which one are you? Quinn said your names were Am, Cleopatra and Isis, but she didn’t say which was which. Are you Cleo? You look like a Cleo.”

Isis cocked her head, trying to figure out what Kit was saying about Cleo.

They approached each other cautiously and very, very slowly, neither of them breaking eye contact. The girl’s eyes were light hazel, flecked with green. As they got closer her pupils began to dilate, growing until the irises were barely visible.

“Well that’s just spooky,” Kit mumbled. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re about to bite me.”

It did not mean that Isis was about to bite her.

Kit’s brow furrowed. She looked confused for a moment, and she opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. She slowed to a stop.

Isis came closer. Smiling, purring.

Her eyes were like—

Like—

Her eyes were like a quiet moment in the sun with a glass of wine. They were like the first hit of opium. They were like a blanket on her cheek. They were like taking off her boots after a six hour hike. They were like that moment just before sleep when she knew she could let go and not think about anything for the next eight hours, and let whatever dreams would come come, and know that they would be good.

All expression was gone from Kit’s face. Her hands—which had been reaching out towards Isis in a placating gesture—drifted to her sides, and her eyelids drooped.

She stood there in the clearing with a beam of sun in her hair and did nothing as Isis wrapped her long tan arms around her and kissed her, first lightly, then deeply. She didn’t react to the affection, even to blink.

Isis frowned and pulled back.

This one was like Quinn. Nothing.

She pouted, and ran her nose up Kit’s neck and kissed her again just to be sure. Nothing.

She sighed and walked out of the clearing, leaving Kit standing there with the beam of sunlight in her hair, looking at nothing.

That was exactly how Max and Glass found her five minutes later.

“Hey.“ Max shook her, and when that got no reaction, slapped her. Having a legitimate reason to slap two different people in the space of six hours was possibly the only upside of her day.

Kit blinked and looked around.

“You there?” Max asked her.

“I’m—” She looked at Glass and seemed confused that he was wearing a space suit. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Max sighed. She took Kit by the chin and turned her head so that she was facing the sun beam, checking her eyes for signs of concussion.

“She was here, I had her...” Kit said. “And then—” She looked at the trees. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Sarge. I don’t know what happened.”

Glass’s lips moved behind the bowl of the mask.

“Use your microphone,” Max told him.

He pressed a button on the wrist of the suit and his voice came through the radios that were clasped to both Max and Kit’s hips. “Something else Quinn decided not to tell us?”

“I don’t think so. By the end I’m pretty sure she would have confessed to cheating on a test in the fifth grade if she thought it would help her. This must be something else.” She looked Kit in the eyes. “Are you good to go?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She took a step to show how fine she was, wobbled, and would have fallen right on her ass if Glass hadn’t caught her under the arms.

Max sighed again.

“Ok, here’s what we’re—” She stopped mid-sentence, looking in the direction that Isis had left the clearing.

“Here’s what we’re what?” Glass said.

“Shh.“

In the middle distance, fifty yards away or less, there was the muffled snap of a twig breaking.

The girls may have been cat-like, but they were not cats.

Max dove through the dense foliage in the direction of the sound.

She made no attempt to be silent as she barreled through the brush; in fact she wanted to be loud, to sound like something big and unstoppable that was crashing through the forest and destroying everything in its path. She wanted to be as big as an elephant in the girl’s mind, to scare her out of whatever hiding place she was in, and it worked.

As she got closer to the source of the original sound there was a rustling of branches to the northwest. She turned that way and very soon was in sight of the girl. Max was faster, much; aside from being trained for jungle combat, her boots let her sprint without fear of impaling her feet on a fallen branch.

Isis threw looks over her shoulder, and when it became apparent that she wasn’t getting away she turned, crouched, and growled, baring her teeth. They were surprisingly white for a feral catgirl.

“Hi!” Max said. She came to a stop casually, like two joggers meeting in the park. “I’m looking for a Marine, you might have seen her. About my height, my weight, answers to Dana. I’m not sure of the breed. She’s American, so, probably your basic mutt.”

Isis’s eyes flashed. Her pupils were large, unnaturally large, and growing.

They looked like—

Like—

Like really big pupils. Max lunged forward and seized her by the wrist.

“I just had the weirdest vision of the mountains in my home town. I hate my home town.”

The surprise on Isis’s face was like she’d been slapped. She reared back and hissed, beating at Max with her free hand, but despite her best efforts she was soon face down on the ground, pinned, her wrists crossed behind her back and bound with plastic riot cuffs. She spat and kicked uselessly.

Max bit the cap off of a syringe, poked the needle into the girl’s ass cheek (which was, like most of the rest of her, conveniently exposed), and depressed the plunger. Isis howled.

“Where’s Dana?”

The girl answered with a particularly vicious inflection of the word mew.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Max rolled her over and sat her up. “Tell me where Dana is.”

The same answer, followed by an unintelligible string of syllables.

Her eyelids began to droop. She opened her eyes a little too wide, trying to fight off the torpor. She probably didn’t understand that she’d been given a powerful sedative, just that she was getting very tired while she was busy being angry. Finally her head nodded and Max eased her to the ground.

Glass and Kit had caught up halfway through the scuffle, and watched from a safe distance.

“That almost sounded like English,” Kit said. “Did that sound like English to anyone else?”

“It was English.” Max stood. “I said, ‘Tell me where Dana is’, and she said, ‘No, we like her’.".

“Aww.” Kit knelt beside the sleeping girl.

“Aww?”

“It’s sweet. They took Dana home and now they want to keep her.”

Max stared at her.

“Sweet in a bad way,” Kit amended.

“Glass, you’re going to have to carry her. Kit and I will need our hands free when we find the rest.”

“Why do we have to bring her?” He was already breathing heavily in the suit, just from the brief chase, and his voice rasped through their radios.

“Did you just ask me why we can’t leave an unconscious teenage girl lying on the ground in the middle of the jungle?”

“Nuts.“ With some help from Max he slung the sleeping Isis over his shoulder. She was easier to carry than it seemed she would be, even in the heavy suit; with her hands tied behind her back her weight stayed centered.

“Cover her popka,” Kit said. Her Russian accent rarely showed—in fact almost no one except Max knew she was Russian, or that Kit was short for Katrina—but now and then she would use a strange word and her syllables would become sharp and somehow musical.

“Her what?”

Kit frowned and tugged at the back of the loin cloth, trying to cover the girl’s ass, but there was nothing for it: it wasn’t designed to be worn by someone who was doubled over. Even when standing straight up it barely covered the bits and pieces.

“I think she may have showed us the way anyway,” Max said. She nodded in the direction Isis had been running.

“Could be a fake out. Lead us away, then circle back around.”

“I doubt she was thinking that... tactically. I think her first instinct was probably to run back to the others.”

Kit picked bits of leaf out of Isis’s hair, still frowning. They set off through the trees: the tall Marine, the short Marine, the cranky Marine, and the bound and sleeping catgirl, who dreamed that she was chasing a piece of string, but when she finally caught it she got tangled up in it, and somehow her wrists ended up crossed behind her back, with the string wrapped around them, and she struggled to get free but the more she did the sleepier she got. Now and then her hands would twitch when a leaf brushed against them.

Late afternoon found Cleo, Dana and Redhead in the hut, curled up and napping. Again. Had Dana been herself she might have called that way of life incredibly refreshing. They would wake up with a burst of energy and go out, maybe to pick the strange yellow fruits that hung low from the branches of the trees outside, or to take a drink from the spring, and as soon as their energy started to wane they’d simply take a nap. The result was that every moment they were awake they were wide awake.

Dana was still getting used to it, and that was maybe why, when there was a tiny noise in the leaves outside, Redhead and Cleo’s eyes popped open but Dana remained asleep.

They looked at each other across the bed and then, very silently, got up and crept to the door.

Cleo poked her head out.

A pair of hands reached out from beside the door, grabbed her, and pulled her through. It was so quick she only had time to emit a started chirp! before she was gone.

She tumbled through the leaves on the forest floor and barely had time to get to her knees before Kit was on her, holding a clear plastic mask over her mouth and nose.

The mask was hissing, and it smelled like cotton candy.

Cleo did not know what cotton candy was or even what plastic was, but she did know what hissing was. She hissed too, and thrashed. But after a few moments she began to feel strange.

Pleasant.

Heavy.

She stopped fighting, not as a conscious decision but simply because she forgot to; she lost track of the meaning of it. Her perceptions dissolved into a collection of disconnected sensations, all of them good. Even the rubber on the sides of the mask felt kind of nice. As she drifted off she breathed in willingly, curiously, and her last sensation before sleep was the smell of cotton candy.

Max’s struggle with Redhead was similarly brief and one-sided, although Redhead did not go quietly like her fellow catgirl.

As she came charging out of the hut Max seized her, pressed the mask over her mouth and nose, and held her at arm’s length against the wall of the hut. Redhead howled and clawed. Her fair skin, freckles, and copper hair made her look fragile but that was clearly just an illusion. Even when she began to blink from the effects of the anesthesia she wouldn’t let go. She got a hand into the collar of Max’s uniform and pulled until the top button popped off... then the next... finally her eyes lost focus and her hands loosened.

“They’re cute when they’re angry,” Max said.

Kit motioned to the hut’s door. There was movement from within.

Max eased the now limp Redhead to the ground where she lay in a pale and shapely ball, and she and Kit both slipped a syringe out of their pockets and stood ready, crouching slightly. They weren’t sure what to expect, but, as Max had told Kit when she first joined the squad: “Dana can kill a man in forty-six ways with her left and, and she’s not left-handed.”

What they got was not what they expected.

Dana shuffled into the doorway, yawning and stretching and rubbing her eyes sleepily, like a child would, with both fists balled.

She looked like an aerobics instructor version of a catgirl. It was the same outfit—same ears, tail, bra type thing—but on her it looked somehow sleeker. Dangerous. It did not look cute and fuzzy, it looked like something an ancient monk would wear to battle against a philistine horde.

When she was done rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she looked around, her brow furrowing as she took in the scene.

Her eyes went from Cleo, lying in the leaves with her gorgeous olive limbs strewn awkwardly beneath her and her legs splayed indecently, to Kit, to Redhead, lying on her side with a clear mask strapped over her face, to Max.

Dana bared her teeth at them.

“Good kitty,” Kit whispered.

“Get back,” Max hissed. “Private Sullivan, if you can hear me, stand do—” That was as far as she got before Dana leaped at her.

It was not a leap that anyone trained in combat would ever make, because she simply dove forward, reaching for Max’s neck and leaving herself open to all sorts of countermoves. Max caught her by the wrists, backpedaling, while Kit ran up from behind and jammed the needle into her shoulder.

Dana howled and spun.

“Get her inside!“

Max—no longer worried that Dana would do something lethal, because she’d clearly forgotten how—crouched and plowed into Dana’s midsection like a linebacker, and with Kit managed to run her backwards into the hut. They pulled the door closed and the both of them held it shut together, bracing their feet against the door jamb.

Bangbangbangbang

The walls of the hut shook.

Bangbangbang

The door splintered in one place, up by the left corner, then another, dead in the middle.

Bang... bump...

Scratch...

Silence.

Kit and Max looked at each other.

A few minutes later Glass appeared, huffing and puffing. He had his radio on so that they could hear him huffing and puffing. He was not only carrying Isis, but all three of their packs: his own pack on his back, and the others in his left hand. He dropped them into a pile heavily and was about to drop Isis into the same pile before Kit gave him a sharp look.

They carried the catgirls into the hut one by one and placed them on the bed: Cleo on the left, Redhead in the middle, Isis on the right. Kit stood guard in the doorway until they started to come around. When they did (Redhead was the first, of course—it made Kit think of something from her field medic training, something about redheads requiring more anesthesia than most people), she nodded to the others.

They began the very long walk back, the sleeping Dana lying in a field stretcher between them, strapped down with many plastic riot ties: at the shoulder, elbow, wrists, above the knee, below the knee, ankles. She was still wearing her catgirl outfit because none of them had been able to find her clothes, although Kit had draped a blanket over her hips because the loin cloth didn’t quite do the job.

Four hours along they were in the grassland, climbing the slight but insidiously constant slope that ran the entire distance from the forest up to the hills. The stars were out with their strange constellations and their strangely bright light, as bright as moonlight, when Dana began to wake up from her most recent round of sedatives.

“Hold up,” Max said. “Put her down here. Right there’s fine. Now go stand up there, out of her line of sight, and don’t say anything.”

Glass and Kit did that. They were too tired to ask questions. The three of them had been awake for thirty-six hours, over twelve of it spent walking, and five of those hours carrying Dana. That was not including the parachuting and locating of Iverson’s base in the jungle. Glass was still wearing the space suit because Max was worried there might be residual traces of catgirl pheromone on Dana’s clothes or in her hair. A less careful commander might have let him take it off, but she wasn’t one of those. Neither was Havard, or Iverson, or Olson. The people who were put on point when a new planet was discovered were there for a reason.

Max crouched beside Dana, studying her face thoughtfully and waiting for her to come around. When she did, her eyes focused on Max and she bared her teeth.

“Grr,” Dana said.

“I don’t think that’s a word even in their language,” Max said. “I think that maybe you can understand me a little now, even if you can’t make sense of it, so I want you to listen.”

“Grr,” Dana said.

Max dipped her head suddenly so that their faces were almost touching, and said:

“GRR.”

Dana blinked in surprise.

“Good, I’ve got your attention. Now.” She put her hand flat on Dana’s chest, between her breasts. “Take a deep breath.”

Dana bared her teeth again and her hands worked in the restraints.

“Come on. You’re not going anywhere and I think that somewhere in there you remember that doing what I say is a good thing, and you used to be pretty good at it. And while I don’t know what it’s like to be inside your head, there’s a little light that goes off in the brain of every good soldier when they follow an order and follow it right, and there’s no way you don’t still have that. So do it.”

Dana’s lips stayed curled, but she did it. Her chest rose and fell once with a deep breath.

“Good. Again. Deeper.”

Again.

“Good. Now. I’m going to start talking and I want you to listen and imagine that the things I’m saying are real. They are real, because I’m your sergeant and I can do that. Take another breath.”

Again.

“When you breathe out I want you to imagine that some of the energy is draining out of your body with it. Even if you try to keep it in some of it’s going to get out. I’m taking it from you, here,” and she moved her hand on Dana’s chest to indicate where she meant. “Right out of you. Breathe again.”

Dana did. Her eyes were still not friendly but at least she’d stopped sneering.

“Good. It’s going to happen each time you breathe out. It’s pleasant. Being angry isn’t any fun anyway. It never does anything good.

“Breathe again, and this time think about how nice the air of this place smells. It’s not like back home, is it? It’s like chamomile and lilac and honeysuckle and there’s something else when the wind blows that I don’t even know what it is, nutmeg or something.

“It’s good. When you think about that you’re going to feel the muscles in your feet loosen a little bit. The ones on the bottom, in the arches. Breathe again. This time it’s your toes, going slack. Nutmeg and chamomile and relaxed toes.”

Max spoke to her for a long time.

Dana’s eyelids began to droop. Her fists unballed and became hands again. Her skin looked eerie and smooth in the starlight.

Their eyes stayed locked on each other’s until Dana’s drifted closed, and when they did Max’s voice dropped and she continued in subdued tones.

A few minutes later Dana’s chest was rising and falling in the deep and slow rhythm of sleep.

Max stood and brushed a burr off of her pants. “Gentle when you pick her up this time,” she said.

Kit gaped.

“You hypnotized her!” she whispered.

“I want her to get whatever this is out of her system, and a natural sleep is the best way to do that.” She took her cap off and scratched her head, looking at the horizon. They were close enough to the base that it was visible as a small grey square at the top of the next rise.

“That was... spooky. I’m glad you never had to do that to me.”

Max put her cap back on, adjusted it, and walked past her.

“That you know of,” she mumbled.