The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Deborah placed both hands on her face and started crying. Try as she may, she just couldn’t help it as the few memories she possessed of what had happened to her over the last couple of weeks were simply too awful.

“Number 19… that’s what she called me the whole time…” she sobbed. “And that room… God, that dreadful room!”

“Please calm down, Miss. Mayer…,” Detective Sanders begged, knowing deep inside that was a false hope. They never did, and that was perfectly understandable considering the torments they went through during their abduction period. He had only been in contact with 7 of the 18 women that had come before her, but already knew how they reacted during the standard questioning procedures. “Is there anything you can tell us about your captor? Can you describe her for me?”

Another useless question: their answer was always the same.

“I… I don’t know… I can’t remember!

Why that was nobody knew for sure. The ‘tox screens’ were always negative, and the subsequent psychological evaluations couldn’t remove or ease the mental trauma. All the victims had the clear notion of being abused by a woman in a dungeon-like setting with all sorts of kinky instruments at hand, but none could precise any physical characteristics of the tormentor. They couldn’t even remember how her voice sounded like, except the fact there was an undeniable power in it. Whenever she told them to do something for her, they simply had to obey.

“That’s what I did….” Deborah kept on bawling. “I obeyed and I feel dirty and useless for giving in. Please make the pain go away, Detective! PLEASE!”

And suddenly, she banged her head on the metal table with such violence that he immediately thought she was a goner. Luckily, that wasn’t the case, but she was in pretty bad shape. The open gash and the flowing dark blood on her forehead had to be addressed as soon as possible.

“Get me a doctor in here!” the Detective shouted as he held her left hand and tried to keep her appeased. Deborah just smiled in a half-mad way and repeated a sentence she was to use again many times in the future:

“Number 19… that’s what she called me the whole time…”

Half an hour later, Detective Sanders stood by his desk, drinking a cup of black coffee. Amy Weber, his partner, was right next to him, as well as Captain Thompson. The mid-fifties bald man with a proud eagle nose was disturbed like no other.

“This is going on for too long now. We have to catch this maniac no matter what!” He spurted.

“It’s what I wish most in the world, sir, but the bitch isn’t making things easy for us. Unfortunately, I don’t think she intends to stop kidnapping women any time soon,” Sanders replied.

“Captain, if I may… I would like to have a conversation with Miss. Mayer, just the two of us….” Amy interjected.

“What do you hope to accomplish, Weber?”

Amy bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure. It’s just a gut feeling I have. Somehow, I think I might get her to remember something else and open up if I show her my personal resolve and commitment to this case. For all purposes and effects, she was raped, and had her will-power sapped. All things considered, that’s not very different from what happened to me.”

“Amy, don’t….” Sanders began, but she immediately interrupted him.

“That’s okay, Bill. It was a long time ago and you know I’m over it now, but some of those memories might be the key, here. I can empathize with her to a certain degree. I thought about asking this before, but then decided against it. I don’t want to do that any longer! Please, Sir?”

Captain Thompson looked at her with a stern expression on his face. He really didn’t like the idea, especially given the fact that rummaging through the past would most likely affect the judgment of one of his finest officers, but perhaps a different approach could indeed help them achieve some real results instead of vague conjectures. He also believed that Amy had more balls than half of the men working under his command, and her gut feelings were usually quite useful during desperate situations.

“Hmmm, I suppose there’s no harm in trying….” He eventually said, despite Sanders’s obvious protests. I’ll have a room cleared for the two of you and will make sure nothing or anyone interferes in your conversation, but I hope you really pull this off, Weber. I’m tired of seeing these broken women appearing all over town, deprived of any hope to keep on living!”

“I’ll do my best, sir! Thank you.”

Sanders finished drinking his coffee. It was wrong to do so but, in his mind, he was already anticipating her failure and though he liked her a lot, he wasn’t really bothered by it.

Though Deborah Mayer’s wounds had already been tended to, she was still a mess in every sense of the word. Her eyes were red because of the incessant flow of tears, and the excessive stress made her look like a wrinkled sexagenarian instead of a vibrant college sophomore. Cuffed to her chair as a precautionary measure, she wasn’t really in the mood to talk, staring blankly at the ceiling, perhaps looking for the floating pieces of her shattered soul.

Amy walked in and the first thing she did was to place a small notebook and a black pen on the table. Afterward, she locked the door and, after making sure that all recording devices in the room were disconnected and that no one was spying on them from behind the two-way-mirror, she sat provocatively on the edge of the table, very close to the semi-catatonic woman.

What Deborah heard was certainly not what she expected.

“Hello again, Number 19!”

Deborah’s eyes widened, for her subconscious mind had emitted a signal of recognition, an alarm that echoed in every recess of her brain. She summoned her voice in the hope of a scream, but the lips moved silently, the absence of sound disguising the frantic nervousness she was experiencing within.

“Now, now….” Amy continued, mellifluously. “There’s no point in straining yourself, is there? Not when you don’t have a voice! That’s right: in my presence, you only speak on command as I’m sure you’re remembering right now. I’ve arranged for this little private gathering because I wanted to tell you a few things before releasing you for good. Now, be a good girl and listen in that special way I taught you, Okay?”

Deborah had no choice. She was completely defenseless, her spirit adrift within the currents of the forceful brainwashing she had been subjected to. Hearing that number out loud in Amy’s overpowering voice had brought it all back: the deliquescing thoughts… the call of mindless submission… the all-consuming fire in her tight pussy….

She remembered the agony, but also the jubilant rapture of being a human piece of property, whether naked and suspended from ropes, or completely encased in a latex vacuum bed. Tiny flickers of the past exploded in orgasmic fireworks as she saw and experienced once again the overpowering bliss of the strap-on’s double penetration, the dripping nectar between her Mistress’ legs and the branded collar around her neck. Her now completely dreamy eyes saw Amy in her overbust back lacing leather corset and her eager nostrils caught the scent of a pair of white stretch patent knee-high boots she had lavishly worshiped after being ridden all night long. The sensory overload was positively devastating to her already conditioned mind.

“I really enjoyed your service, Number 19! You provided me with more intense pleasure than all the other girls combined. I have to say: for a while, I was tempted to keep you, but that would be problematic in the long run. Besides, I’m not one for commitments of any kind, and new experiences are always welcome. I need fresh pets regularly to keep the juices running, and that’s why we’ll never see each other again after today. When I’m done, you’ll remember to forget my face, my voice and everything else that happened here. You may keep some of the recollections of the guilty pleasures we shared just for fun like all the others, but you’ll tell no one about me. That’s my wish and you will comply just like you’re supposed to. Nod if you understood me, pet.”

Deborah did so, her nipples hard, her legs tingly. The slave’s programming instilled was begging for one last chance to please her, but that wasn’t to be.

Amy placed one of her divine hands on the college girl’s chin, melting it into a puddle of dreamy submission.

“Good. Your memories are a liability and I have a perfect cover-up, here. I have to be on my way now, but I’ll always remember your unquestioning devotion. After the door closes, you’ll become Deborah again and my training will slowly begin to wear off.”

Amy got up, scribbled a few things on the notebook and moved away from the restless thrall, never looking back. “Goodbye, number 19!”

She left the interrogation room, skillfully adjusted her raven hair on the corridor outside, and then did the same to her facial expression. By the time she caught up with her partner and Captain Thompson again, a frowning mask dominated her symmetrical face instead of a triumphant smile.

“I tried, but I got nothing,” she sighed. “Most of the time, she didn’t even react to my presence. I’m sorry.”

Shoulders drooping, she sat in a comfy chair next to them and paid little attention to the two men’s dismayed faces and whispered words of disappointment. Almost instantly, her darkest predatory instincts kicked in, alerting her to the presence of a long-legged blonde being processed only a few feet away, on account of solicitation. She was exceedingly attractive and knew more than a thing or two about the arts of pleasurable sex. Hookers were not really her type, but the taut breasts and luxurious sparkling hair were two good enough reasons for her to reconsider her stance. Her quest for perfect gratification demanded it, and the quest always came first.

“Nice to meet you, Number 20….” Amy thought as her eyes twinkled ever so slightly under the precinct’s strong lights.