The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Obsession-Compulsion

This is my first attempt at writing this kind of story, so I would appreciate any commentary or criticism. My email address is . All of the usual disclaimers about how this is for adults only apply.

Chapter Twenty Three

Doctor Gordon Wallingford was running a bit late for his undergraduate bioethics class. Twenty students were calmly chatting, waiting for him to come in.

Christina leaned over to Tom’s desk to ask him if he had the syllabus for today’s lesson. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Looks like we’re talking about stem cell research today.”

“Cool. That ought to be an interesting thing. A lot of people take very passionate positions on—”

The sound of the door to the classroom slamming startled Christina and she never finished her thought.

“Good afternoon everyone! Hope you all had a good lunch.”

The classroom was silent except for some rustling of papers.

“If you looked at your syllabus, you’d see that we were supposed to discuss stem cell research, but there’s been an 800 pound gorilla in this room for the better part of this term, and I don’t think we can ignore it any longer.”

The students looked around at each other.

“Oh, come on. You all know what I’m talking about. Dr. John Smith—or whatever his name is—and his sex-slave virus.”

There was a long and somewhat embarrassing silence broken by Christina. “But Dr. Wallingford. There isn’t much question: this disease, if it exists, is unethical. Pure and simple, right?”

“Well, that’s true, Miss Hightower, but have you seen today’s Collegian?” After another long silence. “Surely, someone in here has seen the paper.”

Tom was the next to speak. “Yes, Dr. Wallingford, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. O’Grady, do you happen to have a copy in your bag?”

Tom did, and he took it out of his backpack.

“Would you be kind enough to turn to the page with the classified ads? Right in the middle of the second column. I think you’ll find what I’m talking about. Please read it for the rest of the class.”

“Want slaves’ password? Call 555-7399. Anonymity guaranteed and required.”

A gasp fell over the classroom.

“So here we go. Let’s start with the obvious. Quick poll. How many people think the disease is real?” A few hands went into the air. “Okay. How many people think it’s fake?” A couple of other hands went into the air. “I take it the rest of you just aren’t sure?”

The classroom became awash in mumbles of “I’m not sure” and “We just don’t know enough.”

“Fair enough. Let’s assume, for the sake of today’s discussion, that the disease is real. We may not find out the truth, but even if it’s not real, it’s something to talk about. Who knows whether or not someone might be able to do what Dr. Smith did.

“I’m assuming you all know that the FBI has been doing some investigating around this campus over the past month or so. I believe they were running tests on some students to see if they could find something. Did anyone volunteer for the tests?”

More than half of the students raised their hands.

“Has anyone heard anything about the results?”

Everyone shook their heads no.

“Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I should reveal that they questioned me as someone who could be Dr. Smith.”

Amy spoke up. “Why did they think you could be him?”

“Quite frankly, Miss Patch, I think they questioned just about everyone in the biology and physics departments. I’m assuming they ruled me out, but I honestly don’t know.

“Anyway, back to the disease. There’s no question that the design of the disease is unethical. But what about people who would make that phone call? Why would someone want to be able to control people who have been infected? Be honest. Would anyone here want to make the call?”

One girl in the back of the room slowly and sheepishly raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Carlton?”

“Well, I, um, I’d want to make this one guy, um, well, repent for his past sins.”

Tom stifled a laugh. “That sounds awfully fire and brimstone, Lori. How about some more detail?”

Lori continued. “Two years ago, this one guy raped a friend of mine. My friend never came forward and he doesn’t recognize how much he hurt her. I’d want him to take responsibility and maybe even apologize.”

The class nodded and a couple of people said, “That seems reasonable.”

One guy in the back of the room said, “I’d just want to get laid!”

Lori turned around and glared at him. “Then you’d become a slave, too, Derek!”

“Well, maybe there’s a way to do it so that I didn’t have to.”

That line was received with scattered laughter.

With a slight chuckle in his voice, Tom remarked, “I’d get my slave to pay whatever it is Dr. Smith wants for the ability to control the slaves.”

After a short amount of silence, Dr. Wallingford looked around and asked, “Would anyone get a slave to help them pass a course? Mine or otherwise?” By the looks on some students’ faces, he could tell that some people entertained the idea with some seriousness, but no one actually said they would.

Dr. Wallingford turned to the phone hanging on the wall. As he reached for the phone, he said, “Why don’t we call the number? Find out a little bit more about what Dr. Smith has for sale?”

Christina reached into her purse. “That phone doesn’t have a speakerphone on it. My cell phone does. Why don’t you use my phone?”

Dr. Wallingford smiled. “Good idea, Miss Hightower.” He took her phone, dialed the number and pressed the SPEAKER button. The entire class could hear the ringing on the other end. After about two rings, a pleasant-sounding woman on the other end of the line answered.

“Thank you for calling the slavery hotline. My name is Julia. How may I help you?”

Dr. Wallingford spoke while the rest of the class was silent. “Hi, Julia. My name’s Gordon. I’m a student here. I saw your ad in today’s paper and was wondering what you have to offer.”

“Well, Gordon, in all, we have two groups of four packages each, that you can use to control anyone who has been infected with Dr. Smith’s virus.”

“Tell me more.”

“Group number one will give you a temporary password for the slaves. It will last one week. The basic package, which is just the password, is $100.00. For $200.00 you can get a password and either a mechanism that will help you identify people who have been infected, or a way to prevent yourself from being infected yourself by your slave. For $250.00, you can get a password, and both the identification and prevention technologies.

“Group number two will give you a permanent password for your slaves. The basic package is $350.00. A password, plus the ID technology will cost $450.00. A password, plus the prevention technology will also cost $450.00. Both technologies, plus a permanent password, will cost $500.00.”

“That sounds interesting, Julia. How do you guarantee my anonymity?”

“It’s simple. Our slaves don’t talk. Anonymity would be required if you were to make a purchase.”

“And how would you know if I wasn’t?”

“Let’s just say that the password you receive will be your own. If anyone else uses that password, we would know that you didn’t remain anonymous, and you would be punished.”

“Well, all right. Let me think about this for a while. Do you take credit cards?”

“Cash only, Gordon. We can’t have you making a slave pay for his or her own services, can we?”

“No, I guess not, Julia. If I do want to make a purchase, do I just call you back?”

“That’s right. We will set up a time and a place for you to pay us and receive your password.”

“All right. Thank you, Julia.”

“Thank you, Gordon.”

Dr. Wallingford pressed the END CALL button on the cell phone and terminated the call. He handed the phone back to Christina Hightower and thanked her.

He walked up towards the front of the room and said, “Well, he sure thought of everything, didn’t he? Does anyone think that this so-called punishment is real?”

Amy responded with a tone that was half-serious and half-joking. “Probably just as real as the disease itself. I mean, I know we’re assuming the disease is real for the purposes of this discussion, but there’s been a lot of talk around campus about how it all seems to simple, too easy to be true.”

Lori added, “Yeah. It’s like some kind of conservative Christian conspiracy to get us to stop having sex.”

Christina took offense at that remark. “I took a vow of abstinence until I was married, but I’d never try to force it on anyone other than the guy I marry. Don’t look at me on that one.”

Tom mumbled, “That’s just more proof that you need to get laid.”

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

Dr. Wallingford jumped in to prevent any additional argument. “Let’s get back to the point of our discussion. Nobody is going to be making fun of anyone’s lifestyle choices here.”

The discussion continued for the next half hour when the class time was up and all of the students put their books and notepads away. Dr. Wallingford looked at Christina. “Miss Hightower, may I have a word with you after class?”

As the rest of the class filed out of the room, Christina walked over to the professor’s desk. “Is something the matter, Dr. Wallingford?”

“No, nothing, Christina. I just wanted to make sure you were all right after that one comment Mr. O’Grady made.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Dr.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Hightower. I do have one other thing I’d like to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“You are my slave.”

“What’s the password?”

He whispered the secret word into her ear.

“How may I serve you?”

“We already have our first buyer. Do you know Anthony Sirica?”

“Yes, master. He lives in the same dorm as I do.”

“Good.” The professor reached into his attache case and handed her a small box. “You will deliver this box to Anthony in exchange for $250.00 in cash.”

“I will deliver this box to Anthony in exchange for $250.00 in cash.”

“After you do that, you will bring me the money he gives you. I will take the money, and you will return to your dorm room. When you walk in the door, you will wake up and forget anything we just talked about.”

“Yes, master.”

“Good. Now go.”

Christina took the box and casually walked out of the classroom.

Chapter Twenty Four

Agents Tanya Brookings and Mark Petersen walked into the lobby of the Daily Herald about five minutes before their interview with reporter Gary Milford was scheduled to begin. Before they got to the elevator, Tanya went to the front desk and asked if there was a package waiting for her and her partner. The receptionist handed her a thick manila envelope and was advised not to open it until after they had left the building.

They took the elevator up to the fourth floor and found their way to the desk of Gary Milford, who was waiting for them. He greeted them with a smile and a firm handshake.

“You two aren’t the same agents I spoke with before. Is everything all right with Agents Steubens and Lafferty?”

After a short pause, Agent Petersen responded. “They’re fine. They’re just handling a different part of the investigation right now.”

“So what brings you out here today?”

“We were wondering about what you know from one piece of your original article. In the first article, you stated that three slaves guard Dr. Smith’s lab. Is that correct?”

Gary shuffled through some papers on his desk and looked over one piece of paper very intently. Finally, he put the paper down and said, “That’s correct.”

“Did you actually see the lab?”

“No.”

“So it’s just what you were told, is that correct?”

“Yes. What is this all a—”

Gary Milford was interrupted by Agent Brookings. “Agent Petersen and I think we may have discovered the lab. The only problem is, there were only two slaves guarding it.”

“Are you sure they were slaves?”

“Do you know anywhere else where people stand by a door, naked, not letting people in?”

“No. I guess not.”

Petersen continued. “That means that there are only two possibilities here: either you were misinformed, or there is a third slave that we didn’t see.”

“Why would he have lied to me about that point?”

“Good question. It seems so trivial, compared with everything else, doesn’t it?”

“Is there anything else in my story that’s not consistent with your investigation?”

“Only that the professor’s name really isn’t John Smith, but you already knew that.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“We’re not at liberty to divulge that information at this time.”

“Fair enough. But you are convinced that the disease does exist, yes?”

“Yes. Our research was quite conclusive.”

“Can you tell if someone is a slave?”

“Not by looking at them, but there are tests we can run.”

Milford picked up a pen and started jotting some notes down. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what those tests are, could you?”

Petersen and Brookings looked at each other for a minute. They nodded their heads and Agent Petersen turned back to the reporter and smiled. “That depends on why you want to know. We don’t want it to be public knowledge what and how we know.”

“So...”

“So, if you want to know because you’re a reporter and want to put it in your next story ...”

“You won’t tell me. But what if I wanted to know whether or not I was a slave?”

“Then we’d be willing to perform some tests.”

Milford put his pen down. “I would like to know if I’m a slave.”

“Do you think you might be?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. All I know is that my wife has refused to have sex with me since I first wrote that story!”

“And you want to ease her mind,” Agent Brookings continued, with a somewhat flirtatious air.

“Yes.”

Brookings and Petersen looked at each other again. Brookings sighed and said. “There are four tests we can run on you. It’s the four S’s, so to speak. Sweat, saliva, stool, and sperm.”

Gary sat at his desk in stunned silence for a moment. Seeing that he was a little bit uncomfortable about providing either a stool or a sperm sample (or both), Agent Brookings continued. “Honestly, we don’t need all four tests to prove whether or not you’re a slave. We can be certain with a sweat and saliva test.”

This comment seemed to relax Gary significantly. “If I ask to be tested, how long before I know the results?”

Petersen glanced at his watch. “Five, ten minutes tops.”

“Can we do it here?”

“Yes.”

Petersen opened his briefcase and pulled out some cotton balls, a vial with a yellowish liquid and another vial with a brownish-green liquid, and some empty glass containers. He handed one of the containers to the journalist and said, “Spit in here. Try to get it up past the first line on the bottom.”

Gary took it and did so. While he was doing that, Agent Petersen put on some rubber gloves and gripped two cotton balls between his thumb and forefinger.

When Gary put the glass down on the desk, Petersen asked him to roll up his sleeve.

Gary did so and held out his arm. He placed the two cotton balls on the inside of Milford’s elbow and bent his arm to hold the cotton in place. “Hold that there.”

Agent Brookings dropped five drops from the yellow vial into the glass with saliva and swirled it around. “If it turns pink, you’re not a slave. If it turns blue, you are.”

After a moment, the liquid started to change color. From yellow to a brownish-orange, and finally to pink.

Petersen looked at the glass and said, “You’re probably not a slave. Let’s just do one more test. He held a second glass beneath Gary’s clenched elbow and said, “Drop the cotton in here.”

The two cotton balls landed lightly in the glass. Brookings dropped five drops from the other vial on top of the cotton balls. “This time, if it turns orange, you are a slave. Green means you’re not.” In no time, the cotton balls turned green.

“Congratulations, Mr. Milford. If I say ‘you are my slave’ to you,’ it won’t have any impact.”

“Thank you! Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Petersen and Brookings looked at one another again. Brookings smiled and said, “No. I think that’s all for now.” They started to stand up when Gary stopped them.

“Could I ask you two to do me a favor?”

“What’s that, Mr. Milford?”

“Could you go over to my wife’s office? It’s just a few blocks away. Could you let her know that I’m not a slave.”

Petersen chuckled. “Of course.”

Gary wrote down his wife’s name and business address on a piece of paper and handed it to Agent Petersen.

The two agents walked back to the elevator and were about to walk out of the building when Agent Petersen stopped and remembered the manila envelope they had received before they visited with the reporter. He opened it. Inside were some pictures of an attractive brunette, in her mid-to-late-twenties, tall, leggy, with long hair and green eyes. On the back of one picture was the hand-written message. “Jennifer Milford. Senior Account Specialist, Superior Marketing, Ltd. You will find her and seduce her.”

Petersen handed the pictures to Brookings. “Well, we were going there anyway,” was her monotone comment.

Chapter Twenty Five

Within fifteen minutes of leaving the parking lot of the newspaper, Agents Brookings and Petersen found themselves entering the business campus that housed Superior Marketing. The sign next to the elevator revealed that this particular business was located on the third floor, in Suites 324 and 326.

The agents waited in the lobby as the secretary at the front door called Jennifer Milford to come meet with them. After a brief wait, Jennifer walked around the corner and smiled warmly. “My name’s Jennifer. You must be Agent Brookings. And that would make you Agent Petersen. I just spoke with my husband. I’m glad you could come over.”

Agent Petersen nodded. “It’s our pleasure.”

With a few pleasant handshakes, Gary Milford’s wife led the two agents back to her office and closed the door. “Again, thank you both for coming out. I’ve been so worried ever since he wrote that story. Are you certain that my husband hasn’t been infected by the disease he reported on?”

“Yes. We gave him two tests to prove it.”

“Then why do you think this scientist even contacted Gary?”

“That’s a good question. Our best guess is that he was looking for a credible journalist in a newspaper that isn’t always taken seriously. Your husband fit that bill.”

“What can you tell me about the tests you gave my husband?”

“Well, there are ultimately four tests we can give to someone, to detect certain chemicals in the body. Two of them are enough to prove beyond a doubt.”

“What are the tests?”

“We call them the ‘four S’es’. Sweat, Saliva, Stool, and Sperm for men, Smear (as in, pap smear) for women.” We tested Gary’s sweat and saliva.”

“And you’re sure he came back negative?”

Agent Brookings reached into her bag and removed the two glasses they had used to test the reporter. “This is the saliva test. Pink means negative and Blue means positive.”

Jennifer smiled and gave out a short sigh.

“And this one. The green cotton balls prove that he’s clear. If they were orange, then you’d have something to worry about.”

“Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome.” The agents started to hand Mrs. Milford their cards and excuse themselves when their host said, “Wait!”

Petersen stopped. “Is something the matter?”

“Well, it’s just that, I don’t know, would you mind please, testing me, too? My saliva and sweat, too.”

“Brookings, do we have any more glasses and cotton balls?”

Agent Brookings rummaged in her bag. “Yes. We can do that.”

The agents spent the next few minutes performing the same experiment on Jennifer’s saliva and sweat, that they had performed on Gary’s. When all was said and done, they had another two cotton balls that were a bright green, and a glass with a pinkish liquid that was once her clear saliva.

“Thank you again!”

Jennifer stood up and gave Agent Brookings a cheerful hug. Then she stood back and did the same to Agent Petersen. Petersen nodded at Brookings over Jennifer’s shoulder and gripped their host tight against his body. Brookings quickly locked the door to the office.

His grip was uncomfortable and Jennifer struggled against his grip. “Hey!” Agent Brookings moved in close behind Jennifer and grabbed her arms. “What are you two d—”

The marketing rep’s words were cut off as Agent Mark Petersen’s lips came in contact with hers. The more she struggled, the more he tightened his grip, as his tongue gently slipped between her lips and into her mouth.

Almost instantly, the reporter’s wife stopped struggling. By the time the kiss had ended, she was breathing heavily, lifting one leg to half-straddle the man who had just reawakened her long dormant passions.

Agent Brookings let go of Jennifer’s arms, which promptly went to work, removing the white blouse that suddenly felt both too heavy and too warm. Next to come off was her black skirt, which fell gently around her ankles.

She backed away from Agent Petersen momentarily and removed his belt, followed quickly by his pants. She knew that her prize, her reward, was just within her reach.

Seeing that Jennifer’s hands were elsewhere, Agent Brookings decided to unclasp their next victim’s bra, which fell silently to the floor. Agent Brookings then ripped away Jennifer’s panties, thus leaving the marketing representative and wife of the journalist who first reported on their condition, completely naked and clearly overwhelmed by horniness and lust.

Agent Petersen spoke. “Agent Brookings is my girlfriend. Sometimes she gets a little jealous. I know you want to fuck me—”

“I do, I do, Agent Petersen. That’s exactly what I want!”

“But she has to be satisfied, too, if you know what I mean?”

Jennifer, her hands running up and down Agent Petersen’s erect cock, looked around and saw that the female agent was also naked. “How about if I fuck you while I eat her out?”

Petersen looked at Brookings. Brookings looked at Jennifer and then back to Petersen. “I’m all right with that, Mark, if you are.”

“I’m fine with it, Tanya.”

Eager to feel his cock inside of her, Jennifer sputtered, “All right, Mark and Tanya. How do you want me?”

Agent Brookings instructed, “Why don’t you lay on your back?” Jennifer quickly lay down on her back on her desk and spread her legs as far apart as she could.

“Good. I’m going to sit on your face and you’ll eat me out. Once I’m on you, my partner here will give you the best fucking you’ve had in your life.”

Jennifer wanted to say, “I can’t wait,” but could only make out a few grunts, since Agent Brookings had already positioned herself such that her pussy was being nibbled and sucked on by the young woman who was so eager to submit to their wills.

Agent Petersen pulled Jennifer’s ankles so that her butt was right at the edge of the desk stepped up and moved his cock quickly in between her legs. She let out a squeal that resonated in Agent Brookings’s clit.

With every thrust, Jennifer let out another low moan. With every low moan, Jennifer gripped Agent Brookings’s hips and nibbled and sucked harder. With every nibble, Agent Brookings moaned and panted with an equal intensity. The two women’s moans complemented each other perfectly.

Agent Brookings had the first real orgasm. Her juices dripped onto the nose and mouth of the beautiful woman whose smile was filled with lust and pride at bringing another woman to orgasm.

Jennifer’s pride quickly dissolved into a screaming orgasm. Several other people in the office heard what was going on, but, since the door was locked, no one could reach her.

One woman knocked on the door, yelling, “Are you all right?”

Jennifer regained enough composure to respond, “Never been better. Thank you for asking!”

The chorus of the man and the two women panting, moaning, screaming, and generally living out an erotic fantasy lasted for nearly 30 minutes. Then Agent Petersen gave one final thrust as he released his seed—and the enslaving virus—into Jennifer’s more-than-receptive cunt. She let out one last yelp of pleasure, sat forward, and shoved her tongue deeply into Agent Brookings’s slit, who gasped with pleasure. Petersen leaned forward and grabbed his partner’s tits, squeezing them gently.

The two FBI agents picked up their clothes and put them on. Petersen looked at his conquest, said, “Let us know if there’s anything else you need,” and walked out the door just as Jennifer was starting to stir again. She put her own clothes back on and proceeded with the rest of her work schedule as though nothing had happened.

Chapter Twenty Six

Anthony Sirica had exchanged his $250 in cash for a small box, delivered by Christine Hightower. After she was gone, he quickly opened it.

The first thing he found in the box was a slip of paper that said, “The contents of this box will take effect at exactly 5 pm tonight.”

Underneath the paper were two smaller boxes and an envelope.

He opened one of the boxes and found a glass bottle with a spray on the top. It was filled with a clear substance. Also inside the box was a paper that read, “Slave Identifier. Spray yourself twice (once beneath each earlobe) with this solution. Find someone you’d like to control and brush by them, as if walking in a crowd. If he or she coughs, they have been infected.”

Inside the second box was a package of small wafers. “Virus Inhibitor. Tell your slave to eat one wafer and they will not pass the virus on to others for one hour.”

The envelope was sealed with a cellophane strip. Beneath the strip were the words, “By breaking this seal, you acknowledge that you will not share the contents of this envelope with anyone else. This envelope contains your personal slave password for the next week. The consequences of sharing this password with others will be dire, both to you and to those with whom you have shared this password. By breaking this seal, you acknowledge these rules.”

Anthony broke the seal and pulled out a small card. One word was printed on it: WATERMELON.

Anthony thought to himself. “I’m going to have some fun this week!”