The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


Paperback Part one

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There, now you’re settled in, we have some time to kill. I know...I’ll tell you a story from my misspent youth.

“Theodore’s Used Paperbacks” sat at the far end of a strip mall a couple miles from school on the way home. There was no bike stand, so I snaked the lock chain through the grill of a trash can. Not wanting to take a chance, I unstrapped the bulky French horn case, and brought it in with me. Mom would forgive a stolen bike, the instrument was entirely different story.

The musty air in the shop hit me as it always did, and I stifled the urge to sneeze. The one time Mom had come with me here she had said it was a “sick building” because of the mildew. Larry sat in all of his Jaba the Hut glory by the register. He had bought the store from Theodore a decade ago, but was too lazy to charge the sign. He momentarily glanced up from his mini t.v. and the Braves game, but said nothing to me. He almost seemed annoyed when he had customers.

I strode past his meager comic book stand. Comics often had the content I hunted, but for that I preferred the new place, “Battlestar Comica” in the new mall. I could spend an entire day there. If I wasn’t at that place, I was at “Rocket Video” looking for new VHS horror and sci fi flicks to rent, the ones with the scenes I would watch, rewind, and watch again.

No, what I sought at “Theodore’s” was paperbacks. I sat my horn case down, and began the hunt. I had made the way to the Espionage Series shelves when I noticed a large cardboard box filled to the brim with books. Larry, as I’ve mentioned, wasn’t the most industrious guy, and obviously hadn’t gotten around to shelving these “new” acquisitions. I kneeled and began looking.

I was halfway through the box when my practiced eye caught something:


The cover was dominated a photo of two bikinied ladies with harpoon guns. A hypnotic spiral effect was layered over them.

I told myself to calm down. Too often book covers and video tape boxes promised gold, but the contents failed to deliver. The Hypno Slave ended up being a guy, or theHeroine just fakes being under. I had learned to make as certain as I could before spending my scarce cash on a find.

I looked closer at the cover. It looked at least a decade old, early 70’s or late 60’s. The front cover was in bad shape, but I was pretty sure the models were barefoot, and it seemed theirfaces were kind of know, blank. The back cover was in worse shape, with most of it torn off the binding. At the top, before the rip, I could make out: “AMERICA’S SEXIEST SUPER SPY A TRAITOR?”

OK, I know you can guess I was more than a little excited. This could be good.......”Attack Angels” good. I carefully opened the front cover and read the copy on the first page, you know the blurb before the publication info page.

“A kindergarten teacher.....a model.......a stewardess.......hijacking a jumbo jet to Cuba, then claiming no memory of their crime . P•O•W•I•E (THE PRESIDENTIAL OMNIMBUS WORLDWIDE INVESIGATION AND ESPIONAGE DEPARTMENT) sends its best asset, Super Spy Stella Stryker to crack the case. But what if that’s just what an Evil Master Hypnotist wanted?”

You can’t imagined the effect of these words on my prurient teen brain. I glanced over at Larry. He was unpredictable. Some days he didn’t care about browsing at all, others he could be a real jerk. He seemed totally engrossed in his I chanced opening the book to first page of text.

* * *



Georgette pushed the drink cart through the darkened First Class Cabin. It was past midnight, and most of the passengers were sound asleep. But not the one in 7B. There, a gorgeous black haired woman in an a expensive designer dress sat straight in her seat with her eyes open, staring into space. Slowly her head turned towards the red haired stewardess. Without waiting for any request, Georgette reached into the cart and pulled out a dark object and quickly handed it to the passenger, who placed it next to her discarded high heels under her seat. Georgette leaned down and said “five minutes.”

7B simply nodded and returned to blankly staring at the back of the seat in front of her.

Georgette, not bothering to stop for any other passengers, pushed the cart to the galley just behind the cockpit. She was met there by the other first class stewardess, Cindy, who quietly spoke:

“See, I told you you were wasting your time, Georgie. They’re all snoozing.” She paused and looked down. “Hey...kinda out of uniform there, Daisy Mae.” She pointed at Georgette’s bare feet.

Georgette ignored her question, and stepped around Cindy further into galley. As she reached into her purse, Cindy persisted.

“Are you high or something? You’ve been acting weird ever since take off.”

Instead of answering, Georgette took a pill out of her bag and swallowed it. Suddenly, she spun around holding a small, black, aerosol can. She sprayed Cindy in the face, then caught the stunned stewardess before she hit the galley floor. As quietly as she could, Georgette dragged the now sleeping girl into the bathroom, and closed the door.

Georgette looked at her watch. At exactly 1 am, she pulled the loaded pistol from her bag, and chambered a round, then tucked the semiautomatic into her belt. Passenger 7B joined her, holding another pistol in one hand and an identical aerosol can in the the other.. Awkwardly, the model put the hand with the spray can to her face and dry swallowed a pill. Georgette nodded at her, then headed to the cockpit, her can tucked in her belt with her gun.

Wally Johnson, the flight engineer smiled when Georgette entered. He was about to try yet again to ask the redhead out for dinner when she stunned him by wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind and began kissing the back of his neck. Johnson stole a glance at the pilots who were absorbed with a course correction. He then turned his head towards Georgette and was rewarded with a blast from the aerosol.

The Copilot took off his headset and told the Captain he was going to stretch his legs. As he rose, he found himself confronted by a barefoot stewardess with a pistol. He tapped the Captain on the shoulder.

“Georgette...what the Hell is going on?”

“Shut up, Captain. And Jerry, sit back down.” Georgette sounded calm, but pointed the pistol at the Captain’s head. She padded over to the Copilot and gave him a dose of the aerosol, taking care to spray away from the Pilot. Jerry fell hard back into his seat. She then handed the Captain a piece of paper.

“That is your new flight plan. At the bottom is what you are to tell air traffic control. Deviate from any of these instructions, and my comrades will begin executing passengers.” She sounded as if she was planning a shopping trip. She went to the interior phone by the cockpit door. Over the plane PA, she said: “Report status.”

7b responded first. “First Class Cabin, secure.”

Then, Passenger14f: “Coach Cabin, secured.”

Finally, Passenger 19a: “Remaining flight crew sedated....Charges are being set.”

Georgette replied: “12g and 23f to the cockpit.” She then hung the phone up and approached the Pilot. “You will call Ground Control now.” The pistol muzzle was now dangerously close to the back of his head.

Furious, the Captain looked at the paper and began:

“Miami Tower....Miami Tower...this is Trans Atlantic Flight 5479, bound from Dulles to London Heathrow, over...

“This is Miami Tower..go ahead, 5479, over.”

“Miami Tower...I am declaring an emergency. .Flight 5479 has been taken over”. The Captain paused and looked quizzically at Georgette. She responded by placing the pistol directly against his head. “By....warriors of the Trilby Sisterhood. They have guns and explosives and are all happy to die for their cause. They demand this flight be routed to Havana, where they are to be paid five million dollars. This will be the last transmission until we are on landing approach to Jose Marti International Airport.”

As he begun plugging in the new coordinates into the flight computer, The cockpit door opened again. Two barefoot female passengers removed the sleeping flight engineer and copilot from their seats and dragged them out of the cockpit. All of the other passengers were now out, all sprayed by the aerosols. Georgette sat in the Copilot seat, and put the head set on her red hair. The Captain turned to her and pleaded:

“Georgette...this isn’t who you are...why are you doing this?”

The red haired stewardess smiled as pretty as an angel, while steadily pointing the gun at him.

“I am obeying my Sister.”

* * *

Larry didn’t yell....but still he startled me.

“Not a library, kid.”

The Braves must have lost. I stood, gripping the paperback. Hoping I had enough in my wallet, I took it to the counter. Larry had not penciled a price yet. I tried a little haggling.

“ cover’s all torn and stuff.” I stammered.

He just looked at me with his typical, jaundiced look, then finally said:

“Fifty cents.”

My relief was obvious as I pulled out two quarters. I was halfway out the door with my new treasure when Larry reminded me about my French horn.

Even with my musical instrument, I don’t think I ever rode my bike faster than that afternoon. I got home and remembered Mom was working a late shift. Perfect...I had the house to myself. I loved Mom, but she’d have me doing chores, or worse, my homework.

As if I needed to waste my time on that simpleton drivel. I was already considered a science prodigy, and was taking three classes at the local community college.....I’d exhausted the meager offerings at my high school.

I put the horn case down and threw my book bag on my desk. Gingerly, I took out the fragile paperback. I sat on the floor and went to where I’d left off.

* * *



P•O•W•I•E• Headquarters’ large gymnasium was packed with personnel going through their fitness regimes...... at least that was what they were supposed to be doing. All of the agents, male and female, were distracted by the gorgeous blonde working the uneven bars.

Stella Stryker was known for putting her perfect body through the most rigorous workouts. At the moment, her bikinied body was perfectly balanced on her two hands which gripped the top bar. Her magnificently long legs were open wide in a full split. Despite the difficulty of this position, her face was serene and not a drop of sweat was on her brow. Then, she drew her legs slowly in front of her, her hands moving to support the new position. Her body then steadily moved into a headstand, her pretty, high arched bare feet now pointed at the ceiling. Suddenly, she begun to swing her body...once....twice....three times, around the high bar. Her hands released the bar, and she did three somersaults in the air before planting on the gym mat in a landing any Rumanian Olympic gymnast would envy. She stood there frozen, her size 38 breasts thrusting forward and straining the bikini top,

After a second or two, Stella relaxed and slowly padded to the bench where she had left her gym bag. Though her face did not betray it, she knew the gaze of all present were on her as she sauntered across the gym. Upon arrival at the bench, she slowly bent done to retrieve her bag, giving the assembled personnel quite the show. Her seductive prowess was as much a weapon as her black belt in ninjutsu, and also needed to be exercised.

Her bikini top was already off as she entered the female locker room, the bottoms by the time she hit the shower. She luxuriated in the hot water, her skin a golden tan. She spent extended time soaping up her ample breasts. Even the straight female agents in the locker room covertly watched her and fantasized about being with her until their reverie was broken by the PA:

“Agent Stryker.....Agent to the Director’s Briefing Room.”

The voice repeated the order twice. Reluctantly, Stella rinsed and left the shower. A few minutes later she was striding down the corridor to the Command Section. Her long, wet yellow hair was now tied in a ponytail. She wore her variation of the standard P•O•W•I•E• field uniform, a black Lycra bodysuit that zipped in the front. Stella, due to her stature in the organization, had been allowed to modify hers. Her shoulders were bare, and the leggings ended at her toned calves, leaving her lower legs and feet also bare.

She entered the outer office and found Agent Lindsey already waiting. The cute brunette sat as if at attention in a corner chair. Her hair was up and she wore large glasses that gave her a sexy librarian look. Unlike Stella, she wore the standard Lycra uniform with sleeves and boots. She held a large dossier in her lap, which nearly spilled to the ground when she jumped to her feet.

“Agent’s an honor to be working with you......” she stammered.

Stella simply smiled and nodded, then plopped down on the couch, placing her feet on the coffee table. Both women stayed silent for a while until Lindsey gathered the courage to speak.

“How do you do it....the bare feet I mean......on missions.....don’t they get cold, or cut up?”

Stella smiled indulgently at the younger Agent. She was used to the question.

“My Ninjitsu Sensei, Mistress Yamasawa, taught me that I’m always more agile and truly aware of my surroundings when barefooted. The discomforts you mentioned can all be conquered through mental discipline.”

Before the other could respond, the door to the briefing room opened. The two women rose and went into the conference room. Standing at the end of the long table, in his typical Savile Row tailored suit, was the Director.

Despite her mental discipline, Stella barely covered her reaction. The Director was indeed a handsome man with black hair speckled with gray. His physique was a man half his age. But his physical looks took second place to his commanding presence and air of complete control over any situation.

Not for the first time, Stella thought about how here was finally a man worthy of her sexual skills and perfect body. She wondered if he would succumb if she applied the full force of her seductive art. But she knew she would never find out. She had too much respect for the man and his accomplishments, a respect he returned by making her his top agent.

Agent Lindsey didn’t do as well at hiding her admiration.

“Gggggggggooooood...Morning.....sir” she stammered, blushing. All three sat, with the Director at the head of the table

“Good morning ladies. Agent Lindsey, begin your briefing.” The lights dimmed, and a hidden slide projector came to life. She began speaking, her initial nervousness giving way to her professionalism.

“Angent Stryker, this is Trans Atlantic Airways Flight 5479, sitting on the runway at Jose Marti International Airport in Havana. Last week, a stewardess and five other young women took over the flight, using guns, explosives and a sophisticated aerosol sleep nerve agent. They demanded 5 million dollars, which was paid. Because of the unusual circumstances, a total press blackout was imposed.”

Stella frowned. “Unusual circumstances? Seems like there’s a highjacking every week. Hardly a matter for P•O•W•I•E.”

“Let her’ll see this was not an ordinary sky jacking,” said the Director.

Agent Linsey continued: “Here are the hijackers.” On the screen, the plane was replaced by mugshots of six attractive young women, all with distraught or confused expressions.

Stella asked: “What do we know about these ladies?”

“That’s where it gets real strange. A stewardess, a fashion model......even a kindergarten teacher...all without criminal records or any hint of extremist affiliations. Two of them are registered Republicans. During the high jacking, they said they were a part of something called ‘The Trilby Sisterhood’. “

Stella pondered this, then said, “‘Trilby’, a nineteenth century novel about an evil hypnotist named Svengali.” Stella had a degree in Literature, among several others.

The Director interjected: “It’s also a hat.....but I think your guess is more relevant.”

Agent Lindsey continued:

“All six surrendered once the ransom was delivered and spirited away, doubtlessly with Cuban cooperation. Then the girls seemed to wake. They all claimed that their memories ended upon boarding the flight. They’ve been thoroughly examined by our Psych Unit, and the conclusion is they were acting under a powerful mental compulsion, most likely hypnosis.”

Stella shook her head. “Impossible....hypnosis doesn’t work that way.” Stella also had a degree in psychology.

The Director chimed in again. “Don’t be so sure, Agent.” Stella noted something in his voice. He was hiding something. He continued, “Anyway, Lindsey has done some bang up investigation and has come up with a lead.”

Lindsey blushed at the Directir’s praise. “I searched the stewardess’ apartment, and I found a pamphlet for the ‘Du Maurier Society’.”

“George du Maurier, the writer of ’Trilby’......seems rather thin a connection. What do we know about this ‘Society’?”

“It’s a self empowerment group, you know like TM or EST.....only all female. I’ve been to a meeting. On the surface it seems harmless, you know, mostly meditative techniques. But something feels off...”

The Director interupted.

“You’re right, Agent Stryker, it’s thin....but it’s the only lead we have. Agent Lindsey here is new to field work, so I want you to partner up with her and go check out this Society. Once that is accomplished, you’ll report back to me directly...not to anyone else.”

Agent Lindsey and the Director stood to leave. Stella didn’t, instead she put her feet up on the table, her feet crossed at the ankles.

“Run along, Agent Lindsey...I’ll catch up with you later. The Director and I need to speak.” The younger agent looked at the Director, who nodded his head.

Once she was gone, Stella said: “OK Boss, spill the beans. Why are you using me as a babysitter on a wild goose chase?”

The man shook his head. “You are good, Stella.....I should have known I’d have to tell you all of it. I consider it one of the more shameful chapters in my career. It was 1950...I was still with the CIA. We were terrified we were behind the Soviets in mind control. I was asked to monitor a top secret initiative, Project BLUEBIRD, which studied the feasibility of creating a network of hypnotized agents. The man behind it was a a half Pole, half German detector named Stanislav Manx. He was a gifted hypnotist with degrees in both psychiatry and neorology.

At first, the Agency was very high on the project. He got great results. So great, we overlooked some troubling early signs.

“He was a fake?” Stella asked.

“Quite the contrary. His results were superb. It was his choice of subjects that caused me concern. He only wanted attractive young women, so the Agency assigned him a group of CIA secretaries. Soon he was dazzling us....everyone of the girls complied perfectly in every simulated mission. One stole Agency documents, another seduced a man, another planted a bomb. One even held a gun on another subject and pulled the trigger. It was unloaded...but she didn’t know that.”

“That’s horrible.” Stella was not easily shocked, but the idea of innocent humans transformed it robotic assassins was appalling.

“I I began investigating Manx. I learned he had an unhealthy obsession with ‘Trilby’, especially the Svengali character. Then I discovered that his ‘work’ with the secretaries was not limited to the office. He had turned them into his sexual harem. I wanted to terminate him, or at least see him prosecuted. But the CIA didn’t want the scandal. He was simply dismissed, then he disappeared soon thereafter. Not a hint of activity...until, perhaps now.”

“ want me to do more than babysit Agent Lindsey.”

“Dig into this Society. Your Ninja training and mental discipline should protect you from any attempt to brainwash you. If you confirm Manx is behind the sky jacking, we won’t make the same mistake the CIA did. If it’s him, you’re to terminate this man., and whatever he’s up to.....terminate with utter prejudice.”

* * *

Wow. I had hit the motherload with this book. But would the barefoot ninja heroine get put under...for real? I was about start the next chapter when I heard the front door open. Mom was home, and I’d have eat dinner with her. That was her exceptions. I put the paperback under my pillow, and went down and helped her with the cartons of take out Chinese.