The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

By the time the car stopped, Melanie was afloat in a sea of obedience. Her body was so relaxed and floppy that it was hard to believe that she could also be so very, very turned on. Her pussy hummed pleasurably and her nipples, too, tingled with erotic happiness. What did it matter that she was still naked? Melanie couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn clothing. Anyway, Ms. Reid was here. At last, she was with Ms. Reid.

Ms. Reid was as cold and distant as ever, clinical and detached. “Get out of the car,” she ordered, and Melanie obeyed like the good little subject she was. Standing by the car door, naked, she felt the bricks of the expensive driveway on the soles of her bare feet. They were warm from a long summer day. The sun was long gone now, though, and darkness was close and thick around them. She wiggled her toes on the bricks and peered around.

There were definitely trees. She could see the shadows of their branches swishing and swaying high above in a wind that was so gentle on the ground that she barely felt it. There was no noise of traffic, no honking of horns, only the croaking of frogs and the song of crickets. Melanie guessed they might be in the country somewhere.

But this was no remote woods. The other darkness that loomed out of the night was the shape of a great house. As Ms. Reid left the car, its lights began to bloom one by one, setting the night ablaze. Melanie gasped. This wasn’t your average McMansion. There was no placing a price on this kind of house. Its architecture alone was royal, and its proportions were grandiose. Melanie suddenly felt very small. “Do you live here?” she asked Ms. Reid.

Ms. Reid looked at her sideways, and for a bare moment, Melanie thought she saw the flash of a cold, mischievous grin. “Some of the time,” Ms. Reid answered. “Follow me. We’re going to start right away.”

Melanie did exactly as she was told, feeling her anticipation build as they passed from warm brick garden path into cold, sterile marble foyer. Inside the opulent building, the walls were as white as an operating room. There were no soft furnishings that Melanie could see, only bare, hard surfaces and display cabinets. The items contained there made Melanie’s breath catch and her pussy ring anew with sensual desire. They were metal, glass, and plastic; hailing from all eras of medical science and development. Melanie could only guess at what some of them were for. She wanted to know all of it.

“Melanie. Don’t dawdle.”

Melanie scampered back behind Ms. Reid, eager to see where she was being led. They entered a long, featureless hallway with blank doors on each side. Ms. Reid stopped at one and opened it. The room beyond was as sterile and featureless as the rest of the mansion. “Go sit on that.”

It looked a lot like a chair. The reason that Melanie knew that it wasn’t one was that it also featured straps at the wrists, ankles, middle, and neck. This chair was for restraining people. In a few minutes, Melanie was sure, it would restrain her. Something about the idea of being trapped for forced treatment was more than just appealing. Melanie’s pussy throbbed in time with her heart as she allowed Ms. Reid to strap her in.

“I’m going to put a headset on you,” Ms. Reid said, turning to a white cabinet in the corner. “You don’t need to do anything but watch.” When she turned, it was in her hands: a silver helmet with goggles covering the eyes. Its surgical curvature made Melanie tingle a little more. For a second, she forgot that she was strapped down and tried to reach for it. Strong leather cuffs restrained her hands. She pulled a little. They didn’t even give an inch.

Ms. Reid’s smile was cruel, cold, vicious. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, Ms. Reid.”

“Good. Because there’s no getting out of this now.” Ms. Reid advanced on her, chest heaving inside her starched white shirt. She leaned over Melanie, coming oh so close, but not quite touching. Melanie felt her hot breath on her lips, smelled an intoxicating scent—lemons and rosemary—over the hospital-like smell of disinfectant radiating from her helmet. “You’re my subject from here on,” Ms. Reid breathed. “And that means you follow all my instructions.” Without waiting for Melanie to respond, Ms. Reid fitted the helmet over her head in one swift motion.

Inside, it was dark. Melanie’s heart jumped, wondering what was in store for her, but just as she became worried, a movie started. It was an ad. “Try Pelexa!” said a skinny blonde sitting at a table. “Restrains, immobilizes, and brainwashes with one easy-to-swallow pill!”

The video was flashing in a funny way, as though the background were strobing. Melanie felt herself sliding, falling, becoming formless mental putty ready to be shaped. And she wanted to try Pelexa.

“Become a slave!” chirped the woman, popping a pill.

“Look into the spiral!” The woman sprawled on a couch, boneless, staring into space. A spiral played over her. Melanie felt a surge of lust at the sight of such a helpless, ready subject. Just like her.

“Obey your commands like a good slave!” Now another woman, a redhead, was sitting with her, directing her. The blonde sat up, gaze fixed, head slightly tilted. Her mouth hung open as she stepped forward. The redhead easily raised the blonde’s arms, then cuffed them into hanging restraints. The blonde didn’t resist as the redhead began to strip her naked.

Melanie didn’t completely feel herself beginning to drool. Nor was she aware that her mind was being hijacked by her desire for Pelexa. She wanted to feel that little green pill slide down her throat. She wanted to hang from the ceiling, helplessly brainwashed, as a lithe redhead beat her with a riding crop once, twice, three times.

“Pelexa!” The jingle that played with the presentation of the drug’s logo somehow made Melanie want to scream with arousal. Her pussy had begun to soak her thighs as they rubbed together of their own accord trying hard to grant her some relief. The thought of being drugged to mindlessness with Pelexa was so erotic, so tantalizing, that she couldn’t imagine not being allowed to take the green pill. Her fingers worked as her wrists struggled against her restraints. She needed to touch herself. She needed to come!

But something new was happening before her eyes. The light still strobed in that eerie, hypnotic way, but now, a strange, wiry device appeared on the screen. “Ever want your mouth to stay wide, wide open?” Purred a gentle female voice. “Of course you do! I want your mouth to be open. I want to stick my big dildo into it and watch you gag.”

Melanie could almost feel the giant dildo entering her throat. She gagged. Yes. It was so good to choke on a dildo like this. An image of a woman with black hair wearing the wire in her mouth made her gasp with pleasure. It did hold her mouth open very well. Melanie could almost feel the wires, their cold and clinical pressure holding her lips open. Her mouth was so wide and she was so helpless to close it, so unable to resist. As the woman before her took a giant black silicone cock in her mouth, Melanie tasted something enter her own wide jaws, pushing down her throat again and again in concert with the image in the ad. She moaned as she was used, made to desire this submission as much as she desired that it were Ms. Reid at the other end of that cock…

“You want to pump your breasts.”

It was a new ad. This one featured only the image of a beautiful device that Melanie had never seen before. It was glass, a shapely cup attached to a long rubber tube. There was a gauge, a hand pump. What could it be?

“You want to pump your breasts.”

There was a beautiful, soft breast now. Melanie was fascinated. Her vision strobed and she felt that falling sensation again, the one that told her she was nothing but a good slave, good slave, good slave. The breast was full, topped by a sweet nipple that became perky when a hand flicked it.

“You want to pump your breasts.”

The glass cup fit over the delicate mound of flesh as though made for it. Then the hand that had done the flicking took the pump and squeezed. The breast swelled, growing inside the suction of the glass cup. Melanie felt her clit throb. Never had she wanted anything more than this. The hand pumped until the breast filled the glass, huge, trapped.

“You want to pump your breasts.” Her vision strobed.

“I want to pump my breasts,” Melanie whispered. “Oh please, please pump my breasts. Please. Please…” Her nipples were in agony. They needed to feel the cold glass, the pressure, the pain. It was what she wanted. What she needed.

Then the image was gone. The shock of the room disoriented her, made her feel lost and upset, horny and helpless, strapped in the chair. But then there was Ms. Reid. She stood before Melanie holding the one thing that could bring her joy. The pump.

“I want to pump my breasts,” Melanie heard herself say. And it was true. It was all that was true. There was nothing else in her mind. “I want to pump my breasts.”

“Good,” Ms. Reid said, her smile coy. “I think I’ll help you. There’s nothing you can do to object, anyway. Your mind is so supple, Melanie. Let’s see about your breasts.”

Melanie’s nipples were already as hard as stones. Ms. Reid stood by her side and pinched them, testing their firmness, before taking Melanie’s entire breast in her hand and kneading it until Melanie moaned. “I think you’ll fit the largest pump,” Ms. Reid said. She fit it over Melanie’s breast as Melanie’s vagina dripped onto the chair. The first pump made Melanie gasp with satisfaction, pleasure, pain. The agony increased as Ms. Reid pumped again, then again. Melanie’s breast had swollen to an enormous size within the glass bulb. Her wrists strained at their bonds, not to stop her torturer, but to grasp at her swollen, desperately weeping pussy. Seeing this, Ms. Reid smiled.

“A good result,” she said. “But when a patient like you becomes hysterical, there’s only one thing to do.” Her fingers were deft, professional, and dexterous. They toyed with Melanie’s clit, playing in her pubic hair and teasing the opening of her vagina before plunging in. Melanie gasped as Ms. Reid’s thumb hit her clit again and again, every deep thrust reminding her that there was nothing she could do to stop this. Her breast screamed. Her vagina screamed. Melanie screamed, too, a crashing orgasm rendering her a prisoner in her own body, a slave to her own reactions, her mind filled with the sensation of the pump on her tit and the desperation for Ms. Reid’s pumping hand in her snatch.

The pressure on her breast suddenly released. Melanie released the last of her breath hard as she collapsed back onto the table, wet and woozy from the force of her orgasm. “I want…” she whispered. “I want to pump my breasts.”

Ms. Reid brought her sticky fingers up to Melanie’s face. “Lick them,” she ordered. Melanie obeyed, helpless, obsessed still with the pump and its ability to enslave her. The taste was sweet and acrid, like lemonade with pomegranate. Ms. Reid looked satisfied.

“Good slave,” she said. “I know you want to pump your breasts, but for now, we’re done with that.”

Fear seized Melanie. “But...I want…”

“I know. And you’ll get to. Later.” Ms. Reid placed the pump on a metal table next to the open cabinet. Then, she retrieved the helmet from a shelf inside. Her eyes danced as her smile became somehow crueler. Melanie struggled against her restraints in weak futile bursts, trying to reach for the pump. They were to strong. She was too weak. Ms. Reid watched, pleased, and brought the helmet back down over Melanie’s head. The pattern of flashing strobes was already playing, and Melanie’s mind fell into it as though it were a black hole. She would obey. Obedience was pleasure. Pleasure was obedience. Ms. Reid’s voice penetrated her deepening trance. “You’ll just have to wait for your reward until we’re done. We have many, many more products to test tonight.”