The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Images played on the screen. Stock footage of scientists working with chemicals and animals. Ominous music played as the announcer’s voice came in.

“Goodallazine,” he said. “A chemical created with only the best of intentions. But now…” The image switched to the scales of justice, a stack of papers falling on one side, knocking them out of balance. A graphic of the word “DIVORCE,” in lettering to make it look like a red rubber-stamp slammed across the screen diagonally with a loud thud. “It’s cost you your marriage!”

The image changed to a serene duck pond with a park bench in front of it. A man in an expensive suit leaned against the back of the bench, looking into the camera. A peaceful, friendly smile was on his face; as if he’d been for a nice stroll around the park and hadn’t noticed his old pal, the camera, sitting there and decided to stop by. Everything about him exuded serene confidence, and the music changed to stock tranquil commercial music.

“Our society is being changed dramatically,” he said calmly to his old friend. “New laws on marriage and divorce are being written practically every day. It can be a scary, confusing time, and that’s why the law offices of Jason Litwack are here for you.”

A caption identified the man as “Jason Litwack, Attorney at Law” as he took a seat on the bench to continue his brief chat with the camera.

“My team and I are charting new areas of Divorce Law every day. Unusual new terms are coming into our profession all the time; such as ‘Involuntary Adultery,’ ‘Non-Consensual Abandonment,’ ‘Medically-Compelled Public Indecency,’ and so many others. We’re here to help you through this devastating period.” He bowed his head and shook it on the word “devastating.” Jason stood up and looked back into the camera.

“Goodallazine has cost you your happy home. It shouldn’t have to cost you everything.”

More tranquil stock music played as the phone numbers and addresses of the various law offices of Jason Litwack appeared on the screen.

The image changed, and the end of the commercial was seen playing on a screen in a television studio set up for a panel discussion. Carlton Sage, the veteran newsman who hosted the show and sat at the head of the table, turned to face the studio camera.

“That was the latest commercial from one of our guests, Jason Litwack, Attorney at law. Good evening, I’m Carlton Sage, and you’re watching LiveFire, live from our Washington D.C. studio.” He changed tone from a welcoming one to a stern one. “Goodallazine: often called the ‘Pink Plague.’ One year ago, today, San Francisco; the first attack by members of the so-called ‘Sons of Adam’ terrorist organization and their hood-wearing, voice-disguised leader, Adam One.”

A picture of the now familiar hooded figure filled the screen. A figure seen many times in the media, and many more in the nightmares of free-thinking women the world over, always with some famous former lesbian servicing him in his videos, now devoted to him and his cock by the pheromone’s effects.

“And in that year,” he continued. “As the global manhunt for Adam One has continued, seventeen more cities around the globe; and the authorities are still unable to agree on a discernible pattern, have fallen prey to them. Tonight, we take a look back on how the world has changed in that time. We’ll open up phone lines at our second commercial break. Let’s introduce our panel.”

He turned to face the guests. The camera cut to each one as he introduced them, and they all nodded sagely as their names were given.

“Jason Litwack, Attorney at Law; whose commercial we just viewed. Seated next to him, Father James McKenna of the local D.C. parish will discuss how Goodallazine has affected the Church. Haley Smoot is here, from the newly-formed Department of Women’s Security, to talk about what the government is doing to take care of Goodallazine victims. Dr. Jennifer Park, a Sociologist with Georgetown University will discuss changes in our society in the last year, and what they mean for the future. And next to her is Kenzie Starnes, representing the Coalition for Women’s Rights Now; credited with creating the #WhileWeStillCan hashtag. Our panel tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen. They’re under LiveFire!”

The opening graphic to the show displayed each word of the title being shot around the bullseye of a target until the line above it said “Live,” and the line below said “Fire.” They merged into the LiveFire logo over the bullseye.

Two work vans, advertising janitorial services, pulled up to the Service Entrance of the television studios where LiveFire was being aired, and other shows with studio audiences were being taped at the same time. Through the window inside, a guard saw the vans and checked the schedule on his clipboard. Janitorial wasn’t supposed to arrive for another two hours.

One never knows where that mistake, that moment of carelessness that brings about the end of one’s life, might be made. When one might be standing on a chair to change a light bulb and fall and break one’s neck, answer the door while cooking and get into a conversation and forget that you left the open cooking oil bottle too close to the stove and return in time for it to blow up in your face, drop something in the car and bend to pick it up and not see that the vehicle ahead has stopped. The security guard made his when he decided not to call it in. A fatal vocational error caused him to not be suspicious. Arriving up to an hour beforehand to unload their equipment had happened before, but two must be some kind of misunderstanding. They still had time to go get dinner and come back before they had to be there. He’d just go politely let them know, and maybe they’d pick him up something from wherever they decide to go. He walked out, toward the driver’s side door that was now opening.

“Hey,” he told the man stepping out of the driver’s seat as the rear doors opened as well. “You Guys’re way early. If you want…”

He didn’t complete the sentence before the man pulled out a suppressed pistol and put two rounds through the guard’s head. One of the men that came out of the back of the truck dragged his body in-between the two vehicles and started searching the corpse for his keycard. Another stepped toward the door that the guard had been walking out of and was now automatically shutting and dropped a crowbar in the door’s path to keep it from closing. He stepped in, making sure the door was still blocked open, and secured the guard’s station. From there, he was able to watch the cameras and press the button that opened the steel garage doors that the vans had parked in front of.

More people emerged from the vans, pushing cleaning carts full of chemicals and other things. The man in the guard’s station let them in and turned on his radio as he watched the cameras.

“Involuntary Paternity is an area in which we’re seeing more and more cases.” Jason Litwack told the camera. “Some of these men just don’t want the responsibility of caring and feeding for a woman for the rest of their lives just because she, driven insane by this horrible chemical, jumped him on the street. A year ago, you needed a prescription for erectile dysfunction medicine. Tonight, I could go out to the vending machine in the hall and buy a bottle of Viagra if I wanted. Sex and the legalities thereof are changing, and so must lawyers.”

“Sure, it’s been great for business for you.” Kenzie Starnes commented. “Divorce Attorney has become the fastest-growing profession, with Wedding Planner a distant second. But what happens to the women who lose cases against you, Counselor? What’s done with them? Either sent to an asylum, a life of prostitution, or becoming the Neighborhood Slut in order to vicariously get some of what this stuff has made their bodies demand from that man.”

She turned to Haley Smoot.

“And what is the government doing about it? What are we doing to protect our daughters? Locking them away in prison camps!”

Haley Smoot cleared her throat before speaking.

“The Protective Camps are, thus far, the best protection we have been able to provide these girls. Goodallazine affects women of child-bearing age; it doesn’t recognize Age of Consent. Protective Detention, at least until they reach Age of Consent, is the best measure we can take for them until a cure can be found.”

“I’ve heard stories about the camps.” Kenzie replied. “How any pornographer would give his left testicle to sneak a camera into one of them, and a few just may have! Stories of guards accepting bribes to let men have ‘a few minutes’ with one of the girls. And what are they being taught in there? Math? Science? History? No! They’re taught how to one day please your man; and at night, they teach each other what girls can do to get some relief from the constant arousal without a man.”

“Which is why the Church is relaxing our views on homosexuality.” Father McKenna interrupted. “Families are coming together as women do the right thing and men realize they have little choice but to embrace marriage and the traditional family. The fact that incidents of rape are at an all-time low proves my point.”

“By force!” Dr. Park interjected. “Because this substance is giving them that ‘little choice’ of which you’re so fond. And there are fewer incidents of rape, because women are being turned into virtual Sex Zombies! In the past year, we’ve seen chastity belts come back into fashion! And a woman wearing a gas mask or paper filter throughout her day is an everyday sight. Your agency,” she turned to Haley Smoot to say. “Has done some good work, providing lockers in women’s restrooms containing Nuclear/Biological/Chemical suits in the event of an attack. But every day, every woman lives in fear that her home or work might suddenly become a Pink Zone. That she might abandon her life and family for the nearest convenient cock. Reports of incest INcrease every time there’s an attack, because sometimes, that nearest cock might belong to a relative, but they’re too crazed with lust to recognize that it’s wrong.”

Pink Zone had become the common term for an area affected by Goodallazine. During the Paris attack, a reporter mistranslated “Hot Zone” as “Pink Zone,” and the phrase caught on. In addition, because words like “fuck,” “cock,” and “cunt” were becoming commonplace words that one heard every day, television censors had been forced to adapt; and were more lenient than previously.

The camera turned to Carlton Sage. He turned to it and addressed the audience.

“Certainly, a lot to consider. We’ll go to the phones when we come back from these messages.”

The “cleaning crew” moved swiftly through the building.

Wherever there was a door that could be opened to the outside, they opened it; windows, as well. Men and women in janitor’s jumpsuits walked into every women’s restroom in the building, rammed a long spike through the NBC Suit Lockers a few times, then covered the holes with duct tape. By the time anyone noticed them, it would be too late.

Meanwhile, two men carried one of the cleaning carts to the roof. They removed the false cover, with the top halves of bottles of cleaning products glued to the top, to reveal the device. Two large metal tanks were connected to a small explosive that would rupture the tanks and send the Goodallazine inside into the air. One of the men looked over at the Mall and could see the Washington Monument, lit up at night, in the distance. He snickered and pointed it out to his companion.

“Gonna be a lot of that tonight.” He pointed out. The other man chuckled, then got back to business. He set the timer on the device for ten minutes, then informed the others over the radio that it was armed.

The rest of the group abandoned their carts and made their way back to the service entrance.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” One of the women on the crew asked one of the men on their way out.

“You sure did, Baby.” Came his reply. “You’re definitely getting some when we get back to the hideout.”

The woman squealed with glee as she skipped her way into the truck, the crotch of her uniform and those of the others already soaking in anticipation of their reward for obeying their masters.

“We’re back,” Carlton Sage told the camera. “And we’re ready to take our first call. Hello, Nick from Orlando. You’re Live, Fire Away.” He said his trademarked catchphrase with a serious nod, as always.

“Hi, Carlton.” Nick from Orlando’s voice said over the studio speakers. “Longtime viewer, first time caller. I just wanted to ask: What about the GOOD that Goodallazine has done for the world. I mean, yes, Adam One has twisted it for evil; but there are scientists working on a cure, and it’s been serving its original intended purpose well. Species that were once on the brink of extinction are making a comeback.

Carlton turned back to the panel and looked them over.

“Nick has a point. Goodallazine appears to work across species. The bald eagle, the panda; even the whales are slowly returning. Some are suggesting that in time, the Great American Buffalo may roam the plains in herds again. Dr. Park, you look like you have something to say on this.”

“Yes, I do, Carlton.” Dr. Jennifer Park replied as the camera cut to her and displayed her name and credentials at the bottom of the screen. “At what cost, Nick? Women are losing their free will to this biochemical, agreeing with ‘whatever Master says.’ Some men have harems, women who are still US citizens, with the right to vote, who’ll vote whatever way their man tells them to if he promises them a ride on his cock afterwards. One man can now have between five to ten votes! Politics is becoming the realm of a handful of privileged men again.”

“If I might interject a moment, Dr. Park.” Jason Litwack said. The camera immediately turned to him. “It almost sounds like you’re suggesting we repeal the 19th Amendment or create some new 3/5ths Compromise.”

“Certainly not! We need to rethink, not repeal.” She replied. “This is not a slippery slope fallacy, this is a foreseeable chain of events. Human endeavor will shift focus to procreation; to the exclusion of all other pursuits. We can forget about going to Mars or curing cancer, because everyone will be too busy fucking and consuming enough food to survive before going right back to it to care. Until the food runs out, too; because no one’s farming anymore. We’ll become a planet that does nothing but starve and fuck in the dark when people stop maintaining the electricity. But hey, at least the Siberian white tiger will be OK, right?”

“Looks like there’s no easy answer there.” Carlton Sage cut in. “Thanks for calling, Nick. Next up is Chloe from Chicago; one of the cities to fall prey to Goodallazine. Chloe, You’re Live, Fire Away.”

“Hi, Mr. Sage!” Chloe’s voice bubbled over the speakers. “First time viewer, first time caller. I just wanted to tell Dr. Park that Goodallazine is the best thing that ever happened to me.” The sound of fingers on wet flesh could be heard over the phone. “I love my new life, and so do my Master’s other girls! I used to be a wanton slut. Men, women, I didn’t care. Now I am HIS slut, and I have a purpose; and now when I play with other women, it’s for HIS enjoyment. And nothing could make me happier. I look forward to giving him many children, and so do my sisters. What could be wrong with that?”

Dr. Park was about to speak when Kenzie Starnes cut her off.

“You weren’t given a choice!” She yelled. “If the Chloe who existed before you were the victim of a terror attack were asked if this was the life she wanted, what would she say? The contentment that you feel is artificial, brought on by a chemical that terrorists released into the atmosphere! And you called him ‘master!’ Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

The wet sounds on Chloe’s end became more intense, as did her breathing. This was also becoming a commonplace occurrence; that women afflicted by the chemical, in the absence of the man it had bonded them to, had mostly been able to rejoin society, albeit now with a never-ending lust for their man’s cock. A woman touching herself discreetly in public was becoming something that people politely ignored, unless she was being too blatant about it. Arguments about women breastfeeding in public became a thing of the past, once arguments about women trying to quietly attain orgasm in public, so that they might be able to function in society for a couple of hours before the lust rose to uncontrollable levels again, became prevalent. It was now regarded as tacky for anyone but her man or another Goodallazine-afflicted woman to “offer their assistance” or join along.

“It tells me…” Chloe was starting to gasp her words out. “That I’m happy. Who cares… NNGH… Ohhhh

fuck!” she breathed heavily for a moment. They patiently waited for Chloe to recover. “If some chemical is making me happy. The point is that I am, and you should mind her own business.”

Chloe ended the call.

“Artificially-induced or not.” Jason Litwack spoke up. “There’s no denying that Chloe’s found some kind of happiness in the world. Isn’t that what we all want?”

The question was rhetorical, but Haley Smoot answered it.

“Americans are guaranteed the rights to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. Not the infliction of it, Mr. Litwack. This chemical forces women into a specific life, deprives them of liberty, and then convinces them that they’re too happy to care!”

“And the best solution that the Government has come up with is to send our daughters away to one of their Lesbian Summer Camps for the next six-to-eight years?” Kenzie Starnes asked. “Nobody outside your department is even allowed to check on these girls; see what you’re doing to them, how you’re treating them!”

“The locations are kept classified for the girls’ safety. Your earlier comment about pornographers trying to sneak in cameras would be a common occurrence if they weren’t.”

“Except for the fact that it DOES happen, and the videos are selling like hotcakes on the black market!” Kenzie responded.

Carlton Sage sensed that he was losing control of the discussion and cut in.

“Thank you, ladies, but I think we have time for another caller. Bethany, from right here in Washington D.C.! Hi, Bethany. You’re Live, Fire Away.”

“Hi, Carlton, longtime viewer, first-time caller.” An electronically-altered deep voice, recognizable to everyone who could hear it from his videos, boomed from the speakers. “Bethany had to step away from the phone for a moment.” Adam One said over the line. “I’ve been watching the show tonight, and I’ve found your discussion most riveting. I thought I’d join in.”

There was the sound of an explosion from above the studio. Everything shook, and there was silence for a moment. No sound but the sound of the building’s air-conditioning turning on, pumping air from the roof into all of the vents in the building. Kenzie Starnes opened the first two buttons of her blouse as she yelled to the camera.

“YOU BASTARD!” She shouted into the camera, opening more buttons. “Do you know what kind of damage you’ve done to this world?”

Behind her, Haley Smoot began squirming in her seat as Dr. Park casually began caressing her breast.

“I’ve just leveled the playing field, Miss Starnes. You’re a beautiful woman. How many men have you ‘shot down?’ How many broken hearts have you left in your wake without a single care in the world? How many did you chastise for ‘going for someone out of their league?’ Well, now there ARE no more ‘leagues.’ ANY woman can be ‘attainable’ for any man! How does that make you feel, Kenzie?” He asked as her breathing quickened and she ripped her blouse open. Haley began slipping out of her pantsuit. Dr. Park had worn a simple dress to the show and was able to slip out of it in one move, working on her bra and panties next as the men sat dumbfounded.

Kenzie’s response was to start panting as she threw off her blouse, exposing her breasts to the home audience.

“You fucking… fuck… need… fuck…” She turned to Jason Litwack. “GIVE ME THAT COCK!”

The other women took their cue and jumped on Father McKenna and Carlton Sage.

As security tried to stop them, the Goodallazine made its way through the ventilation system to the rest of the building. Goodallazine detectors were still new to the market and weren’t installed everywhere yet, so it wasn’t until it made it to the ground floor that alarms began to sound and the lockers in the women’s restrooms automatically opened, revealing NBC suits that now had several holes in them. Panicked women in the building, either working late in offices or taping other shows, began running for the bathrooms. They felt a momentary feeling of safety before noticing the holes in their suits and being overcome with lust as the chemical worked its way into their lungs.

In a studio where a popular sitcom was being recorded before a studio audience, the actresses stopped saying their lines and began rubbing up against their male cast members. The studio audience was doing the same to the crew and each other, but there weren’t enough men to go around. Over on the set of a game show, a contestant impaled herself on a microphone while the women in the studio audience mobbed the host and male contestants.

Women who’d been working alone or unable to find a man when the Goodallazine hit began stumbling out of their offices, ripping away their clothing as they went, in search of a cock, any cock. One seemed to remember where she knew there were men and started to run for the stairs. Other women, sensing that she was on to something, started running after her.

“So, now, Carlton,” Adam One said as Haley Smoot straddled the man’s chair and shoved his face into her breasts as she worked the fly on his pants. “You can add Washington D.C. to your list.”

Adam One hung up as the invisible pheromone spread out over the city, blowing across the Potomac, toward the centers of government. A mob of frenzied, naked and half-naked women poured into the studio.

They descended on the men in packs. One turned and spotted the cameraman. She ran for him and five others followed suit. They knocked the camera over and it fell to the ground and brok….

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