The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


by Vendatrix


“Make her kneel,” the buyer said.

“Why don’t you make her kneel,” answered Max, and handed him the remote control console.

The buyer nervously held the small black console that Max had told him controlled not only the girl’s movements, but her very thoughts and impulses.

“Just scroll down until you see the command,” added Max helpfully. The buyer’s thumb flicked the knob and he stopped at “KNEEL”. He pressed the command button. The girl behind the glass in the Viewing Chamber obediently dropped gracefully to her knees.

“Excellent,” murmured the buyer, and stroked his thin black beard.

“She also responds to voice commands, just like the old models,” said Max. “Just press that button on the side and speak naturally.”

The buyer followed the suggestion, and said, “Massage your breasts.”

The girl’s hands rose to her breasts, and she began caressing them slowly, first cupping them in her palms and then using her slender fingers to tweak her erect nipples and stroke the rounded orbs. Her face wore an expression of dreamy rapture.

“What is she thinking?” asked the buyer. The usual first question.

“She isn’t thinking. She’s responding. She’s waiting for your next command,” said Max. He glanced down at the silver pocket watch kept open on his desk, ticking away with comforting precision. Max was a busy man, and he carefully managed his time.

The buyer looked thoughtfully at Max, and then at the girl behind the glass still playing with her breasts. “Max, I do believe you’re trying to induce me to make an up-front purchase.”

Max shrugged and flicked a speck of lint off his dark pinstripe suit. I don’t need to induce anybody, my friend. The product sells itself. I was just demonstrating the latest enhancements to our dolls. May I see the console, please? Thank you.” Max’s fingers danced over the control panel with practiced ease. The girl’s hands dropped to her side, and she slowly rose to her feet. The doll’s hair was cut so that her glossy bangs curled just past her neckline. She looked ahead, her expressionless green eyes focused in the middle distance. Her body was lithe and athletic, her breasts nicely rounded without the ballooning size favored by younger clients. Her pubic hair was tastefully trimmed, and her legs were shapely as she stood balanced on slim high heels. Responding to Max’s programming fingers, the girl knelt down again, this time on all fours—back arched, her chin up, and her rounded ass raised high.

“With this generation of dolls, we’ve done some interesting things with the pelvic movement,” said Max. More light tappings by Max on the controls, and the girl’s hips began to undulate invitingly, with her breasts swaying in seductive syncopation. “Nicht schlecht, nein?,” said Max. Not bad, eh? The buyer noticed the slight trace of pride in Max’s Bavarian accent, like a craftsman modestly boasting about his latest work. Well, why not? thought the buyer. The two men settled down into serious negotiation. They spoke in German, Max’s native language, and talked dollars.

Several hundred miles away, Tamantha stood in the bright sunshine admiring the docked cruise ship. The scent of salt and adventure wafted through the air, and for the first time in six months she felt as carefree as the seagulls wheeling and soaring over the harbor. Some deckhands passed by them on the dock, and Tamantha felt warmed by their lingering backward glances. With her shipboard outfit carefully put together—high-heeled sandals, loose cotton blouse, shorts that stopped at high-thigh, and brightly colored scarf—she looked like a model posing for seaside photo opportunity.

“Well, at least the ship looks first class,” she said to her companion Kira.

Kira raised her sunglasses and gave the gleaming hull a careful inspection. Black, glossy hair framed her oval oriental face. Tamantha had never quite figured out her friends’s tangled oriental linage—part Japanese, part Thai, a mix of other eastern origins—but the net result of this genetic mix was the look of a jade princess. Many businessmen had been so dazzled by Kira’s exotic looks that they soon found themselves utterly confounded by her abacus-like mind. They would later wonder in their hotel rooms how that lithe oriental girl could be so demure and charming while expertly fleecing them in the day’s negotiation.

“It ought to be, Tamantha, for the price we’re paying. We’ll spend the next six months at work just paying for this trip.”

“But you agree it was time we took a break from investment banking,” asked Tamantha.

Kira shrugged, hefted her laptop computer. “Some break. We’ll be online most of the time. We still have several deals waiting to close. How you got us vacation time is beyond me.”

Tamantha looked over the top of her sunglasses. “Blackmail.”


“The Vice-President made a rather indelicate invitation on our last trip together to London. Silly man, didn’t realize my portable dictaphone was still on. When I played it back for him, he was, shall we say, unnerved. So we made a deal: You and I finally get a vacation and a bonus, and he avoids a sexual harassment lawsuit and saves his marriage... for the time being, that is.”

Kira shook her head. “Your a wonder, Tamantha. Now let’s go join our pleasure cruise, shall we?” The two women stroke up the gangplank with carry-on luggage and were met by an officer in a crisp white uniform. He saluted them when they gave him their names. “Welcome aboard, ladies,” he said with an appreciative up-and-down glance, and gestured to the guest book.. “You two are the last of our women passengers to embark. As soon as you sign the guest log, it’s off to the Greek islands.” Both girls signed their names with a flourish. He gave them directions to their cabin. One of the deckhands took Tamantha’s carrying case from her hands and almost dropped it. Tamantha gave him a withering look, the kind she gave fumbling office boys. “First day on the job?” she asked, then strode off with her friend.

As they made their way down the deck to find their room, a gorgeous girl sauntered past. Her skin was deeply tanned, her hair sun-bleached to a radiant blonde, and undulating hip roll in her walk had nothing to do with the gentle ocean swell. Tamantha caught sight of polished gold medallion, about the size of a silver dollar, suspended beneath the girl’s slender throat by a gold necklace. The medallion read: “Cari”. On the girl’s thong-string bikini bottom was attached a small box, like a pager. Tamantha glared at the girl’s bouncing glossy blonde hair, comparing it in her mind to her own dark brown hair cut mannishly short.

After she passed, Tamantha said, “Did you see that hussy? Do you call that scrap of nothing a swimsuit?”

Kira said, “Looks like you may have some competition in finding a hunk on this ship to for recreation.”

“Ha. I can dazzle them with my mind. But you and I both have too much work to do to go romping around. Let them come to us, then we’ll choose. After all, this cruise was advertized for single professionals.” They passed rowing machines bolted against the seaboard side of the deck. “Looks like people like to take their exercise outdoors on this ship,” she said.

They found their cabin number and opened the door. The room was both spotless and luxurious. Sunlight streamed in the wide windows, washing the entire room in bright colors. Tamantha studied the large-screen television built into the wall across from the beds, and the music system, complete with padded earphones, built into the bed headboards. “All the comforts of home,” she commented.

“According to the schedule, dinner at seven tonight. Guess we’d better dress up. Maybe we can hold off our work until tomorrow,” said Kira.

“Suits me,” said Tamantha. “The brochure said casual dress, so that’s what I’m wearing.”

At dinner, they realized that casual dress on this ship meant really casual. About half the girls were wearing swimsuits or shorts-and-tops that covered no more than swimsuits. The two girls took their seats at the table that held their placecards and surveyed the other passengers.

“Hi, I’m Tamantha, and this is my friend Kira,” Tamantha said. Then men around the table—most of them in their thirties, she guessed—greeted them with enthusiasm. One or two of the girls also glanced in their direction and smiled vacantly, then went back to giggling and giving adoring attention to the men they were next to. Again Tamantha noticed the gold medallions that some of the girls sported—the ones with the best figures and least clothes to hide it.

The officer who had greeted them at the gangplank arrived. He took a chair between Kira and Tamantha. “Anybody sitting here?” he asked pleasantly. Both girls shook their heads, and Kira offered one of her mysterious smiles. Flirting already, thought Tamantha. The fellow was handsome enough, with black curly hair and a dark tan of his own that spoke of a life at sea.

A girl sporting a necklace medallion and string bikini came by the table to take drink orders. The bikini was so skimpy that it barely covering the young woman’s nipples. Tamantha wondered how the girl was able to keep her balance with the high-heeled sandals which also appeared a part of the hostess uniform on this ship.

“You two are the new ones, right?” asked the officer. They both nodded. “Welcome aboard,” he said. “I hope you found your cabin to your liking. Any questions?”

“What are those badges some of the girls are wearing,” asked Tamantha.

“Oh, those are worn by all our hostesses. If you need anything, just ask one of them.”

Kira noticed one of the male guests reach over to one of the hostesses and let his hand slide down the smooth tanned skin of her flanks as he asked her for more wine. “Looks like we won’t be the only ones doing the asking,” she whispered to her friend Tamantha.

“We leave port tonight,” said the officer. “In a few hours we will be out to sea, headed for our first island, Mykonos. You two should get a good night sleep tonight. You might try those headphones, they have a tape made of ocean sounds, perfect for falling asleep.”

On their way back to the cabin, the two girls passed a door labeled “Sick Bay”. “Let’s check it out, in case one of us gets seasick. They opened the door and both reacted in surprise.

The clinic was a large room, with over ten beds. The wall was covered by banks of medical equipment. A nurse looked up from a patient in a bed. “Can I help you,” the nurse asked solicitously.

“Uh, we were just looking around. We’re new on board,” said Tamantha. “Hope we didn’t intrude.”

“Not at all,” said the nurse. Tamantha noticed the nurse’s white smock was unbuttoned, revealing the glint of a gold medallion and the tanned skin of her torso. She too wore the high-heeled sandals and was uncommonly attractive.

“Is that your only patient here?” asked Kira. “Hope it’s nothing serious.”

The nurse said, “Oh, it’s nothing serious. Elective surgery, as a matter of fact. Part of spa services.”

“Really?” asked Tamantha. “I’ve been wanting to have a mole removed.”

“Not a problem,” said the nurse, her nurse’s hat bobbing with the nodding of her head. “Just let us know when, and I’m sure the doctor could schedule you in.”

“What’s she in for?” asked Kira, always the curious one, thought Tamantha.

“Implants and augmentation,” replied the nurse. “Standard procedure. The patient said she and her boyfriend have been wanting them for a while, and this is the first opportunity she could find the time, on her vacation. Would you like to see them?”

“Well, I don’t know—” said Tamantha.

“Sure, said Kira. The nurse flipped back the sheets to reveal a pair of enormous breasts. They had the shape and form of ripe honeydew melons, with erect nipples and plum-colored aureole.

“What do you think?” asked the nurse.

“Well, I can’t see a single blemish,” said Kira. “But . . . they’re huge!”

The nurse picked up the chart from the bed. “That’s what the patient wanted. See?” And both girls could see a questionnaire, with “Size of Augmentation” answered “The bigger the better” and signed by the patient, a Sandra Something-or-other, hard to read with her quick scrawl of a signature. “Our doctor on this ship is a world-class plastic surgeon, so this is probably one of the best places to have a procedure done. Let us know if we can help.” She carefully tucked the sheet back over the patient.

In the cabin, both girls exploded into pent up laughter. “Did you see the size of those knockers?” asked Tamantha.

“What do you do with them—store water?”

“I hope she enjoys sleeping on her back for the rest of her life!”

“If her boyfriend has any say in the matter, she’ll do more than just sleeping on her back.”

They both got ready for bed. Although the two women had been on business trips together, they had never been with each other in such relaxed surroundings. So they were both shy and a little curious.

Tamantha stole a glance of Kira before her naked form slipped into the shower. Tamantha gazed in envy: I wish I could be as slender and delicate as Kira, she thought. She felt an unexpected warmth in her loins. Oh, no, she thought, not that. A few minutes later, as Kira was drying herself and watching Tamantha slip into her satin pajamas, Kira thought: I’d give anything to have the curves that woman has. No wonder the men all hit on her, not me.

They both snuggled into their separate beds. Kira slept in the nude, Tamantha noticed, for out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of golden bare skin slide between the bed sheets. The deep growl of the engine and the slight rocking of the boat conspired with the excitement of the day to keep them both awake.



“I can’t sleep. I’m just lying here.”

There was a long sigh from across the room. “Me too, Tamantha. I usually sleep with a stuffed animal. Forgot to bring it along.”

They listened to the noises of the ship.

“You still awake, Tamantha?”


“I have an idea, I mean, since we both can’t sleep.”

Tamantha felt her heart beat faster. The idea of that lithe oriental girl slipping beside her made her want to fling the bed sheets open as an invitation. She felt the same hot-blooded stirrings that first touched her when she saw Kira in the shower.


“Well, I don’t know how you feel about this, Tamantha, but . . .”

“Go on.” Tamantha tried to keep her voice calm.

“Well, I was wondering if we shouldn’t try the headphones that guy told us about.”

Tamantha bit her lip in frustration. Oh, well. . .

“Sure, Kira, let’s try them out.” Tamantha leaned over and switched on the light. The two women withdrew the earphones from where they had been conveniently pegged to the headboards of their beds. They fumbled with the volume controls and then switched the light back out.

Tamantha felt the sensurating sound of gentle waves lapping on a synthetic shore, the soft blowing of a sea breeze in the background. Almost immediately she found the rhythms of the waves to soothing. . .her eyelids grew heavy. . .after a timeless passage, it’s almost as if wind seemed to speak to her, a soft whisper in her mind, telling her to relax . . .relax. . . .

In the control room deep inside the ship, a lean man with tousled hair and lips that usually maintained the half-smile of cheerful cynicism leaned over the computer console and sophisticated sound and neurological sensing equipment. He glanced over the monitors with a speed that bespoke a practiced experience.

“We seem to be getting good read-outs,” he said to his assistant manning the equipment. The lean man’s English was perfect, but he made no effort to disguise his French accent.

The younger man nodded. “The sensors in the headphones are reading their brain activity with no interference. Both women have entered the REM stage. . . brain-wave pattern is consistent. . .Kira is sleeping more soundly, Tamantha seems restless.”

“But still receptive, no?” asked the lean man.

“Correct, sir, still receptive.”

The lean man shook out a Gauloises Caporal cigarette from a packet marked “Filtre” and offered one to his assistant. The assistant shook his head slightly, his eyes still intent on the flickering monitors. The lean man put the packet back into the pocket of his blazer, the crackling of the cellophane wrapper the only counter-point to the beeps of the brain-wave console. He said, “Bon, mon enfant. . .let’s start the program.”

His assistant tapped the keyboard in front of him.

“Audio, please,” instructed the lean man, with a nod at the speaker. “Let’s see what the tape is telling her, now that her mind is open.” His assistant flipped a switch.

The voice came through as a contralto whisper, soft but relentless: “—going to relax this trip. I’m really going to relax this trip. . . I hate to work on my vacation. . . I hate to work on my vacation. . . maybe we can hunt for treasure. . . It would be so much fun to hunt for treasure. . .I really want to look my best when the men come on board. . .I really want to look my best when the men come on board. . . I really want to hunt for treasure. . .I really want—”

The assistant flipped off the switch. “Endless loop, sir.”

The lean man smiled without humor. “First lesson, you might say. Now visual, please. Night vision.”

The assistant touched one of the keys on his console. A monitor, one of a dozen on a built in shelf above their heads, flickered to life to reveal a wide-angle camera view of the two supine girls. Kira slept soundly, her oriental features utterly relaxed as her mind soaked in the message coming through the earphones. Her pert breasts could be seen rising and falling beneath the thin satin sheet in a slow rhythm to her relaxed breathing. Tamantha, on the other hand, tossed fitfully, and her brows knitted together against some errant fleeting dream-thought.

“Tamantha’s readouts show some mental agitation,” observed the assistant. “She seems to be wrestling with some problem. Might be she has feelings for this other girl.”

The lean man smoothed the silk scarf he wore in his shirt. “Hmm, could be. You saw how she looked at Kira before they went to bed. This could be interesting. Make a note in the file. Keep me advised of their progress. If they take the full lesson, we can go to stage one tomorrow.”

The assistant nodded without taking his eyes off his instruments. “Understood, Andre.”