The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In a small town in northwestern Massachusetts a man sat in a dented, rusty pickup truck, watching children being dropped off at the Happy Turtles Preschool.

Blue dress. Long, straight blonde hair. She looked like a little cherub. Her mother was always late picking her up in the afternoon. He could already picture the terror on her face…

He’s a sick animal, Jon. He needs to be put down. Please?

Don’t worry, Lauren. I know exactly what he needs.

He was hard, imagining her innocent little voice begging him to stop, as tears would be streaming down her face. He didn’t know it, but the final three minutes of his life were just beginning.

Terror! He felt the abject terror of a three-year-old girl having her stepfather hold her little arms as he yanked down her underwear.

Pain! The agony of first fingers and then a cock forced into the girl’s tiny vagina.

Fear! Thirteen years of accumulated constant fear, never knowing when he’d molest her again, but always knowing that it would happen.

Humiliation! Her twelve-year-old body betraying her and orgasming as he was fucking her ass. Him laughing and calling her his slut.

Panic! The vision fading to red and then gray as the stepfather’s cock was forced into her eight-year-old throat for the first time, cutting off her breath long enough for her to almost lose consciousness. Maybe death would be better than having him touch her ever again.

Broken! When she’d finally run away at sixteen, it was already too late. She was broken. Nobody would ever want her.

Lauren’s former stepfather was shaking violently in his seat, his nose bleeding. Over the course of thirteen years of his molestation, she’d split off multiple identities to cope with it. He didn’t have thirteen years, he’d had it all dumped into his brain over the past two minutes.

The entire agony of the fifteen years since she’d run away and had to live with the horrors he’d inflicted on her was pushed into him in one final minute. His heart began fibrillating uselessly and the last few seconds of his life passed with the crystal clear knowledge that he was dying and it was because of what he’d done to Lauren. He slumped forward onto the steering wheel.

The loud, constant horn drew attention from everyone at the preschool. They didn’t know that having to deal with a dead man was nothing compared to the horror he would have inflicted on them.

Am I a bad person for thinking that was a good thing, Jon?

No, hon, you’re not. It was a good thing. It was a very good thing. You saw what was in his mind. There were others. He had to be stopped.

He was so far away. How did you find him?

My power seems to extend to about 200 miles. I think that’s as far as it’s going to go. The changes are pretty much done now. Fortunately he was within 200 miles of us.

I’m glad that he’s gone. Thank you, Jon.

I’m glad, too, sweetie. You need to make us both presentable, though. We’re going to have visitors soon.

The conference room had emptied out after the “special patients” meeting, and it was being meticulously cleaned. Soon it would sport much better decor as it was readied for the Trustee’s luncheon and the quarterly update from the administration.

Five men rolled out mats on the floor and prepared to pray. With divine guidance, they would strike a blow to the Great Satan and all be martyred within a day, just like their brothers in arms had been less than a month earlier.

The kids were just off to school when the phone rang. Misty had been expecting the call. The meeting at the hospital could go on for hours, so she and the investigator decided on a 5 o’clock meeting time at his office. The housekeeper and cook would keep an eye on the kids when they got home from school and get dinner ready for them. She needed to get ready for the Trustee’s luncheon.

Never had Eric Rutherford so looked forward to actually working late. By noon an “irregularity” would be discovered and he’d stay very late, offering leadership, encouragement, and guidance for the the worker grunts. They’d all be there until at least midnight.

“Let me check first to make sure she’s not changing clothes or something.”

Dr. Puri opened the door a few inches and peeked inside. The woman was sitting in the chair next to the patient’s bed. Opening the door wider, she stepped into the room with Briggs right behind her.

“Hello Lauren. This is…”

He practically elbowed her aside, took one step forward, then froze with his hand half extended toward the stunning woman.

“Uh… BIG… Briggs.”

Dr. Puri saw his gaze fixed on what could easily be mistaken for a pair of volleyballs inside Lauren’s blouse. Pig.

“Uh, Malcolm Briggs. I’m the financial director here.”

Lauren shook his hand and gave him a sweet smile.

“Lauren Daly. Nice to meet you, Mr. Briggs.”

Briggs stood there awkwardly, then struggled to regain his composure.

“Yes. I understand you claim to be in a relationship with the patient… uh…”

“Jon. Jonathan Bradford. Yes, we’ve been dating for nearly two years. We live together.”

“Right. And are we supposed to just take your word for that?”

Ela gasped at the man’s rudeness.

“Well, I can tell you that Jon’s birthday is August 16th and he’s 40 years old. For his last birthday I got him a nice watch and had it engraved. He always wears it, but I suppose it was taken and put somewhere safe when he was admitted here. At least I hope it was, since it’s a very nice Citizen watch.”

Anything special you want the engraving to say?

You know how I feel about you, Jon. Take it from my heart.

Briggs leaned out into the hallway and summoned a nurse.

“Can you unlock his personal effects cabinet?”

The girl nodded and took a set of keys out of her pocket. She unlocked the cabinet above the bed and then stood back as Briggs looked inside. He took the watch out and flipped it over.

“I cherish every second we have together. LD,” he read, before he placed the watch back in the cabinet.

Show him your license.

I don’t have a driver’s license, Jon!

You do now.

A record was created in the main driver’s license database in Albany showing that Lauren not only had a driver’s license, but that she’d changed her address seven months earlier.

“I suppose I could have just showed you my license,” she said, digging it out of her purse.

Briggs took the license. Lauren Daly; five feet, seven inches tall; 128 pounds — he speculated that the 28 pounds might be in her chest — blue eyes; red hair…

“Is this Mr. uh…”

“Bradford?” Dr. Puri offered, trying not to show her disgust with the man.

“Yes. Is this his address?”

Dr. Puri flipped through the papers on Jon’s chart clipboard.

“Yes it is.”

“Well, that all seems to be in order. So can you tell us why you’re just showing up now?”

“Well, I, uh…”

Show time, baby girl. You’re about to get your wish.

“Lokkk,” Jon croaked. Ela Puri’s memories told him that someone who had been laid up in an ICU bed for a couple of weeks without speaking would be hoarse at first.

“He’s awake!”

Dr. Puri shoved Briggs out of the way and rushed to Jon’s bedside. She wished she’d thought to shove the prick harder.

“Don’t try to talk, Mr. Bradford. Your throat is going to be very dry. We’ll get you some water.”

The nurse had already left to get the water. The ICU staff worked like a well-oiled machine. Lauren had stepped up on the other side of the bed. Jon turned to look at her and gave her a big smile that melted her heart.

“Hi baby,” she said. “I was so worried about you.”

How’s my performance so far?

You’re doing great. You have beautiful eyes, Jon.

So do you, gorgeous. Watch me go for the Oscar now.

Jon shuddered and turned to Dr. Puri.

“Ko… Ko…” He croaked.

She looked up at the displays and gasped. His temperature had dropped to normal and was continuing to drop.

“He’s hypothermic! We need to get the wrap off him!”

She turned to Briggs and shoved him toward the door, using more force than was necessary but nowhere near as much as she wanted to.

“Get out of here,” she said, thumbing the nurse call button. “You can come back and vulture later, once he’s stable.”

Briggs left as three nursed rushed into the room. Lauren followed him so she wouldn’t be in the way.

“We need to talk, Ms. Daly…”

On I-91, just north of Brattleboro, Vermont, a car was smashed up against a tree. The man in the driver’s seat with a half-typed text message on the cell phone in his hand would soon be dead. He was fortunate that he’d die a few seconds before the leaking gas tank caught fire. The camera bag had launched from the passenger seat and smashed against the dashboard, destroying over ten thousand dollars worth of lenses and two Nikon camera bodies that were worth even more than the lenses. The data on the memory cards was intact, though. At least it would be intact for another minute or two, until the fire destroyed them…

Nobody in the room heard the tiny ‘pop’ as air was displaced. A moment before there hadn’t been a laptop case under the couch. Now there was. Inside the case was a top-of-the-line computer and a compact, but very capable, Nikon point-and-shoot camera (since no self-respecting photographer would go anywhere without a camera.) The sales database at the Manhattan Apple Store said that the laptop had been sold to Lauren Daly six weeks earlier. She’d even paid for the extended warranty and registered it. Neatly organized on the laptop were hundreds of photos that had only existed on memory cards in a wrecked car in Vermont just moments earlier. A similar entry existed for the camera in the database of one of the better New York camera shops on 9th Avenue.

“I’m a photographer, Mr. Briggs. I’ve spent the past three weeks in the wilderness in northern New England photographing wildlife and foliage. It wasn’t until last night that I heard about Jon’s sister. I got here as quickly as I could.”

It was hard to describe the feeling of Jon updating her knowledge. It was warm and tingly and… different. She now knew exactly where the photos on her new laptop had been taken and she also had the combined technical and artistic skills of the three best photographers in New York City.

Briggs seemed placated by her story. What he really wanted to talk about was money. She almost laughed out loud when Jon informed her that over $5,500 had been transferred from Briggs’ retirement account to the Apple Store and camera shops’ accounts to cover the laptop and camera. He didn’t like stealing, but the little asshole deserved it. That didn’t help with the hospital bill, though.

Dr. Puri had fought it, but Briggs had gotten his way. She’d rather keep Mr. Bradford in the ICU for another night, just in case something went wrong. But what appeared to be a complete miracle of a recovery gave Briggs enough leverage to get him transferred to a semi-private room on a general ward, to cut costs.

The man was an ass. Bradford had just come out of a coma, for God’s sake! Couldn’t he at least give him a single room so that he and his girlfriend could have some privacy?

Lauren didn’t care. She was happy just to sit with Jon, hold his hand, and look into his eyes. They didn’t need to speak, since he could communicate directly with her mind. Okay, there was one drawback: She really wanted to fuck him again!

Misty had kept her composure at the PI’s office. She’d sat stone-faced as he’d showed her the photographs. He hadn’t wanted to show her the videos, but she’d insisted. The telephone call while that girl was sucking him seemed like a hundred years ago and a thousand miles away. She thanked the investigator, paid him a generous bonus, and took the folder with the memory cards and hardcopy photos.

Sitting in her Jaguar, she cried. They both looked like her, only younger. How obvious was it that she wasn’t good enough for Eric any more? He was replacing her with younger versions — girls that didn’t have stretch marks from two pregnancies.

She was in pretty good shape. She devoted a lot of time to charity work, but she still worked out in the gym at home. Okay, she might be a few pounds heavier than perfection, but she still looked good. Women were SUPPOSED to curve! It had to be the stretch marks. She loved her children, but she hated her stretch marks.

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Eric. He was going to be working late. Right. Now she knew exactly what (or should she say WHO) he was working on those nights he stayed in the City.

She dried her eyes and then fixed her makeup in the mirror. She wanted to look perfect when she confronted him. Starting the Jag, she merged into traffic, headed toward Wall Street.

Lauren was experiencing Jon’s new world. As one, their consciousnesses were exploring Manhattan while they physically were still in the hospital room. To the left, she noticed an intense agony. It was a pain she recognized; the pain of betrayal. They turned toward it.

Misty wondered how long it had been going on. How long had her husband been fucking these girls? Were these even the first ones? Had there been others? Were there more now? Her eyes started to blur.

NO! No. She was going to hold it together. She was going to be calm and in control when she laid out the evidence of his cheating in front of him. She’d only show him the printed photos, keeping the memory cards hidden in her car. The photos would be enough. She’d show them to him… right after she went back to the hospital.

“I understand that you’re treating the brother of that poor girl who was killed by terrorists a couple of weeks ago?”

“We can’t divulge any information about patients, Ma’am.”

“Yes, yes, but I really need…”

“Misty? Is that you?”

She turned toward the new voice.

“Hello Gerald, nice to see you again. We need to talk.”

Gerald Blake had never seen Misty Rutherford looking so determined. He guided her away from the reception desk so they could speak with a little more privacy.

“What can I do for you? Did you have questions about the quarterly?”

“No. I need to see Jonathan Bradford. He’s a patient here.”

“Even if he was a patient here I couldn’t…”

“Nonsense! He’s in room 5122 right now. I need to speak to him and it’s urgent.”

Misty didn’t know how she knew where the man was or why she needed to speak to him. Other than his being the brother of that poor girl, she had no idea who he was. She knew that she absolutely had to talk to him, though. It was more important than dealing with her cheating husband.

“Let me call up to the fifth floor and see what I can find out.”

Blake picked up the nearest courtesy phone and asked for the fifth floor nurse’s station. The nurse there informed him that Jonathan Bradford was, indeed, in room 5122. Reluctantly he asked to be connected to the room.

“Hello, is this Mr. Bradford? Yes, Mr. Bradford, this is Gerald Blake, the hospital administrator. I’m here with… yes, Misty Ruther… You’re expecting her? Okay, thank you Mr. Bradford.”

He escorted Misty to the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor with her. He didn’t know why a Trustee wanted to see this patient, but he was going to make sure that everything went smoothly.

“Hello Mr. Bradford, it’s good to see you… again.”

Misty didn’t know where she’d seen him before or even if they’d other met, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“Hello. This is my girlfriend, Lauren Daly.”

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Daly.”

She turned to Blake.

“Why is he in a semi-private room? Aren’t there any private rooms available?”

“Well, you see, it’s an insurance thing and Malcolm…”

“Let me guess. That weasel is worried that somewhere there’s a penny that he’s not personally pinching.”

She opened her purse and reached into her wallet. Extracting a black card, she held it in front of Blake’s face.

“You know what this is, right Gerald?”

He nodded.

“You and I are going downstairs to the bursar’s office and I am going to personally guarantee Mr. Bradford’s medical bills with this card. And by the time I get back up here, I want him in a private room. Understand?”

Blake understood. And before they reached the elevator, the floor supervisor understood, too.

“Oh my GOD!”

Misty was in orgasmic ecstasy. Jon’s massive cock was pounding into her while Lauren, in all her naked glory, was sucking on her breasts. She understood. Jon had explained it all without uttering a word. He thought she was beautiful. Lauren thought she was beautiful. She didn’t care what Eric thought.

Lauren moved up to kiss her, and Misty felt her hand sliding down over her stomach. It felt different. Breaking the kiss with Lauren, she looked down. Her breasts were higher, firmer, and fuller. Her stomach was flat and smooth. She watched Lauren’s hand slide down over where the stretch marks used to be toward the junction where Jon was buried inside her. The beautiful hand started moving in small circles as Lauren’s finger found her clit. Misty exploded in another orgasm.

“Do you want to see, Misty? Jon can show you.”

The raven-haired beauty was resting on Jon’s chest, basking in the afterglow and feeling completely loved. She looked into Jon’s eyes and nodded.

By now it should have started. Eric had been pissed off when that idiot had melted down on TV and drawn the headlines away from the terrorist attack, but now he realized that it had worked out perfectly. This way he wouldn’t have to help Misty have a little “accident” involving her head and a tree on a ski slope in Colorado in a few months.

He’d planned every detail. It was perfect! He’d kept Misty as the sole heir in his will. Nothing to cause suspicion there, since he was obviously a loving, trusting husband. He’d convinced her to sign that living will, specifying “no extraordinary means” to keep her alive, but he’d also signed the same thing at the same time. Again, nothing to arouse suspicion. The last open enrollment for insurance at his company had been nine months ago and he’d increased his life insurance coverage to ten million. Of course Misty’s coverage tracked right along with his, like it always had. He was just a good husband and father, looking out for his family, right?

Soon, though, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. Misty would be dead. The kids would be dead so they couldn’t bitch about him dating someone who’d been in elementary school when they’d been born. He’d be even richer, and the country would be screaming for America to invade any country in the Middle East that they could name.

His stocks would soar! Not only that, but in two years he’d still have huge sympathy from the voters when he ran for Senate. He’d be a lock for Washington. Then he could play with BIG money, like his buddies who’d quietly helped him arrange for these little “terrorist” incidents, and would not-so-quietly demand that America declare war.

The idiot jihadists didn’t even know who was funding them! They thought they were going to be killing him and his family. Unfortunately for them, he wouldn’t be home. He’d be right here in the office in the company of a bunch of eyewitnesses. He had 100% deniability on the nightclub attack, and he’d have 100% deniability on the attack on his home…

MOTHERFUCKER!

My babies!

Jon quickly followed the threads in Eric Rutherford’s mind. In a matter of seconds he’d bounced through several people and located a freighter sitting 50 miles offshore. From there he found the five men crowded into a rental car that was approaching Misty’s house.

Lauren and Misty watched through Jon’s mind as the car lifted up off the road and headed straight upward. The men were in a panic. As the car cleared 1000 feet above ground, a mere thought from Jon cloaked it from air traffic and defense radar. He accelerated it upward. At 20,000 feet, he slowed the car, letting the bastards inside slowly start to suffocate as the air became thinner and thinner. By 40,000 feet they were dead. Jon dropped the temperature of the car and it’s dead occupants to below -300 degrees, then accelerated the frozen mass downward. It broke the sound barrier and kept accelerating. At over 8000 miles per hour it slammed into the deck of the freighter, shattering it into pieces and instantly killing everybody aboard. Mentally he damped the tsunami that the massive impact had created. The terrorists were gone. Their command structure was gone. Misty’s family was safe. Hannah was avenged.

Mostly.

“Make him hurt, Jon. Please?”

“Of course, my love. He tried to kill you and your family. He killed my sister. He will suffer.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

It was a simple thing. The overhead light fixture detached at one end and swung down, striking Eric in the head. The damage to his skull was more than one would expect from that impact, but sometimes these fluke things just happened. Shortly after the ambulance arrived, he’d need to be on a ventilator. They’d transport him to the same ICU that had been Jon’s home for nearly three weeks and then his heart would stop. A pacemaker would keep it going.

To the outside world, he’d appear to be in a vegetative coma, but Jon knew that his mind would be active and cognizant. Manipulating medical instruments was old hat for him. Rutherford would languish for a week before his living will required that he be unplugged. During that time Misty would visit him like a dutiful wife. And Jon would be there to support her in her time of need, just as she’d supported him. He didn’t know yet if he’d share his mind with Misty when he was torturing Rutherford in his “coma.”

Just before they unplugged him, Jon would make sure that he knew that Misty would be getting a triple payout on the insurance because the “accident” happened at work. There were many ways to make him suffer, and Jon would take full advantage of them. All he had to do was stay with 200 miles of the hospital.

After that, he and Lauren would head to Washington. There were threads from Rutherford’s mind that led there, just beyond the reach of Jonathan’s abilities. When he got there, though, he’d do a thorough housecleaning. Then he’d come back to New York to be with Misty and Cindy and Lauren.

At least until some other part of the world needed to be straightened out.