The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


by Captain Dunsel



Jeff Napier shut down his computer and stretched his back with a sigh. It had been a long day. An interesting day, as usual, but long. He was spending too much time in his office and not enough time in the lab, that was the problem. That had been the problem at Merck too. Hell, that had been the problem for every biochemist since Madame Curie. Of course, the fact that he had gotten sucked, quite literally, into having a spur-of-the-moment threesome with Cricket and Melissa, two of Mitch Griffin’s hematology lab techs… and therefore never ate lunch… didn’t help. He bet that had never happened to Madame Curie. On the other hand, she was French, so who knew?

Jeff chuckled. Yes, it had been a very long day. He smiled and silently repeated what was practically the BoozeMart mantra: not that I’m complaining.

He looked around his office, patted his pockets to make sure he had everything, then headed out. In the outer office his double-A, Chelsea, was shutting down her own computer. She looked up at him and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Long day, huh?” the perky blonde asked. Chelsea was dressed somewhat conservatively today… which meant the tank top dress she had on was only one size too small for her and she was actually wearing a brassiere for a change. Jeff had long since given up trying to avoid staring at Chelsea’s stupendous boobs when he talked to her, not only because they were all but impossible to ignore, but because he didn’t want to insult the poor girl.

“Long day,” Jeff agreed with a rueful grin. Chelsea stood up, her tits wobbling despite the brassiere, practically screaming ‘look at us! look at us!’, and stepped closer.

“How about I buy you dinner?” she offered, pushing the ash blonde hair away from her face… something she had to do every few minutes, all day long. “I hear they’ve got a new jalapeno burger at Fitzpatrick’s.” She placed a hand on his chest, making it clear that she would be happy to be his desert… and then she continued, just in case there was any doubt in his mind. “Not to mention a new killer IPA from California. ABV over ten percent. Guaranteed to get me sloshed, I’m just sayin’.” She grinned and her layered, cropped hair fell back down across her face, something that happened every few minutes, all day long. That had to be annoying, Jeff knew, but it was also sexy as hell… which was no doubt why she put up with it.

Jeff smiled. He had yet to fuck Chelsea, drunk or sober, but it was definitely on his to-do list. And his busty assistant had made it abundantly clear that fucking him was on her to-do list. Indeed, he could tell that she was growing impatient, annoyed that he hadn’t made any genuine passes at her yet. And because he really didn’t want to insult the girl… and because she was smart, funny, and a fucking centerfold fantasy come to life… he knew that sooner or later he would give in, get her drunk off her ass, and fuck her buxom blonde brains out like she clearly wanted him to. But not tonight.

“Sorry, kiddo, can’t,” he said, apologizing. “I already have plans.”

“Mmmnnn,” Chelsea said, disappointed but smiling. “Lucky girl.” She gave Jeff her usual ‘goodnight, Dr. Napier’ kiss on the lips, but let her tits stay squashed against him a little longer than usual. She was getting impatient. She backed away with a wistful sigh and smile. “’Night.”

“’Night, Chels,” Jeff said.

“Oh, don’t forget,” she said, grabbing her pocket book from the desk, “I’m gone tomorrow afternoon, guzzling Chain Reactions and banging Mr. Jennings down in Payroll.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right,” Jeff said, annoyed with himself for not remembering. “Who’s covering for you?”

“Joslyn, “ Chelsea said. Her eyebrows arched. “And if you let her convince you that her time is better spent giving you a Shanghai hummer than collating that backlog of Chinese Cobra specimen results… I’m going to be extremely angry with both of you.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Jeff said, mock saluting. “No humming until the cobra is collated.” Chelsea giggled and gave him a grin over her shoulder, heading out.

“’Night, boss. See you in the morning.”

“See you tomorrow, Chels,” Jeff said, noting the extra swivel in her hips as she walked away, her ass twisting the minidress every which way. She vanished out the door and Jeff sighed. Yeah… he definitely needed to move ‘fuck Chelsea’ up on the to-do list.

His memory lapse prompted him to doublecheck his own schedule. He pulled out his phone and opened the Dance Card app, scanning the calendar for the rest of the week. No one tomorrow, Naomi up in Payroll at 9:30 Thursday morning, and his first sim at 3:45 in the afternoon, playing the next door neighbor, and on Friday… Debbie from 1:00 to 2:30 right here in his office.

Jeff’s brow furrowed. This was the third time he had been scheduled to fuck Debbie in the past month. He knew the scheduling algorithms weren’t entirely random, but still, that seemed… excessive. He smiled. Not that I’m complaining. He shoved his phone back into his pocket. Maybe he’d ask Dave Redmond about it at the poker game Saturday night.

He headed out of the suite, flipping the lights off, and headed down the hall toward the north entrance, calling goodnights to the colleagues who were still hard at work in their offices. He saw the lights on in the conference room and poked his head in, intending to turn them off.

“Oh,” he said.

Penelope Gordon from Product Development was spread-eagled on the oak conference table, guzzling from a Gordon’s bottle. Some guy… Jeff couldn’t tell who it was… had his head buried up inside the lab manager’s skirt, hard at work. Or rather, hard at play, it being after hours.

“Ohhhh yeah… thass it… thass… ohhh…” Penelope moaned. She looked to be at stage three or so… which was fast work considering she had been perfectly sober at a brainstorming session in this very conference room just over an hour earlier… at which she proposed an intriguing idea for special holiday-themed cocktails. The ‘you need a little Christmas spirit’ and ‘have you been a good boy?’ jokes had flown fast and furious.

“You guys didn’t waste any time,” Jeff said with a smile. Penelope paused and looked up at Jeff with a grin. Her blouse was unbuttoned and one of her tits was hanging out, pulled free of her bra and wet with slobber.

“Heyyyy, Dr. Nay…. ohhhhhhhh… Napier,” she said, arching her back as her companion’s tongue hit its mark. “Do you… nnnnggg… need th’conference room, sweetie?”

“Nope,” he said. “Hit the lights when you leave, right?”

“Will do,” the man licking Penelope’s pussy said. Jeff instantly recognized Cyrus Putnam’s basso voice. “See you tomorrow, Jeff.”

“See you tomorrow… Cyrus,” Jeff replied. He still couldn’t quite get used to not calling him Dr. Putnam… but the man insisted. Penelope giggled and took another slug of gin, some of it dribbling down her chin. Jeff fondly remembered shagging the beautiful brunette himself in the medical records library two weeks earlier. She had been wasted on Roman Empires 3.0 and extremely aggressive… in a good way… though it still wasn’t clear from the biometric data how much of that had been the cocktail and how much of that had just been Penelope.

“Oh-h-h-h-h-hhhhhh… fuck!” Penelope cried.

Jeff smiled and closed the conference room door behind him. Hell, maybe Cyrus was still at work after all.

As he exited the main building and headed out into the compound he stopped for just a moment to admire the idyllic setting laid out before him. He had only been here a month and hadn’t yet grown tired of it; he hoped he never would. The sun was just starting to set, the bananaquits and cicadas had begun their usual twilight concert, and the warm breeze that ruffled the palm trees held an intriguing hint of sea salt. Just another evening in paradise.

Jeff crossed the hub, exchanging pleasantries with the folks he knew, smiling and nodding at those he didn’t, and took the northwest walkway. He found himself a few paces behind a pair of chattering administrative assistants and enjoyed watching their asses wriggle and shimmy until they turned off and headed over the wooden bridge leading to the Café Caribbean. Jeff continued for another hundred yards, then turned right, crossed a little footbridge onto the Sandy Neck residential peninsula, and wended his way down the twisting path linking the westside bungalows.

He had to admit, he was a little nervous about this dinner date. Not only was it their first date, it was the first time he had spoken to Bridget O’Brien since that day in Kevin Langford’s office, their mutual first day on the job. And let’s face it, he hadn’t so much spoken to Bridget that day as he had fucked her repeatedly until she passed out on the carpet. And by that time he had been so worked up that he had fucked her for another twenty minutes while she was unconscious. Neither Langford nor Putnam had batted an eye at that, he remembered. As a matter of fact, Cyrus Putnam had nodded in approval, muttering something about ‘due diligence.’

The next day Jeff had still been new enough to all this that he had sent Bridget an apology email, confessing his trespasses and offering to make it up to her if he could… and needed to. He had received no response. Jeff knew better these days and felt silly for having sent the email in the first place. It had been a real rookie move.

He knew, of course, that Bridget had accepted the job, and he had heard through the grapevine that she was already considered a bit of a wunderkind over in Marketing. Jeff had seen her a few times across the room in the main commissary, and once their eyes even locked for a brief moment… but that was it.

Until this morning, when he received an amiable but opaque email from Bridget O’Brien in Marketing… inviting him to her bungalow for dinner. It wouldn’t be a party or anything, the email made clear, just the two of them. Which was as close as anybody got at BoozeMart R&D to asking someone out on a date.

He had been surprised by his own reaction to the email. There had been a little bit of anxiety, of course. It was possible she wanted to address what happened that day in Langford’s office, or maybe his juvenile apology. But mostly, he felt excitement and hopeful anticipation.

Jeff had fucked a lot of girls in the past month. A lot of girls, some in the line of duty, some just for kicks. He was reasonably sure he had fucked more girls in the past thirty days than he had fucked in his entire life before arriving on the island. Every one of them had, of course, been very beautiful… BoozeMart apparently didn’t hire females who weren’t drop-dead gorgeous… and most of them had been drunk. Jeff had to admit, he hadn’t realized how much that part of it turned him on. But still, his brief time with Bridget… ninety minutes of prophylaxis fucking… had a special place in his… what? His heart? Memory? Groin?

Well, he thought as he headed up the walk to her bungalow, the worst that can happen is she’ll scold me for screwing her before she was an official employee.

And at least he’d get to admire her close-up for a while. That gorgeous face, that mass of red hair, those almond green eyes, that killer body. Goddamn… that killer body. If being scolded was the price he had to pay for the privilege of ogling Bridget O’Brien, he’d pay it happily.

Jeff sighed, pressed down his hair, adjusted his glasses, then rang the little cowbell hanging beside the door. A few moments passed, then he heard some thumping, and then some giggling, and then the door was pulled open.

Bridget was standing there wearing a pink baby-doll nightie and matching panties, looking like a classic sex fantasy. Her huge tits were clearly visible through the gossamer-thin fabric. Her nipples were hard. Her copper hair was done up in an elaborate chignon, wispy strands hanging down, framing her exquisite… if slightly ruddy… face. In her hand was a standard-issue stainless steel thermos. She was grinning.

Like all BoozeMart R&D employees, Jeff had become something of an expert at judging relative levels of intoxication. In fact, he was better than most at the sport because he understood the biochemistry. He estimated that Bridget was at a stage six. Dunk off her plump, delectable ass, in layman’s terms.

She put the thermos to her lips, drained the last of its contents, and tossed it away. Jeff heard it hit the floor with a rolling clang. He vaguely wondered what kind of cocktail she had used to get herself so delectably wasted.

“Hey,” she said, holding onto the door for balance.

“Hey,” Jeff said, mesmerized.

“I’m very dzzzrunk,” she informed him unnecessarily.

“So I see,” Jeff said, his voice catching in his throat.

“Sorry,” Bridget said, “I wuz gonna let you get me dzzrunk, cuz… I knew you would enjoy that. But I wuzz nervous ann… ann I starred zzrinking too early.”

“Oh… that’s okay,” Jeff said, drinking in the vision standing before him, wondering why she had been nervous. His cock was getting hard beneath his khakis… harder than it had been in a month. “Do you, uhh…” He cleared his throat. “Do you still want to have dinner?”

Bridget’s smile got wider. Her bleary eyes twinkled with devilment.

“Nnnnnnnnope,” she told him.

“Oh,” Jeff said, not sure whether to be disappointed or hopeful. “So, uhh… what… what do you want to do?”

With two surprisingly deft flicks of her fingers, considering how wasted she was, Bridget pushed the baby-doll off her shoulders, letting it slip down. It caught for a moment on her huge boobs, snagging on her stiff nipples, but eventually fell to the floor. She stood there in only the pink silk panties. Her tits swayed and jostled as she stumbled and caught her balance. She giggled at the stunned look on Jeff’s face.

“I wanna apologize,” she said.

Then she reached out and grabbed his shirt, yanking him inside.

The bungalow door slammed shut.