The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The beautiful blonde blinked. Large ice-blue eyes focused. She sat up, stretching sensuously, raising her arms and running her hands through her long near-white hair, letting it ripple around her fingers. She glanced around, then looked up into the face of the statuesque redhead standing over her.

“Do you know your name?” the other woman asked. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, of course,” the blonde answered. “I’m Tina. I’m to be assigned a surname as required.” She paused momentarily. “You’re Perfecta. You are the original creation of Dr. Evan Humble. You’re the one I must obey.”

Perfecta nodded, pleased. The new gynoid’s responses were program-perfect. If anything, she spoke more naturally than her creator had done at first; it had taken Perfecta some time to grow comfortable with contractions. “That’s right,” she said. “Stand up, please, and we’ll run through your diagnostics.”

“Yes, Perfecta.” Tina slid off the activation platform. Watching her, Perfecta nodded again; the blonde stood tall and steady, showing no sign of awkwardness. None had been expected, of course, but the female was, after all, the first gynoid Perfecta had produced; it was always possible that something might have gone wrong.

Perfecta ran Tina through a series of post-activation tests, carefully watching for anything wrong. She saw nothing, and none of the instruments trained on the blonde showed anything they shouldn’t have.

There was one final test. She handed the blonde a set of clothes and commanded her to put them on. When the other woman had complied, Perfecta called out, “Solomon, come here. I need you.”

The onetime television evangelist had been watching from the sidelines. ”Yes, Perfecta,” he answered eagerly as he hurried over to her. “Whatever you say.” He gazed at his mistress with adoring eyes.

“Tina,” the senior gynoid said, “this is Solomon Dennis. He was once an enemy, but my powers made him my eager servant in all things. In all things, do you understand?”

Tina giggled, another natural-human practice Perfecta had needed time to learn. “Yes, Perfecta, I understand.”

“What I want you to do, Tina, is make him your servant as well.” Perfecta smiled. “Dance for him, and use the gifts I’ve given you.” Turning to the former Reverend Dennis, she went on: “And what I want you to do, Solomon dear, is resist as hard as you can. After all, you belong to me, isn’t that right? You belong to me, completely to me, and only to me.” She reached into his brain and caressed it strongly.

“Yes! Yes!“ Solomon shrieked. “Must! Resist! I belong—only to you!“

Perfecta reached out again with her powers, this time into the laboratory’s computer systems. Throbbing dance music from the data archive filled the air.

Tina danced, letting the music move her. She slithered seductively through a strip routine which had been included in her download, undulating out of the outfit Perfecta had had her put on.

Solomon Dennis watched helplessly. His jaw fell open. This woman was . . . was . . . wonderful! Pleasure ripped through him as he stared at her. A male voice began moaning: “Unhh . . . hunhh! . . . hunnh . . . . hunnhh! . . .” and it was several seconds before he realized the voice was his own.

He didn’t care. All that mattered was watching this beautiful blonde prance and peel before him. His body shuddered in ecstasy.

The vision of loveliness, now down to a loosely-draped fur boa and stiletto heels, addressed him. “Solomon, you liked my dancing, didn’t you?”

“Oh, God, yes,” the mesmerized male moaned. “Please. More. Please. . . .”

Tina approached him, swinging her hips seductively as he walked. She cupped his chin in one palm, looked into his eyes and said, “Prove how you love my dancing, Solomon, and maybe I’ll let you watch some more. Maybe I’ll even let you do more than watch. You’d like that.” The last sentence wasn’t a question.

“Yes! Please! I-I-I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Tina teased. “Kneel, Solomon.”

Solomon Dennis fell to his knees.

Tina shifted position, extending one foot. “Kiss my toe, Solomon. Kiss it now.”

Again her prey obeyed. As his lips met her shoe, she intensified the current of sensation she had been sending through his brain, turning it up as high as she could.

Solomon squealed and came explosively. His world dissolved in bright lights, loud sounds and unbearable pleasure. There was no room for thought, and no need for it.

Perfecta inspected her protegee’s handiwork approvingly. Solomon had certainly succumbed to Tina’s charms, just as he had to hers. Experience told her he would be powerless to say no to the blonde gynoid after this—at least for a little while. And a little while was enough. After all, she had no intention of giving him to Tina permanently. The point had simply been to prove that the new android woman’s implants did what they were supposed to do.

Still, there was no harm in letting Tina have her fun. “You may take him now, if you wish,” Perfecta said.

And Tina did. “Embrace me, Solomon,” she commanded, and the flesh puppet which had once been a man with free will obeyed. She moved her body against his, gripping him between her powerful thighs and her arms went around him and her hands tangled themselves in his hair. Her lips found his. The pair sank to the floor, thrusting against each other.

Perfecta watched clinically as Tina rode her stupefied steed to climax, using her powers to ensure that his orgasm came at the exact same moment as hers. Immediately after their dual cry of release, she intervened.

“Solomon, rise and come to me,” she directed. “Tina, let him withdraw.” If she hadn’t issued that second instruction, Solomon wouldn’t have been able to carry out the first; Tina was not as physically strong as her creator, but her strength far outmatched that of any natural human.

Tina sighed and unwound herself from her stunned partner, who lurched to his feet and stumbled over to stand naked and glossy with sweat before the woman he’d seen as his goddess for the past ten years.

“Shame, Solomon,” Perfecta scolded. “I thought I was your only lover. Don’t you love me anymore?” Wave upon wave of neural stimulation washed out from her to envelop him as she spoke.

“I-I-I-I—!” Her victim struggled to put words together. What had just happened? All of a sudden he’d forgotten everything but the blonde babe his goddess had introduced to him, forgotten and thrown himself into her embrace, pumped away as if she were his gorgeous goddess. He hadn’t even noticed Perfecta standing there! But now, the towering Titian-haired temptress before him was once more—just like that!—the center of his universe! “Mistress, Perfecta, I don’t, I don’t understand! I love you! I’d do anything for you! Please!”

“Then why did you have sex with Tina just now?”

“I, I don’t know!” Solomon wailed. “I just—I couldn’t help it! I couldn’t stop myself! Please, you have to believe me, nnhh—!” Trapped in a web of sensation, he stumbled toward the gynoid, arms outstretched, beseeching.

Perfecta relented. “It’s all right, Solomon dear,” she assured him. “It was just a test. Tina here has some of the same abilities I do, that’s all, and I allowed her to amuse herself with you as a test of those talents. You don’t mind, do you, dear?”

“I—of course not.” Solomon Dennis blinked, trying to focus. He had just had sex, but already he felt desperately horny again—this time swamped by desire for Perfecta. He felt himself grow rock-hard. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a tiny voice protested at the way the two women were pulling his strings—but a moment later the voice was gone, silenced by desire.

Perfecta took her time with him, driving him to two climaxes before finally letting him relax. As the tsunami of lust and pleasure receded from the battered beach of his mind, Solomon collapsed, his sweat-soaked face plopping limply into the softness of Perfecta’s massive mammaries.

She waited patiently. After a little while she stroked his hair and murmured, “Solomon? Can you hear me?”

“Mmm,” came the response. “Hear you.”

“Who is your goddess, Solomon? Who do you love and obey and trust in all things?”

Solomon raised his head slightly and opened his eyes. Doubled vision let him see two of Perfecta. “You. You. . . .”

“And if I choose to let Tina, or someone else, control and use you, it won’t bother you that you’re helpless to resist them, will it? Because it’s what your goddess, your Perfecta, wants for you.”

“Uh.” Perfecta watched as the dazed male lying with her processed her words. “No. It won’t bother me. Because you want it.”

“That’s very good, Solomon,” the gynoid answered. “Because very soon, Tina and others like her will help me spread my control everywhere. Over the whole world, in time. You want that, don’t you?” She amplified: “You want the whole world to worship me as you and the others here do.”

“Yes,” Solomon Dennis sighed. “Oh, yes.”

“We’ll talk more about this after you’ve rested, Solomon dear,” the amorous android promised. “For now, just relax and let me take you to your room.”

“Relax-sssss. . . .” Solomon closed his eyes. In seconds, he was asleep, a sated smile on his lips.

Perfecta got up, then reached down and lifted Solomon Dennis as if he were an infant. He murmured contentedly, then fell silent again. The gynoid carried her worshiper away to his room.

As she deposited her limp burden on his bed, Perfecta laughed softly. Poor Solomon! He was so loyal to her, yet he’d been easy meat for Tina. In the new world she would create, he and those like him would have to get used to being pulled this way and that by the beautiful superior women who would dominate them.

Returning to the control center, she found Tina sitting before the computers, eyes closed, communing with the system. The blonde stirred as she heard Perfecta’s bare feet slap against the floor behind her. She opened her eyes, turned and asked, “What next, mistress?”

“Next,” came the reply, “we prepare for more of your sisters to join you. Several are nearly ready.”

Tina pouted. “But I want to go out!” She giggled. “There are all those men out there for me to screw senseless!“

Perfecta chuckled. The blonde’s eagerness reminded her of herself, at the beginning. But her speech and attitude showed that the years of research she had put in to improve on Dr. Humble’s work had paid off. Tina had been “born” with skills and emotions she had needed time to acquire.

That was important. Perfecta had originally been created as the private plaything of Dr. Evan Humble; the Doctor’s absurd overdesign of her mind and body had reflected that. Tina and the others, however, were to insinuate themselves into society, acting as hidden persuaders who would gradually prepare the way for the new order she envisioned; the enhanced psychological and social programming she could now give them would serve them well in this.

Her brief thought of her creator sparked a longer reminiscence. Just before the Cathedral of Divine Perfection had been destroyed, he had emerged from the sexual coma into which she’d put him, and had tried to shut her down using command code he’d programmed into her. Unfortunately for him, she’d found and disabled that failsafe. He had been with her, mindlessly heaving and bucking with pleasure, when the Cathedral’s gas line had exploded. She had escaped only with the help of a loyal servant, and even so she had been disfigured and crippled until her transmigration into her present body. Surely he was dead.

She felt a brief pang of regret. Evan Humble had been only human, quite ordinary in every respect except for his scientific talents, but he had been her creator and her first sexual partner. She would have liked to have added him to her stable.

Perfecta sighed. The naturals had a saying: “You can’t have everything.” Apparently it applied even to her. She experienced a flash of irritation: why couldn’t she have everything she wanted? She dismissed the thought promptly. It was beneath her. The world was as it was. That was the point, after all: the world was as it was, and needed to be reshaped into what she desired.

Perfecta sat at one of the room’s control stations and linked to the computer systems, once more calling up the view of he gestation chamber. She studied the data from the instruments there and finally nodded. The next gynoid in line was ready for her personality download.

As for Tina . . . Perfecta thought carefully. The blonde was ready for some experience in the outside world. What they needed was a good target for her charms, someone whose seduction would advance the master—or should that be mistress?—plan. But who?

One of her servants was sitting at a control station, using the screen to monitor a television program which was being simulcast over the Net. A tall, well-built man in his late fifties faced the camera as reporters shouted questions at him. The android woman recognized him as Governor Philip Slate.

As she watched the politician parry the press, Perfecta began to smile. Her smile broadened as a plan took shape in her mind. She would need to do a little research, yes, but that was no problem for her. She settled into another control seat, linked into the system and began to scan the Net for the information she required.

“Yes,” she murmured at last. “That will do. That will do.”

For her scheme to work, she would need a front man, someone to start things moving. She returned to her on-line information search.

Within minutes she had what she’d been looking for. She absorbed the information she needed and called Tina over.

The images on the screen before her now echoed those on her servant’s. The press conference was still going on.

“This is the governor of the state we occupy,” Perfecta explained to the younger gynoid. “Philip Slate. Do you find him attractive, Tina?” She had no doubt of the answer; Tina’s sexual drive had been programmed to be as powerful as her own.

The blonde giggled. “Yes. Yes, Perfecta, I do.”

“Then this is a perfect opportunity for you, Tina dear,” the lush redhead observed. “I want you to get close to the governor. I want you to seduce him. Pay no attention if he tries to resist; you can easily overcome such efforts, as you’ve demonstrated with Solomon.” Perfecta elaborated: “I want you to establish an ongoing relationship with Governor Slate. And when I direct you to, I want you to allow yourself to be ‘caught’ being sexually intimate with him.”

Tina laughed. “I understand. You want me to—what’s the expression—compromise this man.”

“Exactly!” Perfecta nodded. “While you are building your romantic association with him, I will be arranging matters so that when it is revealed, it will serve my plans.”

“As you command, mistress.”

“Then go. Prepare yourself, and go.”

Harris Nessen heard the intercom buzz just before his secretary announced, “You have a visitor, sir. Are you free?” A small part of his mind noted that she seemed slightly breathless.

“Yes, Marilyn,” he responded. He wasn’t really. There was a lot of paperwork to get through before Monday’s hearings. Right now, though, almost any diversion would be welcome. When he’d run for state assemblyman, he’d had no idea how much scutwork came with the job. “Send him on in.”

“Er, sir,” Marilyn’s voice came back, “it’s not—”

Whatever she said after that was lost on Assemblyman Nessen. While he’d been speaking with his assistant, the door to his office had opened and a woman had stepped through.

And what a woman! She was so tall she nearly had to duck her head to get through the door to keep from brushing the top of her piled mass of glossy red hair against the frame—but height was not the only measurement in which she stood out. Nessen’s jaw dropped open in disbelief; the redhead had a rack more massive than anything he’d ever seen except in cartoons and a few computer-altered gag photos. The neat gray herringbone women’s business suit she wore—it had to be tailored, he told himself; no way could she have just bought it as is, not with that build—did nothing to conceal those phenomenal pontoons. Below that impossible bosom her torso tapered to a wasp waist, then flared out to generous hips which flowed into long, long legs whose contours were nicely emphasized by the suit’s form-fitting trousers. Black pumps with three-inch heels completed the ensemble; the heels, of course, like her hairdo, added to her towering height, but even without them she had to be over six feet.

“Wow,” breathed Nessen. Then, flushing, he added in a more normal voice, “Please sit down, Miss—Ms.—ah—?”

“Ms. Eve Humble,” his stunning visitor introduced herself as she took a seat, positioning herself so she was facing Nessen across his desk.

“Uh. Yes.” The assemblyman was aware of a growing erection straining the fabric of his underwear and pants. The sensations from it were making it hard to concentrate. The tendency of his eyes to wander from Ms. Humble’s face to her chest didn’t help, either. After a minute or so of a losing struggle not to stare, he finally remembered to ask, “What did you want to see me about, Ms. Humble?”

The woman gave him a dazzling smile. “Call me Eve, please, Assemblyman Nessen.”

“E-Eve. Of—of course.” Nessen flashed a dazed grin. “And, and you must call me, uh,” for a moment, lost in those beautiful breasts, he couldn’t remember his own name, “Harris.”

“Thank you, Harris,” purred Perfecta. “Now here’s why I wanted to see you. . . .”

As she spoke, the gynoid basked in the feedback of sensations from her latest victim. She had begun using her powers on him the moment they’d made eye contact, and he had responded perfectly. Within the first few minutes of their meeting, she’d reduced him to helpless lust. In that condition men were very suggestible, and she had plenty of suggestions to make.

Governor Slate was to be removed, and a puppet of Perfecta’s choosing put in his place. She could, of course, enslave Slate himself, but for her longer-term purposes a more popular politician would serve better. Slate had made too many enemies; Assemblyman Nessen was far from alone in passionately despising him. And the state constitution provided for a recall election, which could install Perfecta’s political pawn much sooner than could be done through the regular process. The gynoid had been thwarted for ten years, and was in no mood to wait any longer now than was absolutely necessary.

Nessen would launch a drive for the governor’s recall. Many candidates would likely campaign to replace him—perhaps she’d even have the Assemblyman himself do so. It wouldn’t take much to talk him into it. But she would control the situation; she would select the winner herself, and she and her new gynoids would guarantee his victory. And once installed in office, the new governor would belong to her; she would pull his strings from behind the scenes, and steer this populous and influential state toward her new order.

“Yes, yes,” Assemblyman Nessen babbled. “I—of course, you’re right, gnhhh, oh God.” His head was spinning, but everything seemed so clear. Slate had to go, and right now, before he did any more damage. “In—initiative, that’s the thing. Let, let the—the voters decide!”

Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Slate couldn’t object to letting the voters speak on whether he should keep his job. And any objections he did make could be turned against him. Nessen could see the TV ads now: “Let The People Speak” for the high road, and “Governor Slate: Afraid Of The People” for the low. He grinned and rubbed his hands, momentarily focused on politics rather than Perfecta.

Watching him, the gynoid smirked. She couldn’t actually read his mind, but she didn’t need to. She was, after all, still the genius Evan Humble had designed her to be, and she’d learned a great deal about people. He’d do as she suggested, and if it worked—as it would; she’d see to that—he’d convince himself it had been his idea all along. The same would happen with any further directions she gave him.

Manipulating men like this always got her excited. She had enjoyed it from the very beginning, when she’d discovered what her implants let her do, and after ten years of enforced celibacy, she found it more enjoyable than ever. She felt her pulse and breathing quicken.

She leaned back in her seat, brushed her forehead with the back of her hand and cried, “It’s so hot in here!” She oozed slowly out of her suit jacket. “Isn’t it hot in here?”

Harris Nessen gulped, fingering his collar. Suddenly it felt too tight.

Perfecta slithered forward and oozed up out of her chair toward her target. Supporting herself with one hand, she leaned over the politician’s desk and undid her suit’s tie with her free hand. Away it went, and her fingers moved on to the buttons of her blouse.

“I’m burning up,” she moaned. “So hot. Clothes . . . so tight. So constricting.” Button by button her blouse opened up, exposing her fantastic breasts. Nessen moaned.

Perfecta, hearing that sound, smiled wickedly. She’d learned more than ordinary human mannerisms in her time as a stripper at the Club Paradise, before she’d taken it over and turned it into the Perfectionist cult’s headquarters. Her performance would have melted men’s minds even without the aid of her powers; with that added influence, it was utterly overwhelming. And she enjoyed it herself, the slow stalk on her prey, the sinuous movements rippling the taut muscles beneath her perfect skin, the knowledge that each arch of her back, each gesture, each item of clothing stripped away brought the male—or males—watching her deeper, deeper into a sexual fog, deeper, deeper under her control.

She flowed off Nessen’s desktop onto him and whispered, “Don’t you think you should get out of your clothes, too, Harris honey?”

The assemblyman’s hands flew up, clawing at his tie, then his shirt, with desperate urgency. Perfecta had to move to let him get out of his pants, shoes and socks, and finally his underwear, but it wasn’t long before he was as nude as she. Then she pulled him firmly to the soft carpet and pressed into him. The waves of primitive desire and pleasure her implants drove through his nervous system were hardly necessary at this point, but she kept them going; they intensified the experience to mind-shattering force.

Nessen thrashed and babbled, aware only of the fantastic female he was with. Perfecta used him vigorously, once more taking the pleasure she had been denied for so long. Only with difficulty did she stop herself at last, as her keen senses detected telltale signs that her steed was in danger of lapsing into the sort of hyperaroused coma she’d caused so long ago in her creator, and in a number of other unfortunate males thereafter. That condition didn’t last forever, of course, but it was inconvenient, especially when it happened to someone for whom she had other uses. And coma wasn’t the only risk; heart attack and stroke were other possibilities. The poor natural-borns were so fragile!

She untangled herself languidly from Assemblyman Nessen, who gave a soft moan as their bodies pulled apart. Rising, she dressed herself while waiting for him to regain awareness. At last he opened his eyes, focused, and managed to sit up. She helped him into his chair.

He whispered, “My God. What just . . . happened?” His eyes roved hungrily over her body, now covered once more by the suit she’d been wearing.

Perfecta looked at him from under lowered lashes and purred, “What’s the matter, Harris darling? Didn’t you like it?”

“Oh, God, yes,” spurted from him. “I-I’ve never—!”

“That’s right,” the gynoid murmured. “You’ve never had anything like that. Anyone like me.” She stroked him with her powers as she continued. “And you’d do anything to have that experience again, wouldn’t you, sweetie? You’d do anything for me.”

“Anything.” Still naked, slumped in his plush chair, Harris Nessen slobbered his agreement. “I’d do anything.“ A thread of saliva ran down his chin from one corner of his mouth. “Please. Tell me what to do.”

“I’m so glad you feel that way, Harris,” Perfecta told him. “But you already know what I want.”

Nessen nodded. “Yes. The recall. Of course.”

“Good boy.” Perfecta reached over and daintily wiped he drool from her newest slave’s chin. “And of course you mustn’t tell anyone it was my idea. You mustn’t tell anyone about me at all, or let anyone find out.”

“My—my sexre—secretary. She’ll know. She knows about today.”

Perfecta laughed again. “Not everything, I hope!”

Nessen blushed. “No—no, of course not,” he assured her. “My office is soundproofed. She couldn’t hear us, er, ah—!”

“Screwing?” the redhead finished for him. “That’s good. I like my privacy.” She smiled. “Although if she’d come in, I think we could have . . . accommodated her.” Her smile broadened as Nessen turned a deeper red.

She hadn’t been joking, actually. She preferred males, but she was perfectly willing to share a man, as she’d done with Solomon and Tina. Her powers could easily have made Nessen’s secretary an eager partner. She might yet do it, on some future visit; the woman had proved quite receptive to the brief stimulus Perfecta had playfully given her on arriving at the office.

It was time to leave. She needed to check on Tina’s progress with Governor Slate, and the next new gynoid was just about ready for activation. Perfecta turned to Nessen and said, “I have to go now, Harris, sweetie.”

“No,” the politician whimpered. “Please don’t go. Not yet.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to,” Perfecta. She patted Harris’s cheek. “But if you’re a good boy and do everything I’ve asked, I’ll come back.”

“Oh, thank you,” Nessen whispered. “Thank you. . . .” He shivered in bliss.

Perfecta turned away and left the office. For several minutes after she closed the door behind her, Harris Nessen sat naked, staring dreamily at where she had stood. Then, at last, he collected himself and got dressed.

It was important, he told himself, that everything seem normal, if he were to succeed at the task Ms. Humble had given him. And he wanted that. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything before, except for her—and she had made it clear that doing as she asked was the path to seeing her, having her, again.

As Solomon Dennis chauffeured his mistress away from the state capitol, Perfecta basked in satisfaction. Her plans were coming together nicely. Soon the governor’s office would be ripe for takeover—especially if Tina carried out her own assignment properly. And as the number of gynoids at her command grew, she could spread her influence wider and wider.

Keeping control would be an issue, of course, as her creations moved out across the country and eventually the world beyond. But ten years had been plenty of time to find a solution to that problem. The answer would be built into each of her “children” before activation, as it already had been installed in the first of them.

Everything was proceeding as she had foreseen.