The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Scene 1 — The Windup

Oyabun Matsuo Sora was somewhat annoyed by this ... event, but he had gone along with it. He had learned over the years that it was good to let his subordinates make their own mistakes, and to learn from them. His new saiko-komon, Noguchi Yamoto, wanted to try this, so Oyabun let him have his head. So, here they were, hosting a nyotaimori luncheon for their gaijin guests from Hong Kong.

Sugiyama-sama, this oyabun’s predecessor, had loved “body sushi” and had entertained with “naked food platters” whenever he felt like it. But when Matsuo had taken the reins from the old man, he had put a stop to it. The very idea of eating something as delicate, as sensitive to preparation, as sushi, from the bare skin of another person, no matter how clean, just sickened him. And the fact that the practice had originated among those western junboku barbarians from Ishikawa, well, that just made it worse.

But Noguchi had wanted to try it. He thought it would impress the visitors. Of course, Oyabun had insisted that his lieutenant have some “skin in the game”, so to speak. A personal stake in the party’s success. That is why he had insisted that Noguchi’s eighteen-year-old daughter, Yuzuki, be one of the “hostesses”. Seeing his new advisor squirm every time someone reached their chopsticks toward Yuzuki’s tender naked flesh had certainly eased the distaste of eating sushi that had been sitting on that same naked flesh.

Of course, it had not been easy to get the young teenager to agree to suffer this humiliation, but Oyabun had his ways. He recalled with a chuckle the day he had brought Madame Aki into his office for this “special” project.

“What?” she had cried, indignant at the very thought. “I have important work to do. I have ninja assassins to train and condition. I can’t take time to brainwash another little whore for you to play with!“

Inwardly Oyabun smiled. Every once in a while Aki forgot her station and had to be reminded. The hard way.

“Silence, little witch-chan”

He watched as the trigger had it’s desired effect. The imperious look left her face, replaced with the timid look of an naughty child who had been caught.

“Have you forgotten who you serve, slave-chan?“

Another trigger hammered into her psyche, driving her further into submissive fear.

“N-n-no, Great Oyabun-sama, I serve you! I serve only you!“

“Very well then. I expect the little morsel to enthusiastically embrace her role in the luncheon. I expect her to have no body-shyness. I expect her to be silent and gracious to our guests. I expect her to desire to serve us ... fully. You have three days.“

“Three days?” squeaked Madame Aki. But then she got herself back under control. “It ... it will be as you command Great Oyabun-sama.“

And so, the luncheon went off exactly as planned. Including the part where Oyabun toyed with the emotions of his new advisor, reminding him of his place.

Even so, Oyabun had to admit that the younger man had been right. The visitors really did seem to enjoy the “entertainment”.

The business part of the meeting had not gone nearly as well as the social part, though. For some reason the gaijin had sensed weakness and had bargained hard. When one of the Chinese leaders joked about keeping his people in line and punishing defectors, the real situation, the loss of face, became clear. It had been twenty-five years since one of his shinobi had somehow escaped the mental chains that bound her to the Yakuza, and had fled to America. It had taken decades to track her down, and then after several attempts, they had still failed to either capture or kill her. Twenty-five years. A very significant anniversary for the Chinese. It symbolized a change in generations to them. This was a completely unacceptable situation, and the Chinese were right to believe that this failure exposed weakness in his organization.

After the lunch party, Oyabun called Noguchi into his private study. He invited the to use one of the brainwashed serving girls. Of which there were several in Oyabun’s mansion, on rotation from one of the local high-end brothels. Once they were both ... relaxed, Oyabun turned to business. It was time to deal with the Misaki Rieko problem once and for all.

“It is clear,” said Oyabun, “That we underestimated her on several levels. We always believed that we had made a mistake in her conditioning that allowed her to escape. But after failure upon failure to achieve satisfaction against her, we must admit that perhaps her mind is simply that strong. Perhaps she is a metahuman, or even a psychic, and we never realized it until it was too late.“

“Yes,” replied the advisor, “You’re absolutely right, Oyabun-sama. And she has not been idle all these years. It is now apparent that she has made key alliances with some of the most powerful superheroes in America, including that akuma no josei Omega Girl! And more than that! The survivors of the Grimalde fiasco reported that she personally fought nearly to the death to save Grimalde’s wife!“

“So,” said Oyabun wearily, “She has powerful allies in both the superhero community AND in the American Syndicate.” He rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Perhaps... perhaps she is untouchable after all.“

“Perhaps,” replied Noguchi, his eyes gleaming with sudden insight, “Perhaps she is only untouchable... in America.”

Oyabun could practically hear the gears turning in his advisor’s mind. “Tell me what you are thinking, Noguchi-san.“

“She is wanted for murder. We have incontrovertible evidence that she is living in America under the name ‘Veronica Albinn’. If we leak that information to the authorities, it is all but certain that she will be extradited to Japan, probably in metahuman-proof restraints!”

“NO!” shouted Oyabun, “We are ninkyo dantai! We are men of honor! We do not let the law dogs exact our vengeance! This is not an acceptable solution!“

“Please, Oyabun-sama,” replied the advisor, with a placating gesture, “Please forgive me. I was unclear. We would use the law dogs just to bring her within our reach. She would never stand trial. Once she were here, she would ‘escape’, with our help, of course.” He smirked. “Then, when we were done with her, no one would doubt that mighty Oyabun Matsuo had taken his full measure of revenge against his wayward kobun.“

Oyabun smiled. “You are certain that she would be extradited?“

“We ourselves have helped many of your ‘children’ escape overseas, only to have them brought back via extradition. Extradition requests for murderers are almost never refused. Surely they must send her to us!”

Scene 2 — The Pitch

It was a day like any other for Patricia Grimalde, Chief Prosecutor for the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals. As was her routine, she passed the time before the morning status meeting by going through today’s mail.

There wasn’t much this morning. Thank goodness Janice weeds out the fluff, she thought, or I’d never get anything done.

On the top of the pile was a packet from the Japanese Consulate in San Francisco. As was typical for such correspondence, it was an extradition request. Murder, yadda, cold case, 25 years ago, yadda, yadda, premeditated, yadda, yadda. Yakuza assassin, oh my! Fled jurisdiction, hmmm.

She turned the page. DNA evidence ... yadda, yadda ... rare leak of Yakuza documents ... yadda ... Ah! Here we go. Identity: Misaki Rieko AKA Veronica Mitchell AKA Veronica ALBINN AKA SHINOBI! OH GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!

Completely forgetting the intercom on her desk, she ran to the doorway. “Janice, cancel all my appointments and meetings today.”

“What about Judge Fairborne? He expects you in his chambers at one o’clock.”

“Tell him I can do it tomorrow, but today just got shot to hell. He’ll understand. Oh, and tell Achmed that he’s responsible for the morning meeting. And the daily status report.”

“Yes ma’am. Is ... everything ... okay?” She was no doubt thinking about all the drama the Grimalde family had faced in the past year.

Patricia smiled. “Everything is fine, Janice. This emergency is actually work-related.”

Back at her desk, Patricia picked up her cell phone and called number one on her “Favorite contacts” list.

“Hey Nigel, got a sec? ... Yes, it’s that important ... Roni ... No, not that, it’s an extradition request ... Yeah, yeah, I know, you called it, right on the button. I owe you a buck, but in the mean time I’m gonna need a plan of attack. Let me tell you what I’m thinking ...”

Scene 3 — A Swing and a Miss, Strike One

Veronica was seething. First there had been the risk of entering the Federal Building itself. The whole building was protected by Frasier Industries’ containment fields that sapped her psychic powers. She hated that. She practically felt naked without her psi powers.

Then there was the metal detector at the entrance. She was forced to hand over her katana, her wakizashi, her fukiya and fukibari, her shurikens, and her kemuri-damas. Oh, and the throwing daggers in her boots. This display, of course, made them take her to an interrogation room, where she was forced to show her badge to the guard supervisor, verifying that she was, in fact, the superheroine Shinobi. Still, the experience had been more than a little humiliating. But she made it to Patricia’s office suite on time for the meeting... only to be told to take a seat. And wait ... and wait ... and wait ...

So yes, she was seething when she finally entered Patricia’s office. If she made me wait out here for an hour and a half just to dick with me, I’ll kick her ass from here to her fucking penthouse.

“Alright, bitch. I’m here. What the fu—” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed another person in the room. A man. Tall, dark of hair, broad of shoulder, lanterned of jaw, dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit. She blushed immediately. “I’m sorry. I thought it was just the two of us ... What’s going on?”

In some universe, the smile on Patricia Grimalde’s face might have been a calming influence. This was not that universe. When the bitch spoke, that didn’t help any either.

“Please be patient, Roni. There are legal reasons that things have to be done this way. This is Kirby Wilcox. He’s the West Coast legal counsel for US Department of State. And, equally importantly, he’s Epitome, a badged super from San Francisco.”

“It’s, um, a pleasure to meet you,” Roni said tentatively, extending her hand.

He took her hand and shook, firmly but not too firmly. “I hope it will be,” he replied somewhat enigmatically.

“I’m sorry we kept you waiting,” continued Patty, “but my meeting with Mr. Wilcox ran a bit long. I convinced him to do this my way, but it took a while.”

“Kirby,” she continued, turning to her colleague, “As you can see, we do know each other, as I have already stated for the record. And Mrs. Albinn has already made it abundantly clear that we are not friends, to say the least. Thus, my opinion on this matter is not motivated by any personal amity.“

“As stipulated,” said Kirby.

“So there is no need for me to recuse myself.”

“For now,” he said, slowly, with just a bit of an edge.

“Roni, we would like to have an informal conversation with you. You have the right to have an attorney present, but, given the nature of our questions, I think you will not want anyone else in the room.”

Roni thought for a bit. “My lawyer knows I’m a badged super.”

“Yes,” said Kirby, “But she doesn’t know the rest of your history.”

Roni clamped down hard on her emotions. Oh SHIT! They know about Japan, about the assassinations. And he’s with the State Department? Fuck, they want to extradite me!

“Furthermore,” injected Patricia, “if you insist upon a lawyer we’ll have to make it a formal recorded deposition. Roni, it will eventually be available for public release under FOIA ... you know, the Freedom of Information Act?”

“Shit!” she exclaimed, and paused, thinking. Thinking about escape.

Okay, Patty-cake is a non-issue. I way outclass her with my ninja training alone. Our little dust up at the Prentiss mansion a few months back more than proved that. And then there’s this Wilcox guy. He looks pretty tough, but he’s a metahuman too, so he probably relies too much on his superpowers, which are neutralized by the containment field. I can take him. I can take both of them. I can get past them. Maybe I should knock them out too to slow down pursuit. No problem. But I’ll have to abandon my equipment. Again, no problem, I have plenty of replacements at home.

Roni almost facepalmed herself. OH FUCK! HOME! They probably already have my house staked out! I’ll never get in! And I’ll have to ditch my cell phone before I even leave the building. I won’t have any way to contact anyone! I’ll have to go on the lam right from here. I ... I’ll never see Parker again ... or Venus ... or Lucy! SHIT!

Roni reached a decision. She calmed herself. She visibly relaxed herself.

“Okay, how do we do this?”

“Right now this is just an informal—”

“And highly irregular,” muttered Kirby.

“—conversation that doesn’t have to go on the record.”

Roni looked at Patricia but there was no help there. Patty-cake must be wearing her best courtroom poker face. FUCK!

Patricia continued, “You are not legally bound to answer these questions. However, I must advise you that if we are not sufficiently satisfied with your responses, we will file for a court-ordered deposition, on the record, subject to FOIA.”

Roni shook her head. She knew that Patricia hated her every bit as much as Roni hated the bitch in return. But there was something about this. Okay, Patty-cake just argued against recusing herself because she was acting against her interests. Quite frankly her “interests” regarding me probably involve steel restraints and a very dull knife. She as much as told me that she’s fighting the extradition!

“Okay,” Roni said at last, “let’s do this.”

Scene 4 — Good-bye Mr. Spalding!

Another three hours later, Veronica was completely wrung dry. Now they knew about everything, all the theft, all the intimidation, all the kidnapping, all the killing. They knew about her training. They knew about her living conditions. Hell they knew what she ate for breakfast most mornings back then.

Patricia looked tired too. And Kirby? Ha! How could someone simultaneously look smugly satisfied and angry enough to spit nails? Roni was sure that he was ready to throw her to the wolves. Will they even let me say goodbye to Parker? To Lucy? To anybody? Finally the tears that she had kept at bay for so long began to flow in earnest.

“Roni,” said Patricia, “we’re almost done. I just have one more point to cover. In your time with the Hand, were you exposed to the same conditioning as was used on the assassins who attacked the Prentiss Mansion last June?”

“Well, of course!” said Roni, “That’s the standard conditioning for acolytes.”

Patricia smiled and sat back in her chair. “There you have it, Kirby,” she said triumphantly, “She was under mind control.”

“What?” said Kirby, ”No! Doe v Crestwood Montessori. Operant conditioning isn’t mind control.“

“But drugs and torture and who knows what else are!” Patricia countered, “If necessary I can get you a sworn affidavit from a registered psychic who tussled with the same clan of assassins. She will swear on a stack of bibles that those ninjas were under the most pervasive and overwhelming mind control she’s ever seen. They were little more than human robots.“

“You’re certain?” asked Kirby, rubbing his prodigious chin.

“Positive. That affidavit will be in your inbox tomorrow, morning. Promise.”

“Well, that ... that certainly changes things!” he replied.

“But wait, wait,” said Roni, “So what? I still did all those, those horrible things!”

“Mrs. Albinn,” said Kirby Wilcox, smiling now for the first time since she had met him, “We don’t put knives in jail for stabbing people!”

“What?” said Roni, still not getting it.

“Roni,” said Patricia, “Under US law a person under mind control is not a competent actor. If you get whammied into shooting somebody, you’re not a murderer, the one pulling your strings is.”

“Oh!” She said, a smile creeping through the tears, “So you ... you won’t ... won’t extradite me?”

“How did you know—”

“I told you she was smart, Kirby,” said Patricia.

“Yeah, well I guess you were right about that too,” said Kirby, “No, we won’t honor this extradition request. We won’t even have to hold a hearing. Even so, Mrs. Albinn, it’s probably safest if you don’t leave the country. Ever. Mexico, for example, would have shipped your ass to Japan in a heartbeat. Mind control or no mind control.“

“Sure. That’s ... that’s good advice,” said Roni, still shaken. Still having trouble believing that her world was not coming to an end after all.

“Well then,” he said, “My work here is done.”

Stepping out onto the balcony of Patricia’s office—of course her office had a balcony; she had still been a Tearbearer when she took the job—he seemed recover some sort of second wind. Oh, right. He’s outside the containment field now, thought Roni. In a blur of motion suddenly Kirby Wilcox was wearing garish spandex tights complete with cape and a large red script “E” on his muscular chest. Gathering himself, he rose up into the sky and flew away.

Scene 5 — Touching All the Bases

“Did he really say ‘My work here is done’?” asked Roni, straining not to laugh out loud.

“Hey,” snarked Patty, “Epitome is all about the melodrama. You know, ‘Go big or go home’.”

Roni couldn’t restrain her laughter any longer. It felt so good to laugh.

Patricia, seeing that she was on a roll, looked out the window and continued on, “I’m just surprised he didn’t follow up with ‘Up, up, and away’!”

Then Patty noticed that Roni wasn’t laughing anymore. Uh-oh. She turned to face a very different Roni than the one she had seen a moment before.

“You, you fucking cunt! You let me stew all afternoon thinking I was gonna be in chains on the next flight to Tokyo!”

“And you would have been ... except ...”

“Except what, you smug little bitch?”

“Now, now Roni. Why don’t you tell me why you’re not ‘in chains on the way to Tokyo’ right now?“

“Because ... because you asked me the right question. And I didn’t even know that the answer would set me free. So, you want me to say I owe you? Fine. I owe you. Are you happy now?”

“No.”

“No!?”

“No, Roni, not by a long shot. First of all, I already owed you—what did you call it? oh, yeah—‘a debt that I could never repay’. Well I think I just did repay it, didn’t I? Why don’t we call it even, hmm? Second, If Parker and I could bury the hatchet, why can’t the two of us? Isn’t it worth a try? Third, and most important by far, I would kill for a drink right now. You with me?“

Roni paused to think for a long minute, still wearing a stoic scowl. Patricia was just beginning to think she had miscalculated, that she had overplayed her hand, when a bright smile finally broke across Roni’s face.

“’Kill for a drink’? Well, with any luck my killing days are over. But I could do with a good stiff drink myself. That bar on the other side of the street, is it any good?”

“The Devil’s Advocate? They make an Old Fashioned that’s to die for, but there’s a downside.” Patricia said, grinning.

“Oh? Do tell.”

Patty’s grin got wider. “You have to put up with all these young, handsome, hotshot lawyers hitting on you.”

Roni’s grin now matched Patricia’s. Picking up her purse she headed for the door. “I guess that’s just a price we’ll have to pay for being sooo MILF-tastic. First one’s on me.”

As they turned to walk out of the office, Roni rounded on Patty one more time.

“Just one more thing, Grimalde.”

“What now, Roni?”

Before Patty could react, Roni had grabbed her into a tight hug. She whispered into Patty’s ear, “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you, very, very much.”

Patty tentatively reached behind the woman and lightly patted her back. ”Do itashimashite, my friend. Do itashimashite.“

Scene 6 — A Teachable Moment

The last time Noguchi Yamoto had sat across the table from his Oyabun it had been perhaps the most triumphant moment of his career. He had presented the report from his spies in the Keisatsu-cho showing that the extradition request had gone out to the Americans. Now he was here to present a very different, and much less favorable, report from the same spies.

Somehow Oyabun must already have known that something was amiss. There was clearly a young, female head bobbing up and down in Oyabun’s lap, but no offer was forthcoming for Yamoto to use one of the other brainwashed girls. He had not even offered Yamoto a chair!

Yamoto trembled as he handed the paper to his Oyabun. He was proud that he only had a bit of stress in his voice as he spoke.

“Extradition was denied, Oyabun-sama.“

“I see that. I remember your words, kobun-kun. You said, ‘Surely they must send her to us’. Apparently they did not agree.“

The use of the diminutive stung Yamoto. “I ... I was w-w-wrong, Oyabun-sama. They denied extradition. They determined that she had acted while under mind control. The crazy Yankees don’t even consider her criminal acts to be crimes at all!“

“And you did not foresee this result?”

“N-no, Oyabun-sama.“

“And you did not undertake countermeasures to prevent this result?”

“No, Oyabun-sama.“

“Have you prepared your apology?”

Now Yamoto’s fear broke through. He shook violently as he squeaked out, “Yes, Oyabun-san.“

“Very well, you may continue,” said Oyabun as he shooed away his fellatrix.

With a shock, Yamoto realized it was his daughter.

“Yuzuki-chan!” he whispered urgently. She stared up at him with blank, uncomprehending eyes. A small tear escaped from his eye. But then his expression grew hard. He knew that his little girl was already gone, never to return. But more than that, he knew now that much more than his career was on the line here. His very life was in jeopardy. Yamoto brought his other hand from behind his back, holding a clean, white tea towel wrapped around a small, but very sharp, dagger. A tool designed specifically for this ritual. He laid out the towel on the desk, and laid his left hand, palm up, fingers spread, on top of the towel. He held the dagger in his right hand, poised above his left little finger. He looked to his master for “permission” to continue.

Oyabun shook his head “No”.

Crying with joy, Yamoto dropped the dagger and blubbered.

“Th-thank you, Oyabun-sama! Thank you for your m-m-mercy!“

“No, kobun-kun, you misunderstand. The apology you offer is insufficient.” Oyabun nodded his head toward the Yamoto’s right hand.

As comprehension dawned, Yamoto grew even more frightened than before. But somehow the man pulled himself together. This time he held the knife in his left hand, poised over his right little finger. This time Oyabun nodded his approval. Noguchi Yamoto screeched like a little girl as he cut off the last joint of his own right little finger. He presented the bloody bit of flesh and bone to his Oyabun, swearing through his pitiful sobs that he would never fail his master again.

“Your apology is sufficient, Noguchi-san. I am pleased.”

Only then did Yamoto wrap his bleeding hand in the tea towel, rise, bow, and make his exit.

Oyabun sat back with a smile. He was, of course, unhappy with the failed plan, but pleased with the overall result. He had learned over the years that it was good to let his subordinates make their own mistakes, and to learn from them.