The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I was too young and horny to think of consequences. It allowed me to commit what most people would say were fairly heinous acts. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, the lack of forethought prevented me from taking advantage of the full spectrum of possibilities that the accident created for me.

I can be philosophical about it now, but sometimes I still think of how it could have been with bitterness.

Sixteen is an awkward state, especially when you are different from everyone else. I was not a geek, a freak, a member of the D&D crowd, a metal head or a pot head, but I was undeniably different.

My parents were not opposed to children. My father simply had not considered getting one of his own; what my mother wanted is a mystery. My arrival left them in something of a quandary. Their solution was to treat me as an adult relation that would be living in their home for an extended period of time.

I do not remember a time when my words were not taken seriously, and judged as an adult’s might be, or a time when my questions were not answered with intelligent and truthful bluntness. My toys were overlooked as a relative’s minor idiosyncrasies. Our relationship lacked warmth, but I had a much better understanding of the world and significantly more freedom than my peers.

I was also different because I had thought out my life plan for years before I could make any significant movement through it. My father was a plastic surgeon; my mother, his personal nurse. In my father’s profession, there are plastic surgeons who do face lifts, nose jobs, tummy tucks, etc. My father had an eye for what would make a woman believe she was more beautiful after putting herself in his hands.

The first time I saw the before and after pictures he was filing, we discovered I had the same eye. It gave us something to talk about. He found being my mentor an easier relationship than being my father. It also placed me in a difficult situation at school because I knew what I had to do to get where I wanted to be. Grammar school and high school may give you a good foundation of habits and knowledge, but beyond a certain point it is a tedious affair for everyone involved.

Beyond a certain point is the beginning of my story.

It was my junior year in high school. Lamentably, I was a sixteen-year old virgin with no realistic hopes of changing that.

I was in pre-college curriculum, which put me squarely in Chemistry lab once a week. Most kids would not have pulled what I did but my father’s money, my freedom, and my attitude about the future made me close to untouchable. The fact that I was in an experimental class that separated the most gifted students from the rest of the student body added to the effect.

The experiment that week was to make aspirin. An innocuous experiment except that I really had not paid any attention to the instructions for the procedure. I had heard that aspirin was a good base point for a designer drug. A few molecules moved from here to there and you have a hallucinogen. I did not know if it was true, but it seemed more interesting than what we were doing. I was not the type that did drugs but there was a difference if I made the stuff myself. I ended up watching my classmates and trying to follow in their steps, but not caring too much if I flubbed the process.

The teacher was watching me carefully.

I had a reputation when it came to certain things. The only thing he could really call me to the mat for was that I would have more end product than anyone else in the class but I ‘seemed’ to be doing everything right. Then again someone cannot watch 10 high school juniors and keep a careful eye on the dangerous one in the pack.

The inevitable happened.

I was given a window of opportunity to add a personal touch to the experiment. The lab was the last class of the day, so everyone got to leave after they succeeded in their experiment. The timing on my experiment was off by a significant amount. My classmates snickered and walked out with knowing looks in my direction.

The teacher was an old-school disciplinarian. It irked him that I had so much free reign. He sat near me giving me a lecture about the perils to which my lack of discipline would lead. I had to bite my lip several times so as not to tell him that I did not really see any purpose to high school except to get me into a college where my life could really start. Why should I bother paying attention in a place that could barely handle the mediocre, never mind the gifted and why bother with a conversation on those the system had decided were lost years before?

A smile shaded my face as I thought about his reaction if I blasted him with that when the glass beaker on top of the burner exploded.

At the age of four, I tested a theory I had conceived. My parents dealt much better with things if I offered it to them as fait accompli. An adult does not ask permission, he/she does things if they do not affect someone else, and sometimes even if they do. My mom had her limits, but I knew she was the one that really had to buy into things. When I was four, I discovered the Tae Kwon Do dojo in my town. I had my nanny sign me up for classes.

The nanny was another solution to the parts of me that my parents REALLY could not handle. My first nanny was a fifty-year old woman with something like 20 grandchildren who did not have the time to love me and that stuff, but she tended not to interfere. She was someone for me to come home to, and a ride around town.

By the time that beaker exploded, I had taken 12 years of Tae Kwon Do with four years of American Kendo mixed in. Before I consciously realized what was happening, my body acted to remove itself from danger. My chemistry teacher was not as well trained and caught a blast of the contents.

I got off the floor expecting a loud harangue to start any second, but he seemed stunned. I counted my lucky stars and turned the burner off. I started clearing the glass out of the way; a childish attempt to hide the evidence even when the adult has watched you commit the deed.

I was done with the cleaning and was studying the results when the silence struck me. I looked up at my teacher to see him staring off into the distance.

“Mr. Paz?”

He focused on me.

Slightly.

I moved from side to side in a joking “here I am” manner.

Nothing.

I was getting nervous; Mr. Paz never let an opportunity to lecture me go by. I figured the only thing that could make him stay quiet was that he was formulating a whole new form of teacher-student torture. I noticed glass around him and rushed to get a broom.

He would not move.

“Hey, Mr. Paz could you move out of the way, I need to clean this stuff up.”

Language is a curious thing. If he had taken that to mean what I meant, it probably would not have gone anywhere. He would have gotten away from ALL of the glass and I would have trooped innocently along figuring that I had gotten away with the mother of all high school chemical blunders.

He took it to mean get off the stuff he was standing on. He moved about six inches onto another pile of glass and lab paraphernalia.

I gave him an annoyed look.

“This would be much easier if you stood by the separator.” I said sarcastically.

I figured I was fucked anyway so why not get a few good ones in of my own.

I continued my attempt to clean up the floor, barely noticing he had moved away. After I was done, I returned to studying my so-called ‘aspirin’. I figured it could not aspirin because it was not the color that my classmates’ experiments had been. I ran the little chemical test we had been given to verify our results.

Whatever it was, it was definitely not aspirin.

I looked up to make sure Mr. Paz had not seen the test results. He stood by the half-door that separated the classroom proper from the laboratory staring into nothing. The first inkling that something more than ‘not aspirin’ had happened crept up my spine.

“Mr. Paz, what are you doing just standing there.”

“You told me to stand here, David,” he replied in a monotone.

I am honest with myself. My Tae Kwon Do instructors taught me that. I am not a brilliant person, but I am smart and more importantly very disciplined when my interests are involved. It can be a more successful combination than just brilliance. On the other hand, intuitive leaps are not my forte.

I sat frozen trying to absorb the impact of his words. Five minutes later, I came to the conclusion that more data was required. Something out of the ordinary was going on but I did not really have a handle on what the ‘out of’ part was. I devised a plan but it was fraught with risk. It would answer the most questions and I was already in major trouble so I had nothing to lose anyway.

“Hey, Mr. Paz, show me everybody’s grades,” I said in a voice just short of joking.

I watched, amazed, as he walked to his desk and pulled the black grade book out of his briefcase. He walked up to me, set the book in front of me. It was open to the page of our grades. I moved the pages back and forth between his schedule of classes that year and tried to come to a conclusion.

Any conclusion!

I was not convinced.

I figured while this was far-gone; it could be a part of that elaborately evil teacher-student torture I was sure Mr. Paz dreamed of at night. Not likely with his open grade book in front of me, but a part of me was still waiting for the hammer to fall.

“Hey, Mr. Paz. It’s hot in here, why don’t you take your clothes off.”

I figured that would seal the deal.

60 seconds later I was face to head with penis.

I could not see a teacher-student torture that could possibly involve THAT. It was the end of his career if it ever got out. I sat staring at a naked old man for a few minutes before I made some critical decisions.

“Put your clothes back on, Mr. Paz.”

I watched at his desk trying to think.

“Go sit down at your desk, Mr. Paz. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

I separated the remains of my experiment from the remains of my lab equipment. Fifteen minutes later, I had seven ugly-colored, misshapen pills. I put them in a sealed test tube and walked up to Mr. Paz.

I stood looking at him for a minute before I spoke again.

“Mr. Paz.”

He looked up at me. I noted that he only seemed to focus when I was talking directly to him.

“Go home, and get some sleep, Mr. Paz. All that happened was the normal-David-undisciplined-science-botch. You reamed me out; I actually paid attention this time, so there’s no need to discuss any of it again. Forget everything else that happened after everyone left.”

He nodded at me, got up, walked to the closet, pulled his jacket out, grabbed his briefcase, and walked out of the classroom.

It was a long walk home.

I could not plan anything with the pills without being sure they were safe. I waited a week to see if Mr. Paz suffered any side effects or something. It was a tough week for my sparring partners as the frustration of waiting grew.

Mr. Paz’s behavior did not change towards me in the least, but as far as I could tell he did not remember anything other than what I had suggested.

After that week, I figured the pills had to be pretty safe. I needed to experiment and figured sacrificing one pill to find the range of control it would give me was the only way to proceed.

It took another week to set up.

I had moved into the basement of our house a few years before my botched experiment. The basement had a full bath, a walled in space that I used as a bedroom, a good-sized living space, and an entrance through the garage. My moving in was another of my fait accomplis to prevent my parents from getting involved. It was the farthest push that I ever tried with my mom; it was a close call. She did not talk about it or anything. She just stared at me for a few minutes when I presented my case to her. On that day, I learned I took more after my mom than my dad. She nodded once allowing me the freedom of my own space. I marked a date two years later on my calendar to remind myself the next time I would be able to push my mom that hard again.

The mini-apartment solved some of our problems when the first nanny quit. At the time, I was 12 and my mother decided that I did not need a nanny anymore. She hired a live-in maid who had extra duties as my caretaker-type person.

My mother has an uncanny knack for knowing people and what motivates them. We had gone through a different maid every two years so far. My mom always picked out one of the upper-class students from the local college. It was a good deal for the student because they got free housing, food, and only had to clean a barely-lived in house, clean my living space every weekend, and drive me to my martial arts classes. My mother sealed the girl’s loyalty by offering to pay their college tuition on top of the money paid for the maid services.

Mom taught me that offering the right people the right things made your life much easier.

The key to my experiment was getting Cheryl, our maid, out of the house. My parents were rarely home on weekends so they were not an issue. The only time other than her class time was when Cheryl visited her parents on her weekends off. I would be done with my martial arts class at noon; she would drive me home, and then go to her parents’ house for the rest of the weekend.

I would have from Saturday noon to Monday morning.

I gathered two video cameras, and some tapes. I made a six-hour tape with some explicit and some flighty instructions. Not knowing exactly how long the effect of the pill would last, I made sure that the last instructions would let me track the time passed. I did not figure on more than 12 hours since Mr. Paz acted perfectly normal the next day. I cleared the living area in the basement and set the cameras up. I told Cheryl not to worry about cleanup that week because I would take care of it. I made sure she saw me carrying stuff out of the basement.

Saturday noon finally came. I waved at Cheryl as she drove out of our garage. I took a shower to clean the sweat off me and to give Cheryl time to return if she forgot something.

Finally, I turned on the video cameras and set the VCR to play in 20 minutes, which was what I thought the average time for a pill to take effect was.

I swallowed one of the seven pills.

Nothing seemed to happen for a few minutes, I felt normal. I was on the edge of thinking that the stuff probably had to be inhaled when I came to with the VCR playing and the cameras still recording.

I stood up wearily. I turned the VCR and cameras off before I looked at the clock. I estimated I had been out for five hours. I sat down heavily, and tried to remember. I had been very careful about testing how much I could make someone forget. I could remember most of the things but there were definite gaps.

There were places that I knew had gaps but I could not quite make them feel like gaps of memory. There were also places where something very improbable had been painted over what must have happened.

I went upstairs, cleaned up in the bathroom, and had something to eat. I was not prepared to handle much of anything so I sat in front of the large TV in the living room. It was dark out when I woke up. I still did not feel like watching any of the tapes but decided it was time.

The pressure of waiting returned.

I went downstairs and took out the notebook I had used to script the instructions tape. I popped one of recorded tapes into the VCR.

It was eerie watching my recorded actions. I watched as my image’s anxiety started showing. I could have fast-forwarded but I was in the grip of fascination. It was as if the pill was still acting to control me.

It happened.

On the tape, it looked as if every muscle in my body had been hit with a jolt of electricity at the same instant. I became painfully rigid, and then slowly relaxed as if the need to exhale so that I could inhale was the only reason to release the tension. There was about a five-minute wait. The VCR activated and the snow on the TV screen turned black, and finally a picture of me showed. I heard the recorded image try to gain the subject’s attention.

The subject turned to the TV. I made sure that the subject would not be facing the instructor. I heard the instructor begin to give directions. The first instructions were innocuous. I wanted the subject to be kept in a comfort zone of actions that had been performed for years in a relationship of master and student. I watched the subject begin the stretching exercises done at the beginning of every Tae Kwon Do class.

The first difference was noticeable when the subject was taken through the entire set of hyongs that he knew.

I leaned towards the screen. I watched as each hyong was performed so close to my ideal of perfection I could not pick out any errors. The subject was completely within soft focus. The subject was stopped in the middle of a hyong and instructed to remove all clothing. I watched as different things were asked of the subject. Questions were answered without hesitation and with complete honesty.

I watched the subject masturbate.

I watched as the subject was instructed to go upstairs and get an item from every room of the house. The further into the tape I got the stranger the instructions became, the more I should have fought against performing the actions.

It did not seem to make a difference what was asked of the subject, the subject proceeded with the action if possible.

Hours later, I turned the VCR off.

I sat on the floor staring at the blank TV screen. I could not define what I felt.

A sick kind of excitement?!

Not emotional disease but a physical feeling. My stomach rolled as if it could not decide whether or not to expel everything in it.

My head ached from the pressure of possibility.

I fought my imagination to a standstill.

I got up, pulled the tape out of the VCR, pulled the extra tape out of the second camera, and picked up the instructions tape. I walked out the garage door.

I destroyed the tapes systematically.

I went back inside. I walked into my bedroom and pulled the test tube out of the drawer where I had hidden it. I lay down on the bed holding the test tube over my eyes. I stared at it for a long time.

Certain things had been proven.

The subject responded to vocal cues. I tried to work with hand signals but achieved no results. I did not think hand signals would work except for the most simplistic like a hand wave that said ‘Come here!’ I had no clues about physical contact cues though.

The more specific the instructions the better. If given instructions that lacked clarity, the subject interpreted them within the confines of their personality.

The near-perfect performance of the hyongs meant the body was more relaxed and capable of doing things to a degree that could not normally be achieved.

The subject did not have social or personal inhibitions. That went against everything I had heard about hypnosis but I had seen the evidence.

Whatever the pills did was on such a basic level that things like inhibitions ceased to exist. Even survival instincts were suppressed to some extent. I looked at the cuts on my forearms. I made sure there would not be any permanent damage, but I accepted a lot pain without fighting the hold of the pills.

The subject could be made to forget entire blocks of time. It was easier if something was put in the place of lost memories and the subject was allowed some freedom to fill in details.

All in all what I had in my hand was the stuff of many dark fantasies and those fantasies were knocking at the door of my awareness.

Hard!