The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hendrix shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the eyes around the table bore down on him. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to tell them. Unfortunately, someone had to, and it was in his job description-which he was wishing he had read a bit closer when he signed up. Hendrix cleared his throat and responded to the question,

“We know he has not left Georgia. He is still in Georgia, and more specifically, the metropolitan Atlanta area, but we are unable to specify anything more than say a fifty mile diameter without alerting him to our presence.” He took a sip of water and cleared his throat, “It would be unwise to alert him to the fact that we know he has...snapped.”

One of the many men in one of many different uniforms that surrounded the conference table spoke with the authority Hendrix would expect a voice to have coming from the sort of man in that sort of uniform,

“Tell us, again, exactly what makes you think he has snapped.”

Hendrix had only gone through that whole scenario seven times since he arrived. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes for the moment and resigned himself to the fact that he would go through it seven more if need be, this was, after all, in his job description.

“This morning at roughly fifteen after seven a.m., one of the special individuals who had been trained and raised by The Institute, rose from his bed in a small apartment east of Atlanta, Georgia after having been in an advanced depressive state for six days. He walked into his bathroom and brushed his teeth. He then looked squarely into his own eyes in the mirror and stated “No more.” It was at that exact moment when every surveillance camera we had in not only his apartment, car, and place of work went off line, but every one of our, and only ours, went off line in the entire state of Georgia. At the same time the readings went off the chart for advanced psionic activity in his general vicinity. As detailed in your reports, there are eight known ‘talents’ in the state. He is by far the most powerful, but was, until this morning the least likely to pose a problem. Of the other seven, five have been trained and aided by the institute and have already been accounted for and ushered out of the state through the assistance of local federal authorities. The other two ‘talents’ have never been confronted by The Institute as they were not of sufficient power enough to do anything more than provide subconscious ‘pushes’ in weak minded individuals, those two don’t even realize they are gifted and are well passed the age where the talent develops fully. That’s why we recognize student G-73 as the threat. That’s why The Institute felt it necessary to alert you to the situation, and let you know that our best have been dispensed to stop G-73, whose name is Nathaniel Tatum, and to neutralize the threat by any means deemed necessary.” Hendrix dried his forehead with his handkerchief and reached for his water as the voice from the man in the uniform spoke again,

“Exactly how bad will this get?”

“It all depends, sir. If it is a damage assessment you want, in The Institutes best imaginings, we have a 48% chance of controlling the situation up before he ‘touches’ forty people. If we are not able to bring it under control before then, well, we remind you that Hitler was also a ‘talent’. It truly depends on how far gone Nathaniel is in his own mind. I would recommend that you prepare to institute a ‘major accident’ for the Atlanta region should The Institute’s efforts fail.”

The uniform leaned forward allowing Hendrix to catch an outline of his silhouette in the poorly lit conference room,

“What level of accident?”

Hendrix paused and then sipped from his glass of water. He hated this part worst of all, but again, it was in his job description,

“The Institute would suggest an accident along the lines of nuclear terrorism. An act of terrorism of roughly 100 miles in radius.”

The uniform fell back into his chair, as if it had finally occurred to him this was a very bad situation.

Hendrix finished his water.

I. Sips of Revenge

Crystal Trivioni loved her job. She had become the office manager of the largest, most influential firms in The southeastern United States at the tender age of 36 and commanded the highest salary of any employee of Hardwick, Raston, and Banks who was not a partner. Crys loved the pressure, the excitement, and the scandal that the firm provided her with over the years, everything about her job, her entire life was sexy. Ally McBeal and the other countless T.V shows had nothing on the reality of working at a major law firm, and , God help her, Crys loved it, was addicted to it more than any drug she could imagine. She was mature enough to understand though, that this life was not one that always provided happy endings, or just rewards. Such was the case she faced now as she entered her office with her coffee and paperwork at roughly nine a.m.. She found her most valued office clerk waiting for her, sitting in a chair in front of her desk staring out the window. Crys was simultaneously relieved to find him there, and sorrowful for the events that had led to his absence the past week. She felt somewhat responsible for the whole fiasco. Crys took her place behind her desk and smiled as she sat the coffee and papers down,

“I’m glad you came back, Nate. I missed you, sport!”

Nate turned and looked into her big brown eyes with her long brown hair falling across her face. He loved her facial features, the high cheekbones, the deepest eyes, the full lips. Even the few wrinkles she had acquired did nothing more than enhance her beauty. Nate had always been attracted to her, but so had every male who had encountered her. He smiled and clasped his hands together in his lap,

“Thanks, Crys. I apologize for being gone over such a, well, it was a bit ridiculous of me to let it get to me like that wasn’t it?”

“No. It wasn’t. Not at all. It says a great deal about who you are that it had hurt you so much. I’m sorry it happened at all. I’m especially sad that it was I who had set you up with her to start with.” “Crys, I , I am not at all sorry you introduced us. I loved her. I still do, I just don’t understand why...”

Crys watched as tears welled up in the 22 year old’s eyes. She felt anger welling inside her breast and her stomach tightening over the fact that her own daughter was idiot enough, slut enough to have done to this young man that was far too good for her, what she had.

“Why is a good question Nate. I haven’t spoke to her since I found out for fear I may beat her within an inch of her spoiled little life. Now, though, I think we both need to hear why.”

The Italian descent office manager slapped her fingers across a button on her phone and her secretary’s voice crackled through,

“Yes Crystal?”

“Lori, have Miranda come to my office ASAP.”

“Yes, Crystal.”

Nate shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Crys sipped her coffee,

“Crys, do you think this wise? I mean, I’m not sure how to act...”

“Let me tell you something , sport, It ain’t you who has to worry about anything. I’m getting an explanation out of her, an apology for you, and then I may even can her little ass.”

“She’s your daughter! You can’t fire her!”

“Yes she is, and oh hell yes I can. I will not lose my best clerk over the indiscretion and whore like behavior of an 18 year old copy girl , blood kin or not. Besides, I consider this a form of tough love. The tough part is tossing her out on her ass, the love part is that I didn’t strangle her and hide the corpse. She has more than hurt you, Nate. She has deeply shamed me.”

Nate almost formed another rebuttal when the office door opened and Miranda poked her head inside,

“You wanted to see me, Crys?” Her voice was on the verge of shaking.

“Yes, and It isn’t ‘Crys’. It’s MOTHER. Get in here and sit down. It’s time we had a chat.”

Miranda entered and shut the door behind her. Crys looked at her daughter with bemusement and a bit of curiosity, she had her shoulder length brown/blond hair in pigtails and a simple white button down blouse with a short plaid skirt on. No hose, but bobby-socks and Nikes. Crys almost laughed. Nate seemed to be trying hard not to look at Miranda as she awkwardly took the chair next to him, casting her eyes down in what, had Crys stopped to think about it, may have been shame.

“Miranda, what the hell are you dressed like a Catholic school girl for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know, why mommy, I just wanted to.”

Crys blinked, had she just called her “mommy”?

“Nevermind. I want you’re side of the story. I want Nate to hear it. I want to hear it.”

“Story, mommy?”

(Mommy again?) Crys felt her face flush.

“Yes, Miranda, your story about why you purposefully arranged it so Nate would walkup on you while you had one guy’s penis in your mouth and another one up your ass in the parking deck. I still have the security camera tape of it if you have forgotten! We could watch it if that’s what you want? Is it Miranda,? Do you want to see what a whore you are?”

Crys had come around her desk to stand over her daughter as she yelled. She looked down at her child as her face blushed and her head faced down into her cleavage. Crys saw right down her daughter’s blouse. This only served to infuriate her more. Nate was rising from his chair,

“Crys, please, this is what we need...”

“Yes it is Nate. She needs to be told what she is. She needs to know for fact that she is a slut and the whole firm is laughing at her!” That was when Crys noticed Miranda’s nipples were protruding from her blouse...

“I will be damned! Stand up Miranda!”

“Why, mommy?”

“I said stand your ass up RIGHT NOW!”

No sooner had the girl got to her feet than had her mother literally ripped her blouse off her, and grabbed the front clasp of her bra a snapped it open to reveal her daughter’s breasts and perfectly erect full protruding light brown nipples. Miranda moved to cover herself and Crys slapped her across her face,

“Don’t you DARE try to hide it Miranda! You can’t hide the fact you are a whore and are excited by this whole situation! Look, Nate! You see her as the slut she is now don’t you?” Crys looked at Nate who had stepped aside and silently nodded at her, and for the first time, Crys realized there was a video camera set up on a tripod recording all of this. A hundred questions flooded her mind at once, why had she ripped off her daughter’s clothes? Why had she lost her temper so? Where did the camera come from? Why hadn’t she noticed it before? And now, why was she sliding her lace panties down from beneath her own dress and off her legs, and why were they so wet? Crys realized she didn’t understand any of this, and she especially didn’t understand what happened next. Miranda, now topless, and in pigtails, looking like a 15 year old school girl, had dropped to her knees in front of her mother as Crys removed her own dress, revealing all of her beautiful, slim, tanned body to Nate, her, daughter. and the camera. Crys felt as though her heart were about to pound through her chest, her body was on fire, her mind screamed no even as she heard the words come from her own lips,

“Show Mommy how a lezzy works it Miranda, Show mommy what a slut you are!” And even though Miranda was already leaning toward the furry mound above her mother’s slit with her tongue extended, Crys still grabbed her daughter’s head and pulled her face into her crotch as she leaned against her desk and wrapped her long legs around the 18 year old’s head. When Miranda’s tongue entered her mother’s pussy, Crys threw her head back and drew in a deep breath. She was fevered, confused, and scared, but could in no way stop what was happening, she glanced her beautiful brown eyes up at Nate, who was standing by the camera smiling. He said one word, as she started to orgasm from her daughter’s lapping at her sex...

“Gotchya.”