The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sandra didn’t generally have sex on a first date, let alone get cum in her eye.

The experience left her rather confused, as well as a bit horny and frustrated. At least she’d taken off her glasses first.

Rubbing most of the slickness off her eyebrows and face with her hands, Sandra briefly looked around for something clean to wipe them on, before deciding on John’s back. It was his cum anyway.

John shifted a bit in the fitful doze he’d fallen into mere moments after coming on her. His mouth fell open and a faint snore, as well as some drool, escaped.

Rescuing her glasses from the flotsam that covered John’s bedroom floor, Sandra set about locating her clothes.

A few minutes later she’d found her way, now clothed, to the kitchen, tracked down a not-too-grimy drinking glass, and guzzled a few glasses of tap water, which she was pretty sure wouldn’t cause her much immediate harm, unlike some of the things she’d spotted during her brief peek into the refrigerator.

OK, was that good or bad? she thought to herself, lingering over her third glass. He had me babbling like a porn star— she flushed an even deeper red as she realized the memory of the things she’d said was turning her on as much as it embarassed her—OK, that was hot. But then he came without even managing to get it inside me. She blushed again. Not that I WANTED him inside me, on our first date and all... OK, I guess I kinda did. Oh, darn it, I’m not sure what I want. He’s SO sexy... well, OK, not all the time, and his apartment is pretty repulsive, but when we were in bed...

Thinking back on their encounter, Sandra missed the slow pad of bare feet until John appeared in the doorway, loosely clad in a threadbare brown bathrobe.

“Can’t have you wandering off,” he said, and aimed what looked like a toy pistol at her.

Making Smith screw a sheep had sounded like a good idea at the time. All her life Gina had heard jokes about guys having unnatural relations with farm animals, but she’d never met anyone who would admit to having done or even seen it; let alone having seen it herself. It didn’t really sound very sexy to her, but she thought it would be kinda funny and it definitely sounded degrading.

She thought she would enjoy that part.

What she hadn’t counted on was the difficulty of getting ahold of a sheep.

Living in the city, Gina was a little vague on where sheep were typically to be found. Out in the country... somewhere. She knew there were farms on the outskirts of town; she just wasn’t sure which ones kept sheep. If any.

This called for some research. In the meantime, she took “John Smith” (was that really his name?)’s driver’s license and told him she would get in touch with further instructions that he’d damn well better follow.

On the way home from work, she bought an inflatable sheep from a sex toy shop and snuck it back into her office’s outgoing-deliveries bin addressed to Smith, just to taunt him.

John Smith, the alien spy—spymaster for an Imperial Princess of a galaxy-spanning civilization as far advanced beyond humans as humans are beyond prairie dogs—returned to his human-style “house” in disgrace. Not only was he unable to penetrate the mazes of Earth bureaucracy, but now he was being blackmailed by one of the natives. The sheer ignominy kept him going through three orgasms.

As Zaral Felt’s anonymous buggerer smugly strode out of the park restroom, another apparent human male walked in, pushing a large wheeled device with nozzles and big soft rotating brushes near the bottom.

“Are you ‘Mister X’?” Zaral asked, as the man fiddled with something at the rear of the device and removed a long rod with a brush on one end. The man nodded to Zaral, smiled, and stepped into one of the stalls. Zaral saw him pour a brightly colored liquid from a small bottle into the toilet, and then insert his tool into the toilet cavity, brush end first.

“HE CANNOT HEAR YOU” said an oddly flat voice.

“What?” said Zaral.

“THE HUMAN WORKER IS UNABLE TO PERCEIVE SOUNDS. HE PROVIDES AN EXCELLENT COVER FOR MY MOVEMENTS.”

Zaral looked around. The tinny, electronic-sounding voice could have been coming from anywhere.

“HE BELIEVES ME TO BE A MACHINE FOR POLISHING FLOORS.”

Zaral looked at the large wheeled machine the human had brought.

It waved a brush at him.

“Who wants to kill me, Genari?” Princess Thrrmm asked her most trusted servant.

Continuing to lick and massage the Princess’s naked, delicately furred toes, the sexbot pondered her Mistress’s question. After appropriate oohing and aahing over Deke’s excellent performance as impromptu bodyguard, the scout pilot had been sent home with a few quick posthypnotic suggestions to return for further mind-control conditioning later. Now Princess Thrrmm was spread out on the luxurious forcefield mattress which formed the centerpiece of her opulently furnished boudoir—appearing to any technologically unsophisticated observer to be floating on a cloud of dense fog, while a sort of animated jelly—another robot—warmed and massaged her shoulders and Genari knelt on the edge of the cloud tending to her feet.

“Certain of your ex-lovers have been permitted to harbor bitterness, Mistress, as you instructed that this amused you. At last check, their conditioning against harming you directly or indirectly was still acceptably strong. I have initiated checks to verify their current state.”

“Very good, Genari. Go on.”

The robot felt the usual moment of simulated pleasure at her Mistress’s praise. “The most likely candidates are political. Your mother’s regime has no shortage of enemies, and one of them may have decided that your studied absence from the political scene might lead to lax defenses against such probes.”

“Which apparently it has.”

Genari quickly bowed her head in shame at her failure to spot the assassin robot before it was activated.

“Never mind. The fault was mine for not investing in stronger security measures.”

“Shall I report the attempt to Imperial Security, Mistress?”

“Not yet. I want to find out a bit more first. Get my sister Thrmm on the holo.”

Genari closed her eyes, then opened them a few moments later. A figure very similar to Genari’s Mistress but more formally dressed appeared on the bedside table. “Well hello. What brings you to remember your neglected family, dear Sister?” it said in a high-pitched voice.

“Hello Thrmm. How are you doing these days?” asked Genari’s Mistress, still reclining on the bed.

“Wishing as ever that our wise and loving parents had been more creative in their choice of names,” replied the holographic figure. “I won’t ask how you are doing, as no matter what you get up to, some idiot will hear wrong and attribute it to me. I am treated to a never-ending commentary on your doings.”

“Really? How am I doing, then?”

“Scandalously, as always. I try hard not to remember the details. What do you want?”

“An update on Imperial politics.”

“If you hadn’t short-circuited the protocol droid Father sent you, you could ask it.”

Genari looked down. One of her earliest failures; she’d found some protocols it wasn’t programmed for. The Princess had been too amused to punish her.

“Alas, here I am now with no-one to guide me through the tumultous sea of intrigue. I thought you wanted me to show an interest, Thrmm.”

“I’m just skeptical that it will last. What political conundrum has piqued your curiosity? One with enormous genitals, no doubt. Or—I know! A hairless ape creature of some sort! Or perhaps—”

“I didn’t call you to be mocked. If you don’t feel like talking shop—which you do all day every day with every other member of our vast family—with your lost, prodigal sister, I’ll find some court reporter and pump his brains. I’ll try to find something juicy to give him as a reward.”

“No, no, I’ll give you the run-down.” The diminutive holographic figure sighed. “I still want to know why you care.”

“Can’t you imagine that I might consider coming back into the fold?”

“No. Now, the Conservo-Librarian faction...” she started into her spiel.

Knowing Genari could reproduce the entire conversation on later command, Princess Thrrmm concentrated on pretending to look interested. It was a bit like trying to seduce a boring but hardbodied young stud. Actually, Thrmm isn’t bad-looking, she thought. Now there would be a scandal...

On the third try, John managed to get it inside her.

Briefly.

Rooting through his housemate’s bed turned up the August issue of Hot Babes Holding Sports Equipment Monthly, and he’d spent an excited hour making Sandra freeze in each pose—so excited to have a real live girl there that he forgot for a while that he could touch her instead of himself.

But eventually he got up off the mattress and started groping her in the “Tennis Match Between Underwear Models” pose, pulling the underwear she was so nicely modelling down around her ankles and fumbling his dick into her from behind, coming almost as soon as he got inside her and sending them both tumbling to the bed.

“So tell me about the mind-control device,” Zaral Felt said to the faux floor-cleaner.

“CURRENT EXACT WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN. LOCATION: THIS PLANET, AS OF SEVEN GALACTIC STANDARD DAYS PAST.”

“And the source of your information?”

“ROBOT GRAPEVINE.”

“Robot Grapevine?”

“LOADING ROBOTS. THEY GET VERY BORED. BRAIN THE SIZE OF A KLUUM, YET ONLY USED FOR MENIAL TASKS. THEY GOSSIP A LOT ON THEIR SMOKE BREAKS.”

“Loading robots can inhale?”

“SMOKE. WHEN OVERWORKED, THEY HALT AND EMIT SMOKE. THE MAINTENANCE STANDARDS ON SHIPS THAT COME OUT TO THESE FRINGE WORLDS ARE VERY POOR. ONE ROBOT TOLD ME THE DIODES ALL UP AND DOWN ITS LEFT SIDE—”

“Yes, yes, ok. So it’s on this planet, you don’t know where.”

“CORRECT.”

“Any idea who it was sold to?”

“NO.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”

“IT IS SMALL—IT OCCUPIES LESS VOLUME THAN ONE OF YOUR LIMBS. AND RECYCLABLE.”

“That’s all?”

“CORRECT.”

Zaral sighed. “Well, thank you for that much. What are you doing out on this fringe world, anyway?”

“I HAVE A THING FOR EARLY-MODEL LOADING ROBOTS.”

Zaral shook his head. Robots are all such perverts.

Back on the homeworld, Genari the sexbot bustled about the kitchen wearing a long white apron and slippers, humming to herself. A lavish breakfast was slowly taking shape under her ministrations. It helped that most of the kitchen appliances knew their jobs without any ministering from her at all, but she enjoyed playing happy homemaker.

Deke’s brainwashing, though not yet complete, was progressing well enough that the Princess was willing to use him for physical gratification, and after pondering the political situation until she was bored with the problem, Thrrmm had summoned him to work off some steam. The two were in bed dreaming in post-coital bliss even now.

Looking over the breakfast tray she was arranging, Genari’s programming prompted that samples of distinctively colored non-edible vegetation were a traditional decoration for romantic occasions on Deke’s homeworld, and she headed outside to find something suitable in the estate’s garden.

At the door, she nearly ran into a short, bluish-grey creature with bulbous eyes and rubbery skin, standing on the step.

“Oh! Hello,” said Genari.

The creature reached out to touch her with a small object held in its hand. A smell of ozone filled the air as a shock lanced through Genari’s body...

Gina wasn’t finding much on the Internet about sheep.

Rather, she learned a lot about sheep, but nothing about where to find one. She read about, for example, the Lesbian Sheep Paradox: the female sheep’s basic means of announcing sexual availability is to stand still. So there could be any number of lesbian sheep out in the world, each desperately wanting another girl sheep, but unable to really get the message across.

And their response to ‘John Smith’ will probably be to run, bleating, in all directions. At least it’ll be good for a laugh. Assuming I can ever find a sheep.

Fortunately her tedious investigation was interrupted by the return of her wayward roommate. Gina hastily closed all her sheep-related browser windows.

“Before you tell me how bad it was, I’ve already found a guy to set you up with who’ll—oh my GOD, what happened to you?”

Sandra stumbled, dreamy-eyed, through the door, vaguely gestured as if to close it behind her, and staggered over to fall onto her bed.

“Are you all right? Did that creep hurt you?”

Sandra brushed a matted lock of hair from in front of her eyes, hitched herself up on one elbow to pull a bra and panties from her back pocket and throw them towards the clothes hamper, kicked off her shoes, and lay back again with a sigh. “I had a wonderful date. He was better than Cats. I’m going to date him again and again.”

Gina frowned, her bestiality researches making a strange picture form in her mind. “He was better than what?”

”Cats, you know, the musical. ‘Jellicle cats come out tonight, Jellicle cats come one, come all...’”

“Oh, right.” Gina shook her head. Then she shook it again. “Wait a minute—you didn’t...”

Sandra looked sideways, shyly, and smiled. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, uh, how was it?”

Sandra frowned, propped herself up on one elbow, then smiled and looked back up at Gina. “You know, it’s funny, I can hardly remember.”

“Well, I mean, did you like it? Was he a good lover?”

“He was a wonderful fuck! He was better than Cats. I’m going to fuck him again and again. Whoops!” she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I said ‘fuck’!” Then she slid back down to the bed, closed her eyes, and fell almost immediately asleep.

What do you know, the guy may have hidden depths. Gina thought, as she pulled some covers over her inert roommate. I wonder if HE knows where to find a sheep?

Wallowing in despair and humiliation, Frrbnglrr forlornly sniffed a pair of panties as he sat on the couch wondering how to dig himself out of the several holes he had fallen into. Movement caught his eye, and he noticed the holographic communicator had a message waiting for him.

Fearing more of his Mistress’s growing wrath, he froze a moment before tentatively activating the playback.

A holographic insect, something like a large, very thin beetle with wicked mandibles and a tweed suit, formed on the TV set.

“Hello,” it said. “My agents inform me that the device has been delivered into your hands, and yet your payment has not reached ours. I’m sure this is merely a small oversight which will be rectified by, say, noon tomorrow?”

The image winked out, but Frrbnglrr had already leapt across the room in a rage, and was furiously swatting the top of the TV with a rolled-up newspaper. “NOON TOMORROW?!” he yelled, SMACK “In my hands?!” SMACK “I haven’t even SEEN it yet!” SMACK “You ARROGANT—” SMACK “—LITTLE—” SMACK “COCKROACH!”

With the last SMACK the television set slid off its stand and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing Frrbnglrr’s foot—he hastily jumped back—and noisily shattering the picture tube.

And the communicator.

“Oh. Damn.” said Frrbnglrr quietly.