The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Unknown Object

Chapter III

Tim practically ran home. His mind was certainly running—a mile a minute. As soon as he got home, he slammed the door and sped up the stairs to his room.

He sat at down at his desk and turned on the lamp nearby, looking at the gun. Taking a really close look at it this time.

No manufacture date anywhere on the device. Other than the scuffed red paint, it looked to be in good condition. He took some tissues from his nightstand and carefully cleaned the remaining dirt off it. He decided not to use any soap or alcohol just in case it did damage to it. He didn’t think it would, but he just couldn’t risk it.

The AC in Tim’s room was still broken, so he opened up the windows and turned the electric fan at the foot of the bed to full power.

Tim opened up his laptop and turned it on. It wasn’t the gaming PC he wished he owned, but it was more than suitable for his purpose.

He opened up Google and started typing in ‘mind control,’ ‘hypnosis,’ ‘mind control device,’ and any other terms he could think of. He’d never much had an interest in stuff like hypnotism or mind control, but he figured that the government or the CIA or foreign countries had probably researched that stuff.

First, he did a deep dive into Wikipedia article entries on the subject. He was taken to an entry on brainwashing, which talked about Chinese government efforts to control and people, the use of chemicals like LSD to make people pliable, how religious cults brainwashed people, sleep deprivation…

He followed links that discussed mind control in pop culture, and read summaries on films like The Manchurian Candidate and A Clockwork Orange, books like 1984…articles on sleep deprivation and the injection of chemicals that made the mind more pliable to suggestion…

Not finding anything of use there, he jumped to pages on hypnotism. Unlike the way it was presented in movies and TV, real hypnotism was usually used as a therapy tool and was far more limited than he’d ever assumed. You couldn’t simply rewrite someone’s consciousness or change their common sense or their morality and ethics, he found. Instead, it was a slow, arduous process, one which required cooperation from the subject for full effectiveness.

There was nothing on the idea of using devices that directly affected the brain to change someone’s mind, or put them in a stupor or control. He found old GeoCities pages filled with fan fiction about mind control, super-villains from comic books with mind control powers, but nothing that applied to what he had.

Then, when he reached the thirty-fifth page of Google results, something caught his eye.

It was an old obituary for someone named Oskar Müller—from his local paper, no less. It was from the newspaper’s archive, all the way back from 1963. The search result preview was what caught his eye—“Oskar Müller, the eccentric German émigré who settled into our community and told wild tales of space lasers, mind control rays, and later became the town’s unlikely Don Juan, passed away yesterday at the age of 85.”

He clicked on the article and read the rest of the obituary.

“Müller, a scientist of physics who specialized in electromagnetic waves and their relationship to the human brain, was born in 1878 and first moved to Lansdale in 1937. He first attracted attention with claims of the development of invisible laser technology and mind control rays, and initially received visits from War Department scientists who later debunked his scientific research as ‘fatally flawed.’ Müller spent the next few years in ignominy but then experienced a resurgence in fame and popularity when a number of unlikely investments led to large payoffs and brought him great wealth. The scientist became the talk of the town when rumors of dalliances with some of its most eligible young ladies spread like wildfire. Müller married Elizabeth Duvivier, almost sixty years his junior, but rarely saw visitors, though he was well attended by the two dozen maids and servants who lived and worked at his estate.”

The obituary went on to mention that Müller had no descendants and that his distraught wife had sold the home almost immediately thereafter and moved to another state; she was said to be completely distraught by the loss of the person who she called “the love of her life.” A quick Google search of Elizabeth Duvivier revealed that she had died almost ten years ago, in her mid-nineties. She had never remarried, and had no children.

Tim looked up pictures of the happy couple but the only one he could find was from their wedding—the two were in full wedding attire, and couldn’t have looked like more of a mismatch. Müller was an old man, leaning on a walking stick, with Coke-bottle glasses. His bald head, and most of his face, was marked with liver spots. He had a self-satisfied grin on his face, one that revealed several crooked teeth. Duvivier looked to be in her early twenties, with blonde hair in an elegant bob and had a radiant, perfect smile. Standing behind and next to them were what Tim assumed were wedding guests—all of them young women.

If Tim had to guess, Elizabeth Duvivier and all (or at least most) of the guests had been hit by the Mind Control Gun that sat next to him right now.

He Googled the address of Müller’s old mansion…and received a shock. Then he went on to Google Maps and input the exact address to confirm.

The mansion had been demolished in the mid-seventies. And where it had once stood was now the parking lot of Tim’s own high school. The parking lot right next to the softball field, and which faced the very same woods that Tim had just been in today.

Tim connected the dots. Dr. Müller must have developed the Mind Control Gun when he first moved to the United States. He must have initially thought of turning it over to the government and reaping the financial rewards and fame that it would bring. Then, most likely, after speaking to the War Department scientists, he changed his mind. Maybe he was worried about what the US government would do. Maybe he just realized how crazy it was to turn something so powerful over to someone else. Either way, Tim theorized, he’d probably mind controlled the scientists so they’d dismiss him as a crackpot. And then, slowly but surely, he’d probably controlled a few of the people in town…maybe he had them give him money, or sell him land that was underpriced…whatever it was, it was enough to make himself a tidy fortune.

The women in the picture, though, showed that money wasn’t the only thing that Müller was interested in. He wouldn’t be surprised if every single woman in that wedding picture was someone Müller had slept with. And the ‘dozens of maids and servants’ in his mansion? If Tim had to bet, he would have bet they were all young women too.

What a dirty old man, Tim thought. All those poor women, victimized by this guy—and I bet they never even realized what had happened to them. As far as they were concerned, he was probably the greatest lover, and the most handsome, brilliant guy they’d ever set eyes on.

He looked at the wedding picture of Müller again. The old guy seemed so happy. And, to be fair, his wife seemed to be happy too.

But it’s not real happiness, right? It’s just…an illusion.

Tim sighed, turned off his computer screen and lay down on his bed. He thought about what had happened today. What he’d experienced.

The only thing I can’t figure out, Tim pondered, is just how the gun ended out in the woods. It’s probably been there for decades—if they hadn’t been knocking down trees and digging up the ground for construction, it would probably still be there.

He thought about Müller, using the gun, making himself rich, sleeping with any woman who caught his eye. Tim thought about all the girls in his school—the girls in his class, Heather’s friends…heck, why restrict himself? With the gun, he could have anyone he wanted. His history teacher Ms. Davis, for example. Or a celebrity, like a famous actress or singer (Billie Eilish? Hailee Steinfeld? Maybe give Kim Kardashian a try?)—he could have his pick of any woman he saw on the street.

He shifted uncomfortably, and looked down at the slowly forming tent in his pants—he’d gotten an erection just thinking about all the beautiful women who had, up until this point in his life, seemed completely out of reach. Tim adjusted his pants, stuck his left hand down his shorts, and began rubbing his slowly hardening cock. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped.

What the fuck am I thinking? That’s…that’s gross…that’s…it’s just wrong. He took his hand out of his pants and tried to will himself to soften.

First off, Tim, you KNOW that not a single one of those girls would ever give you a second look—using that Mind Control Gun to…that’s just…morally repugnant.

He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Eddie and Yang back at lunchtime. It seemed like it had been ages, but it was just a few hours ago that the three of them had commiserated on their utter inability to get a girl, any girl, to give them a second look.

And now suddenly, he had the power to get a girl…any girl.

He thought back to Dr. Müller. Maybe he’d been like Tim, unable to talk to any girl who wasn’t family. And maybe, by helping Elizabeth look past appearances, she’d seen him for who he was, rather than what he looked like.

It was possible, right?

Tim sighed. If he was trying to fool himself, he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

He looked at the Mind Control Gun.

Any way you slice it, this is a device made to control people. To bend them to your will. There’s no way to morally justify using it. So at the end of the day, the question is—am I gonna use it, or not? If I’m not, I might as well just take it back to the woods and leave it where I found it.

* * *

That night, as he, Heather, and Mom ate dinner, Tim pondered how to use the gun.

Because he’d decided, he was going to use it. He could try to morally justify it to himself, but he knew that any attempt to do so would just be self-deception.

He wanted to use it. To get better grades. To become popular. To get some of the girls in his grade to like him. Maybe date him. Even…have sex.

As he absent-mindedly played with the broccoli on his plate, he made a mental list of the hottest girls in his school. Not just the ones in his grade, but Heather’s friends too—Jenny Li, Tricia Moore, even Samantha Andrews (what did it matter that she was dating that Doug guy…? A press of a button could make her forget Doug even existed…).

“And what are you pondering so thoughtfully?” Mom said, interrupting his train of thought. She pointed towards his plate. “You’ve been moving the broccoli around for the last five minutes. Did something happen at school? Anything you want to talk about?”

“He’s probably wondering how to get to level six in Fortnite or something,” Heather said, giving him a sideways grin.

“That’s not how Fortnite works. And anyway, that’s not what I was thinking,” Tim said, hoping that his inflection didn’t betray what he actually had been thinking about.

Luckily, before he even had a chance to think of an excuse, Heather turned to Mom.

“Mom, can I spend this weekend at Samantha’s? She invited me and Tricia to a sleepover.”

“Did Samantha’s parents say it was ok?” Mom asked, as she moved to grab a bit more salad.

“Yeah, she cleared it with them. After you drop me off at the track and field meet on Saturday morning, her parents will pick us up. Then on Sunday, can you pick me up at Samantha’s house in the afternoon?”

“Well, that would actually be convenient—I’ve got this hot yoga appointment scheduled for all Saturday afternoon, and if I don’t have to pick you up after the meet, I don’t have to worry I might miss it,” Mom mused, as she took a bite of salad.

“Yeah, so it works out for both of us,” Heather grinned. “If we do well in this competition, we’ll qualify for the regionals—that’s during Memorial Day weekend. Do you think you could chaperone us, Mom? We’ll have to stay at a hotel over the long weekend.”

“Memorial Day weekend? Yes, I should be able to go with you girls. I’ll call Mrs. Andrews after dinner and talk to her about your sleepover and about the regionals,” Mom said. She turned to Tim again. “Do you have any plans for the weekend, Tim, or will you be spending it at home by yourself?”

“…by myself? What about Dad?”

“Oh, I haven’t told you two yet,” Mom rolled her eyes at her own absentmindedness. “Your father is going to have to travel to Louisiana on a business trip until Sunday night. He’s going to be home in about an hour to pick up his suitcase. I’ve already packed it and set it by the door. He’s catching a red-eye flight. It would be great if the two of you could stay up to say goodbye and wish him good luck. Apparently it’s one of those,” and here, Mom perfectly imitated Dad’s excited tone, “big-fish clients!

Heather and Tim both laughed. Tim’s mind, however, wasn’t on his dad or his business trip. It was busy planning what he would do tomorrow.

* * *

Tim woke up earlier than ever on Friday morning. It wasn’t because of the heat (though to be honest, that was part of it—the AC repairman was finally coming on Saturday morning!). It was because of what he had planned. He got up, took a shower before Heather had even woken up, got dressed, and then carefully packed the mind control gun safely out of sight within a compartment in his bookbag.

When he ran down the stairs, Mom was still in her nightgown brewing herself a cup of coffee. She looked at him with mock, wide-eyed admiration.

“Well, well, well! What’s brought this early riser to my breakfast table?” she said. “Are we witnessing the rebirth of Timothy West? Is this going to be your new daily schedule from now on?”

Tim blushed slightly as he put a piece of bread in the toaster oven and got out the orange juice and butter from the fridge.

“Hey, even I have my good days sometimes,” he joked.

“Those good days are rare indeed,” she said, as she wandered over to where he knelt in front of the fridge, searching for the butter. She ruffled his hair gently as she looked down at him. “This is the only time I can do this anymore. You’re too tall to have your hair ruffled when you’re standing up, these days.”

“Mom, I just combed by hair, please don’t muss it up. I’m trying to be the epitome of cool here,” he joked as he found the butter and stood back up. He rearranged his hair with his palm.

“Well, excuse me—I’ll have you know that I knew you back before you were the epitome of cool—back before you were knee-high, even,” she laughed as she grabbed a cup of coffee.

Amidst the lighthearted banter, they both finished their breakfast and Tim rushed out the door. As he left, he heard a door upstairs swing open and knew that Heather had just gotten out of bed.

* * *

Tim had initially made a list of girls he was interested in, thinking about various factors (but mostly how physically attractive they were). But eventually, he decided he had to change tack. Yes, the girls on his list were all gorgeous—the cheerleading squad, the school council president, the girls on the volleyball team, the girls in the track and field team (many of whom were friends of Heather), but there was one problem.

One major, insurmountable problem.

All the girls on his list were popular. And that meant that all the girls on his list were almost never by themselves. They were constantly surrounded by their friends, their hangers-on, guys looking to insert themselves in conversations, coaches, club leaders…

Tim spent most of the morning trying to find anyone, literally anyone on his list by herself. He could only imagine the panic that would ensue if he hit someone with the mind control ray in the middle of a class, or a hallway, while they were surrounded by other people. They would assume the subject (that’s what he was calling the people hit by the ray now, in his head, as it made things seem more clinical) had just had some sort of stroke or aneurysm or something.

But every time he saw a girl, even a moderately attractive one, she was surrounded by people. And the effects of the ray were so visible, he just wasn’t willing to risk it, even if those people were a dozen feet away.

At one point, he saw one of the girls on his list (a cheerleader in senior year) head into the girls’ bathroom, and was tempted to follow her in there. He was glad he hadn’t, because a few minutes after she went in a trio of girls came out, chatting away with each other.

He was dull and sullen during lunchtime, realizing that his plan had been a bust. Why the hell had he ever thought he could use the ray gun on a girl in the middle of a crowded school campus? The key thing had to be finding a girl alone, by herself, so he could give her commands and suggestions without risk of distraction.

Eddie and Yang ribbed him gently about his demeanor, but Tim gave a faint smile and chalked it up to not having gotten enough sleep due to the AC in his room being busted.

In the afternoon, he tried a different plan—he was no longer looking for any girl on his list. He no longer had any list. He was just looking for someone, anyone, alone. That way, even if it was a guy, they’d hopefully have a sister or female friend they could get in touch with and ask to meet with in an empty classroom.

No luck. No matter how much he scoured the hallways or the classroom, it seemed students all clustered together in groups. Even in the library, there were study groups.

I really am an even bigger loser than I thought I was, Tim thought. Look at that, even the goths have a little hangout group. And here I am, all by my lonesome.

Finally, the last bell rang, signaling the end of afternoon homeroom and the end of the school day. His mission had been a complete and total bust.

As he walked down the hallway, Tim’s eyes strayed here and there. Little duos and trios of students were still around the hallways, with smaller groups in some classrooms.


He looked into Room 301. Ms. Davis’ room. She was there. By herself. Correcting papers.

Ms. Davis was Tim’s history teacher. A tall, statuesque blonde in her mid-thirties, she was the object of many a male high school student’s lust. Tim had her on his list early on, almost on a lark, because she was incredibly popular with students and there was no way he’d be able to catch her by herself.

Tim looked through the classroom window. Ms. Davis was sitting on a backless stool, her feet in sensible shoes, wearing a modest pencil skirt and a green blouse. She wore a pair of frameless glasses and seemed to be entirely focused on her work.

He’d never get another chance like this.

He swallowed hard, knocked on the door.

Ms. Davis looked up and gave him a smile, waved him in.

“What’s up, Mr. West?” she said. “Did you have any questions about today’s assignment?”

Tim just stared. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to use the gun on Ms. Davis?

“Are you all right? Your face is all red. Do you feel feverish?”

Tim shook his head more forcefully than the question called for, and put his backpack on a nearby desk.

“N-no, I’m fine. A-actually, I was hoping y-you’d be able to take a look at this,” he said, as he unzipped the bag and started groping inside for the ray gun.

“Is it your homework? Look, as you can see, I’m a bit busy right now, why don’t we make an appointment for tomorrow?”

“I-it’ll just take a second, I swear.”

He moved around some books, shifted his thermos around, and just as he gripped the barrel of the gun and was about to bring it out of the bag…

A knock on the door, followed by a student coming in. She looked at Ms. Davis. “Ms. Davis, it’s time for our Model UN meeting.”

“Ah, of course,” Ms. Davis nodded, and began putting away her papers. “Do come in.”

“Thanks!” the student came in, followed by another, then another, and another, until about a dozen Model UN members had entered the classroom.

“Mr. West, what was that thing you wanted to show me? I still have a minute or two before I have to chair the meeting,” Ms. Davis said.

“N-never mind. I can see you’re busy. I’ll show it to you some other time.”

“Oh, I see. Of course. Maybe next week?”

Tim nodded and nestled the ray gun back in his backpack, zipped it up, and put it on again.

He walked home, completely defeated.

* * *

Tim lay in bed, his pants off, masturbating to the thought of Ms. Davis begging him for his dick. The mind control gun lay next to him on the bed, as he’d taken it out of his backpack as soon as he’d gotten home.

“Please, Mr. West,” Ms. Davis said, wearing nothing but lacy black lingerie, cute see-through pantyhose, and high-heeled shoes. “I beg you, allow me the honor of sucking on your cock.”

Tim’s hand sped up. He hadn’t been able to do anything today. But he had been so close…so goddamn close…so close he could almost taste Ms. Davis’ beautiful, (probably) shaven pussy.

Suddenly, he heard a loud knock at his door. Thinking quickly, he hid the gun under the bedsheet. He pulled up his pants, zipped up, and rearranged them as best as possible to hide his still-raging boner, then settled for sitting down where (he hoped) it would be less noticeable.

“Come in,” he said.

Mom opened the door, a frown on her face. She’d come home from jogging, so she was still in her leggings and jogging singlet. She had a towel wrapped around her neck, and she was still sweaty. Her long brown hair was done up in a ponytail, but some errant strands clung to her sweaty face. His parents always said Heather had inherited her interest in physical fitness from Mom. It was true that Mom was seriously in shape, especially compared to most of his friend’s parents. She did marathons every year, and did daily jogging, had a Peloton bike installed in the living room, even had those regular yoga sessions.

But all that was beside the point, because held in her left hand was the reason for her serious expression—it was Tim’s busted phone.

Shit. I must’ve left it in the living room this morning.

“So…Tim,” his mother said, her frown only deepening. “Are you going to tell me what happened to this? You’ve been begging for a smartphone, and when your father and I finally buy you one, this is how you treat it?”

“No, Mom, you see, what it is, is that during yesterday’s P.E. class, I tripped and fell, and the phone broke.” Technically true.

“Tim, one of the things we agreed on when we gave you this phone is that you’d keep it in your locker when you were taking class. Why did you even have it with you for P.E.?”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I just forgot to put it away. A-anyway, it’s just the screen. I think it can be fixed,” he said pleadingly.

Mom shook her head and leaned against the door. She theatrically waved her singlet against her chest as though she were cooling herself off.

“You know—your dad and I really want you to learn responsibility. This,” she said, holding up the broken phone, “is an eight-hundred-dollar piece of technology.”

“I know that, Mom. I’m so sorry—but it really was an accident!”

“Well, I’ll tell you what—I’ll pay to have it fixed…,” she said.

“Thank you, Mom! Thank you!” Oh man, he’d dodged a bullet.

“I’m not done yet, young man. I’ll pay to have this phone fixed…OR…”

Oh, no. Here it comes. He visibly winced—what was she going to say?

“Or, I’ll pay to have the air conditioner. You choose which one you can do without.”

“What? Seriously?” He stood up from the bed, slack-jawed in disbelief.

“Don’t look at me that way, Tim,” she said, shaking her head. “Look, this is for your own good. Your father and I aren’t made of money—we need you…you and your sister both…to start realizing that. So maybe this is a good lesson for you, in a way. The AC repairman is supposed to come here tomorrow morning—let me know by tonight whether you still want him to come, or if you’d rather have your phone fixed.”

Tim practically shuddered at the thought of having to spend another night without the AC. But the alternative was just as bad—his entire meager social life revolved around his phone—Fortnite, PUBG, Discord…if he lost those, he might as well just officially declare himself a pariah among the few friends that he had.

No way. No way.

“Well, you think about it, OK?” Mom said. She softened slightly. “Please don’t think I’m doing this to be petty. I love you, and I just want you to be aware, as you grow up, of the importance of money, and how you have to take care of your things and manage a limited income. In the meantime, I’ll keep this phone safe…”

Mom turned around to head back out onto the hallway, probably to take a shower.

Tim reached under the sheets, grabbed the ray gun and switched the dial to ‘CONTROL’. He ran out of the room after her, aimed at her back, and fired.