The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Unknown Object


Note: The characters in this story are 18 and older.

Under the guise of it being a ‘yoga routine,’ Mrs. Berger’s earlier hesitation had been abandoned. She was up for anything.

It was as though she was hungering for it, Tim realized. He doubted Mr. Berger was keeping her satisfied in the bedroom.

And so, for the next few hours, Tim gave Mrs. Berger what she asked for. He fucked her over and over, bringing her to orgasm again and again. He sucked on those massive titties (the massage oil he’d purchased was, of course, edible), made Mrs. Berger squeeze his penis between her lovely jugs, use her mouth and tongue on him (she was particularly talented at this, and Tim wondered if it was something she’d done for her husband often).

And the ‘yoga positions’ she wanted to try out?

‘The reverse cowgirl,’ with Mrs. Berger shaking her hips with wild abandon, as though trying to squeeze his cock dry.

‘The doggy style,’ with Tim entranced by Mrs. Berger’s beautiful, pale, round bottom as it wiggled and jiggled beneath him.

The names Tim gave to the ‘yoga routines’ weren’t particularly creative, but they did the trick. As far as Mrs. Berger was concerned, Tim was merely an extremely effective yoga instructor.

And of course, every time he came, he made sure to do it inside Mrs. Berger’s pussy, in the (perhaps vain) hope that she’d get pregnant.

One thing was for sure—Tim couldn’t get enough of Mrs. Berger’s body. She surpassed every childhood fantasy he’d ever had about her. This was a woman whose body was built for sex. A worthy addition to his harem.

Mrs. Berger was bouncing on top of his cock, her bounteous breasts jiggling, when the phone rang.

“Oh, that’s…that’s my cell phone,” she said, apologetically. She raised herself from Tim’s cock, and walked over to where she’d left her purse.

Tim groaned and put his hand over his face. He was just about to cum…who could be calling her now?

“Oh, my hands and face are covered with massage oil, ugh,” she said. “Let me just put this on speaker…” she said, and using one of the nearby towels to grab the phone, she placed it on the nearby coffee table.


“Hey, Mom? Weren’t you supposed to pick me up like half an hour ago?”

“Oh my goodness, Eddie? What time is it?”

“It’s almost 9:30 PM, Mom…”

“I must have lost track of time! I’m still at Kathleen’s doing yoga…I’ll clean up and head there straight away. Can you wait inside the library?”

“Yeah, but hurry. They’re about to close.”

“Of course, of course! Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be right there.”

She hung up the phone, then turned back to Tim, apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, Tim, I think we’ll have to cut this a bit short—I have to pick up Eddie from the library. And I have to shower and get changed.”

Tim looked down at his stiff cock.

“Can’t it wait, like…a few more minutes? We were almost…almost finished.”

“I’m afraid not. I don’t want Eddie to have to wait outside at nighttime. He might get mugged, or…or who knows what might happen!”

Tim thought that was unlikely at best, but he knew how overprotective Mrs. Berger was whenever it came to her son and decide not to argue with her.

She grabbed a towel and her gym bag, marched off to the downstairs bathroom.

Tim sighed, and began toweling himself off and cleaning the living room. He was just about done when Mrs. Berger came back out. Her hair was still wet from the shower and she’d tied it back with a hairband. She smelled of soap and was wearing a lavender blouse and baby blue skirt.

“This was a lot of fun, Tim, and I’m so sorry we had to stop before we were done,” she said, apologetically. “We should do it again very soon.”

“I’ll have Mom give you a call and set up the next session,” Tim said, his voice brightening. “We should probably be doing this on a regular schedule.”

“That makes sense—I know Kathleen does her routines twice a week, but since I’m just starting out, I might need to do it even more often,” she nodded, as she walked towards the door. Suddenly, she turned back to Tim and impulsively gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re such a good boy, Tim. Thank you for all your help this evening. It really was wonderful. I never knew yoga was so…intense!”

“Believe me, Mrs. Berger, it was my pleasure.”

And then, with a wave goodbye, she was out the door.

* * *

Eddie sighed. He was sitting at the bench in front of the library entrance, as the librarian, Mr. Wilford was locking everything up inside and turning off the lights. At least he’d promised to leave the entrance’s lights turned on until Mom came to pick him up.

He looked at the clock on his phone—almost ten PM. What could be keeping her? Whenever Mom arranged to pick him up from somewhere, she was usually early, if anything.

Instead of wasting time while he waited for her to arrive, Eddie was trying to be productive, and was scrolling through all the PDFs of the microfiches he’d scanned and downloaded. He’d gotten through a little less than half of the documents, but he wondered how useful they’d be for Ms. Davis’ assignment. Initially, he’d tried skimming through them, one by one, on the microfiche projector, but had quickly realized what a waste of time that would be. Instead, he’d opted to scan everything in so that he could look at it when he got home. There were some programs, like Google Translate, that he could then use to translate the scanned pages—the machine translations would most likely be imperfect, at best, but he could use those to at least identify which documents would be the most relevant for his research paper.

Of the papers he’d skimmed, all of them seemed to involve scientific research on radio waves and electromagnetism’s effect on the brain. Eddie knew that Dr. Müller’s claim to fame (such as it was) was him trying to scam the War Department into thinking he’d created some form of invisible laser mind control ray and basically becoming the town’s laughingstock as a result. But still, he’d found it unusual—if the whole thing had been a scam, why were there thousands and thousands of pages of research material on the subject?

Eddie had a theory. Maybe Dr. Müller had actually believed he’d created mind control rays. It would be a revolutionary invention, that’s for sure. And maybe the War Department scientists had just pointed flaws in the doctor’s research that he himself hadn’t noticed. If Dr. Müller’s research wasn’t peer-reviewed, that was totally a possibility.

If that were the case, then it wasn’t a case of a crackpot thinking he’d invented something, or a con artist trying to steal money from the government, but a tragedy about a scientist who had acted in good faith and ended up being humiliated because of it.

That might be an interesting thesis for an essay, he thought.

As he was musing possible titles for his paper, he clicked through page after page of PDF documentation. All of it, (predictably) in German.

In fact, he was clicking through the pages so quickly that he almost missed it. He had to click back to make sure he’d seen what he thought he’d seen.

Sure enough, it was a typewritten, official-looking document—in English!

Unfortunately, his elation disappeared as soon as he read through it.

‘Deed of sale.’

‘Bill of property.’

It was just an old government document—a title for some land that Dr. Müller had bought. The only thing about it that caught Eddie’s eye was just how large the property was—35 acres. That was huge.

This must have been purchased after the doctor hit it big with his investments, Eddie realized. It wasn’t really relevant when it came to Dr. Müller’s research. Still, it might make for a nice, redemptive conclusion to the essay—even though he’d been humiliated, he’d had the last laugh.

As Eddie scrolled through the property documents, he saw that it included design plans for a mansion (more like a palace), and an extended outdoors garden area. It was so big that Eddie wondered why he’d never heard of the property before. Maybe it was actually never built?

And then he noticed the address.

It seemed familiar. In fact, it was right in the middle of town.

Eddie looked at his laptop’s taskbar, realized he still had a middling connection to the library wi-fi, and opened up Google Maps. He copy/pasted the address from the PDF.

His eyes widened slightly as the result came up—it was his high school!

Had the mansion been converted into the school?

He clicked back to the design plans, compared the layout of the mansion as depicted in the architectural drawings to what he knew about Lansdale High’s overall layout.

They didn’t match, which meant that either the mansion had never been built, or that it had been torn down and the school had been built where Dr. Müller’s residence had once stood.

Whatever it was, one thing was certain—it was a very unusual coincidence.

Eddie googled the high school building’s history, and, sure enough, an old article from the city’s local newspaper was one of the first search results. An old, uninhabited mansion had been torn down about thirty years ago to make way for the school. Apparently, the land had been donated to the city by Dr. Müller’s widow, “for the benefit of the town he loved so much, and for the education of youth, which is our future” (according to a quote from the article).

Eddie wondered if there was any other English information in this particular document. He kept scrolling past the design plans, and then another address popped up—this time, the permit was for an underground building, like some sort of bunker, disconnected from the main mansion, though sharing its electrical grid. The address for this structure was right next to the mansion where the school now stood.

Eddie once again copy/pasted it onto Google Maps. As the street view image slowly loaded, he realized what he was looking at.

It was the forested area that was being torn down by construction crews.

“Huh,” Eddie said, speaking to himself. “The mansion was torn down, but…”

There was nothing in the article about the underground bunker area, Eddie realized. And, if it hadn’t been torn down back then, it might still be there, a time capsule from almost half a century ago.

Eddie was just starting to brainstorm how he could ask for permission to visit the area and see if he could find the bunker’s entrance. Finding it would be easy—he had the design plans, showing a small, metal doorway, a hole in the ground which he assumed was probably overgrown with weeds by this point, as well as the exact location in the building permit.

Of course, getting permission would be impossible—Mom wouldn’t want him going into the area—she’d say that it was dangerous because of the ongoing construction. And even if she did, he doubted the school would let him go onto the grounds, considering his suspension.

Maybe he could appeal to Ms. Davis? This could be an important part of his project.

He was pondering that when he heard his mom press on the car horn. He looked up and saw her waving from the curb, where she was idling the car.

Eddie closed his laptop, grabbed his bag, and walked towards the car.

“I lost track of time, dear—sorry I’m late,” Mom said as he sat next to her and closed the car door.

“That’s okay, I was able to get a little bit of extra work done,” Eddie replied as he put on his seat belt.

“Oh, wonderful—so did I, come to think of it,” she said, smiling. This was the first time he’d seen her look so happy since he’d gotten suspended.

Eddie looked at his mother. Her hair was still wet, and she’d tied it back with a hairband. How long had that yoga session run for, he wondered?

“How was your very first yoga experience?” Eddie asked skeptically.

“…Amazing. In fact, I’ll probably be dropping by Kathleen’s house a couple of times a week from now on,” Mom said, her face reddening slightly. In fact, her whole face seemed to be glowing.

I never thought Mom would actually be interested in this sort of stuff, but I guess she must have liked it, Eddie thought.

Oh, well, I have other things to worry about.

He opened his laptop back up and got back to work as his mother drove the two of them home.

* * *

The next few days were busy ones for Timothy West.

On Tuesday, the senior high school homeroom teachers had a meeting in Room 201. Some of them begged off at the last minute, so not everyone was there, but Tim was able to enslave another ten teachers—not bad at all. He made notes on the teachers who had been absent to the meeting, so that he could catch them at another time.

That evening, he tried the soapland nuru massage with Mom and Heather, the same way he’d done with Mrs. Berger the previous day, by controlling them into thinking it was a form of yoga. The feeling of the two of them, covered in oil, with Tim sandwiched in between them as they slid their bodies against him, was pure bliss. He came twice that evening, the first time in Heather’s pussy, the second time in Mom’s.

On Wednesday, Tim woke up early and headed to school at around 6 AM, where he’d arranged to have Coach Goldberg meet with the school principal, Mr. Carter. The principal, a stout, middle-aged man, wasn’t particularly happy to be there so early in the morning, but had made an exception for his good friend, Don Goldberg.

Perhaps that’s why he was so confused when the coach brought Tim along to the meeting. The confusion didn’t last long, though. Tim locked the entrance to the principal’s office, zapped him with the mind control gun, and once he’d enslaved him, had Mr. Carter buzz his secretary (an obese woman in her late fifties—most definitely not Tim’s type) into the office and proceeded to do the same to her.

Tim spent the rest of the day with the principal, having him call in secretarial and janitorial staff into his office—unlike teachers, who he could just set up faculty meetings for, these personnel would have been harder to enslave otherwise. The last person he called in was Mr. Harding, the vice-principal. Mr. Harding surprised him—once he saw Tim holding the ray gun, he must have realized something was up, because he tried to run out of the office. Tim was so stunned he’d barely been able to do anything! Luckily, the secretary and a janitor he’d already enslaved were there to catch him before he went too far, and Tim was able to use the ray gun on Mr. Harding before he was able to cry for help.

Unlike Monday and Tuesday, when he’d been able to do the mind control procedure with the guide to obedience to large groups, he’d had to do it one by one this time around, and it was repetitive and exhausting. He stopped by Ms. Davis’ apartment, and inspected her hairless, waxed pussy. The area was soft, smooth, and quickly became slick with Ms. Davis’ love juices. Rather than a history teacher, it made her look like a porn star. Tim considered having Mom, Heather, and Mrs. Berger getting waxed—that could be hot. He got information on the salon from Ms. Davis, then vigorously fucked her on her couch, but was so tired afterwards from the day’s exertions that he fell asleep as soon as he got home.

On Thursday, he set up meetings with the science department at noon, while everyone else was eating lunch, and another meeting with the math department at the end of afternoon homeroom. He was even able to have the principal call in the teachers who’d missed the senior high homeroom meeting on Tuesday.

By the end of Thursday, the teachers Tim was missing were those in foreign languages, music, art, computers, social studies, and those who exclusively taught only in junior high. There were still quite a few teachers to go, he realized, but luckily enough, he’d had at least one teacher from most of those departments come to the Tuesday senior high homeroom teachers’ meeting. For example, Mr. O’Grady was the computer programming teacher, but he was also an 11th grade homeroom teacher, so he’d been one of the people Tim had enslaved on Tuesday. He could just order Mr. O’Grady to call a computer department meeting for the following day (in Room 201, of course), allowing him to use the ray gun on teachers as they arrived to the meeting, and gain control of that particular group of educators in one fell swoop.

And then, the following week, he could do the same with the remaining departments. If everything went well and no teachers called in sick, he could possibly have the entire school’s staff under his control by as early as Wednesday.

Tim was sitting at the dinner table alongside Mom and Heather (both of them were wearing sexy lingerie today—Mom was wearing the transparent chemise she’d worn during Tim’s first time, and Heather was wearing a violet lace teddy with a plunging neckline that reached all the way to her stomach) when his Mom got a text on her phone. She stood to pick it up (as she did so, Tim admired her beautiful buttocks in the lace panties, the product of workouts and yoga routines). Her pretty face frowned as she read through the message she’d received, and she sighed.

“It’s your father again,” she grumbled. “Still pestering me to travel to Louisiana…that man will just not take no for an answer.”

She typed a reply and then sat back down at the table.

“Mom,” Heather asked, “what time are we gonna leave for the track competition on Saturday?”

“Hmm,” Mom said, as she swallowed the pumpkin risotto she’d been eating, “it will have to be early. It’s a long drive, and we have to pick up Samantha, Jenny, and Tricia first, then check into the hotel, and be at the competition field by ten in the morning.”

Heather gave Mom a horrified look. She knew what that meant—waking up at 4 AM so that they could be on the road before 5 in the morning at the very latest. She bit her lower lip for a second, as though deep in thought, then looked back up at her mother.

“Well, in that case, what if I invite Tricia, Jenny, and Sam over for a sleepover? If we do that, we could probably leave a little bit later, couldn’t we?”

Mom sighed.

“Two problems with that, Heather—first, I know that you and your friends would just spend the entire night chatting away and then none of you would be ready in time for when we have to leave on Saturday morning.”

“No, Mom, I swear—I swear—we would go to bed bright and early. Trust me, we all know what a big deal this competition is.”

“I see, young lady. Well, even if that is the case, that still leaves the other problem.”

“And what’s that?” Heather asked gamely.

“It’s not up to me, is it? It’s up to Tim,” Mom smiled, and looked towards where Tim had been cutting up a piece of steak, medium rare (just the way he liked it).

Now Heather was looking at him, her eyes wide. Giving him an innocent look, she asked, “What do you say, Tim? Can my friends come over for a sleepover?”

Tim looked at his mother and sister, gave a theatrical pause and then silently took a bite of steak, took his time chewing and swallowing it.

“Hmm,” he said, brow slightly furrowed, “Tricia, Jenny, and Samantha?”

“Yeah, I swear, they won’t be a bother,” Heather pleaded. “We’ll just hang out in my room until we leave on Saturday morning.”

Tim put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together, as though giving the matter deep consideration. Then, he looked at Heather and broke out into a wide smile.

“Okay, Heather, they can come over.”


“But…when they come over, it won’t be to hang out in your room. I have…something different in mind.”