The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Don Talbott dreaded coming home these days.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the house. On the contrary. He loved the place, and had since he was a kid.

No, the problem was his stepmother Corinne.

Don’s mother had died when he was six, and his father Thomas had hurled himself into his work to deal with it. That had helped make him rich, as he rode the Internet boom of the nineties and then got off just in time. To his credit, he’d always tried to make time for his son, but Don had spent a lot of his childhood being cared for by relatives and the occasional nanny.

He’d gotten used to that, though. Then he’d gone away to college.

When he had come home on vacation after his freshman year, he’d been introduced to Corinne.

It was startling enough to hear that his dad had married again, especially since Thomas Talbott hadn’t even told his son he was dating anyone. It was even more startling—shocking, even—to find out who he’d married.

Corinne Dayner was a biochemist, of all things, heading up a company called OphidiTech whose product line was “natural” pharmaceuticals, some of them derived from such unlikely sources as toad skin and snake venom. She sure didn’t fit Don’s mental image of what a woman scientist was supposed to look like—she had masses of bright red hair, a beautiful face, and a body whose spectacular curves weren’t concealed by the businesslike attire she usually wore—but she really was. She’d been struggling for money to pay for the very expensive process of FDA review for several new drugs when she’d met the elder Talbott at a party. And then, after what must have been a whirlwind courtship, not that he’d seen any of it, they’d gotten married—and suddenly Dr. Dayner didn’t have to worry about money anymore.

Don told himself he wouldn’t have minded that, if R & D were all she’d been spending his father’s money on. But it wasn’t. Corinne had expensive personal tastes, too: she went in for lots of jewelry and designer clothes, not to mention the Porsche she’d bought last year. He’d tried talking to his father about it, but it hadn’t done any good. “You don’t understand,” Mr. Talbott had replied once. “I love her. If giving her things makes her happy, and I can do it, I can’t say no.” For just a moment, it had seemed as if Thomas Talbott had been about to add something, but whatever it might have been, it had gone unsaid.

And it did seem as if his father couldn’t say no to his second wife. Anything she wanted, he gave her. After a while, Don had given up; he was afraid that if he kept pushing, it would come down to his father making a choice between Corinne and him. And he was even more afraid that he knew which way that choice would go.

Don walked into the house and the door behind him gently. He’d go to his room and unload his things before seeing if anyone else was home.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

His room was downstairs. But as he neared the door, he heard something odd coming from upstairs, on the second floor where Dad had his home office and where he and Corinne slept.

Don frowned. It was probably nothing, but still—his father had had a mild heart attack last year. He’d seemingly made a complete recovery, but still . . . ! The college student put his suitcase down, walked around through the living room and carefully mounted the carpeted staircase leading upward from the front entrance.

At the top, he paused and listened again. The noises he’s heard before were still going con. If anything, they seemed more urgent. And now, closer to their source, he could hear voices as well. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he could recognize them as belonging to his father and stepmother. The sounds and voices were coming from the bedroom.

I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought as he tiptoed along the second-floor hallway. But there was something not quite right about what he was hearing.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Feeling like a pervert, Don put his eye to the crack.

Both eyes widened as he took in the scene inside.

The naked man on the bed bucked beneath the redhead astride him, his hands gripping the bedclothes as his body thrashed. His rider pinned his shoulders to the bed with her long-nailed hands; unlike him, she wasn’t totally nude, but the only things she seemed to have on were white spike-heeled pumps and jeweled bracelets. Her head was bowed over the man beneath her, and she seemed to be speaking in a low voice between labored breaths.

It actually took a few seconds for it to register with Don that he was watching his father and stepmother having what looked like at least slightly kinky sex. When it sank in, he was paralyzed: he didn’t want to spy on them, but he didn’t dare move, even to look away, for fear of making some noise which would make them aware of his presence. And despite himself, he felt an arousal of his own: if nothing else, his stepmom had a terrific body, and the few items she was wearing only emphasized its appeal.

Then what Don was hearing sank in.

“You love me,” Corinne Dayner’s words emerged in short bursts as she writhed atop her husband’s lean form. “You know that giving me what I ask for . . . makes me happy, and you want . . . to make me happy, Tom dearest, you need . . . to make me happy. If I ask you . . . to give me something, to . . . do something for me, you can’t say no. You must do as I say, Tom dearest . . . do you understand . . . what you must do?“

“Yes, Corinne,” emerged from the man under her. “I understand.“

“Tell me,” the redhead commanded. ”Tell me . . . what you understand!“

“I love you,” came the response. To the horrified Don, it sounded memorized, as if it had been said many times before in just these circumstances. “Giving you what you ask for . . . makes you happy, and I want to . . . make you happy, Corinne, I . . . need to make you huh-huh-happy.“ Tom Talbott gasped and shuddered. “Oh, God. If you ask me to, nnhh, give you something, do something, I, I, uhh, can’t say no!“ Don shivered. He remembered his father using just about those words the one time he’d confronted him about Corinne.

“And what must you do, Tom dearest!” The redhead was ecstatic, her head lashing back and forth. Tell me . . . ahh, yes! Tell me what you must do!“

“I-I-I must do . . . as you say, Corinne! Oh, God! I must do as you SAAAAAY!“ Tom Talbott bucked powerfully and the redhead riding him threw back her head, uttering a wordless shriek of pleasure.

As Don watched in stunned fascination, his father and stepmother relaxed. The elder Talbott closed his eyes and let go of the bedsheets, muttering almost too softly for his son to hear, “I must do as you say. . . .” Don Talbott backed off from the bedroom doorway. This couldn’t be happening.

The bare wood of the hall floor squeaked softly. To the young man’s horror, Corinne Dayner turned toward the sound, giving him a brief sidelong view of her face, one eye covered by a wave of hair, and her impressive bosom. Something seemed to glint in the hollow between her breasts, but Don didn’t try to see what it was. He turned and fled.

It must have been a couple of hours later that he heard a knock on his bedroom door. “Donald?” his stepmother’s voice called. “Donald, may I come in?”

Don got off his bed, where he’d been lying with his eyes shut, images of what he’d seen blazing behind his eyelids, and warily crossed to the door and opened it. Corinne Dayner stepped in. Don was relieved to see that at least she was dressed, in one of the stylish and very expensive women’s suits she owned. Her hair was bound back up in the bun she usually wore. “I think we need to talk,” she said.

Don felt himself blushing, and couldn’t meet her eyes. “I guess so.”

“I’ve made a pot of tea,” his stepmother told him. “If you’d like, we can talk in the living room.”

“What about Dad?”

Corinne smiled. “He’s asleep, poor dear. There’s no need to wake him up for this.”

“I suppose,” Don acknowledged. “I should probably talk to him later, though.”

His stepmother nodded. “Of course.” She gestured toward the open door.

Don sipped at a cup of tea and eyed his father’s wife warily. “You understand,” he said awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to, ah . . . !”

“Spy on your father and me?” There was amusement in Corinne Dayner’s voice, and in her eyes. “I know.” She tasted her own drink. “Still, I suppose you’d like some sort of explanation for what you saw.”

“Uh, yeah.” Don took another swallow, and grimaced slightly. He liked his tea with lots of sugar, but this cup seemed a bit too sweet. Nevertheless, he sipped and swallowed once more, automatically. “You could say that.”

Corinne laughed softly. “You know what I do for a living, don’t you, Don?” At her stepson’s nod, she went on. “It’s dull work, much of the time, and often the substances I test for medical usefulness turn out to be duds. You wouldn’t believe how many ‘natural remedies’ there are that people swear by but that turn out to be useless!”

Don realized he’d finished his tea, and made to set his cup on its saucer on the small glass-topped table between his chair and Corinne’s. Before he could put it down, though, the redhead leaned over and refilled it from the teapot. His attention focused on her words, he hardly noticed as he raised the cup to his lips again.

“I guess so,” he agreed. He had no idea what Corinne’s research had to do with her sex life with his dad, but he supposed she’d get around to explaining. In the meantime, his chair was comfortable, and the tea was warm and soothing.

“Every once in a while, though,” Corinne continued, smiling as she kept her eyes on Don, “something comes along that’s really useful. You know about the products of mine the FDA is checking out.”

“Yes.” Don nodded. He felt very relaxed now. He wouldn’t have minded just slumping down in his chair and taking a nap. But that would be rude.

“I hope they pass, of course. The rights to them would bring me quite a tidy sum.” Corinne smiled.

“Of course.” Don nodded politely. He wished his stepmom would get to the point.

“But a few years back I found something particularly interesting. Something I didn’t think the government would approve, but that had certain . . . properties, let’s say, that I could see, let’s say, personal uses for.” The redhead’s smile broadened.

“Personal uses.” Don echoed the phrase as he finished his second cup of tea. He lowered the cup, but didn’t set it down; instead, he left it dangling loosely from his fingers several inches above the table.

Corinne reached across and delicately took the teacup from him. She set it carefully on its saucer.

“Yes.” Corinne Dayner looked into her stepson’s eyes and nodded. “You understand, this was shortly before I met your father. I hadn’t had a man in my life in some time—most men are turned off by really intelligent women, especially those in the sciences. Intimidated, I suppose. And my work had stalled, too: I had some promising candidate drugs worked up, but it takes years to go through the drug approval process even if you have the money to pay for it—and we’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars!” She sniffed indignantly.

“Then I met Tom.” The redhead’s smile turned reminiscent. “It was one of those awful gatherings where people go to lobby their congressman for this or that while he’s touching base at home before running for re-election. Your father was there promoting some change in FCC regulations he wanted, something to do with broadband Internet—I fear it’s rather outside my area. I was there looking for money, pure and simple: I hoped I could talk the Congressman into tucking a grant to me into an appropriations bill.

“Well, to make a long story short, I didn’t get the money. But I did meet your father, and we hit it off well enough to arrange to meet for coffee.” Corinne turned thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose this is what they mean by serendipity. Everything would have been different if Tom and I had discovered we came from opposite ends of the state. Or if Tom had met with the Congressman in Washington instead of here.” “I understand.” Don nodded again. I must be really tired, he thought: as he looked at her, his stepmom seemed to be surrounded by a faint rainbow-hued aura, and her voice sounded odd, too, almost echoing.

“Anyway, it was just before our coffee date that I got the idea to test out my discovery on Tom.”

“What!?” Don’s eyes widened. He gripped the arms of his chair and started to push himself upright. His face twisted in fury.

“Relax,” Corinne suggested calmly. “Sit back down and relax, and listen to me, Don.”

The young man sank back into his chair. The tension drained out of him. He looked into his stepmother’s face attentively.

“That’s better,” the redhead responded. “Now as I was saying, I decided to test out my discovery on your father. I already knew it wouldn’t actually hurt him, you understand. What I wanted to know was whether it would have the effect I was hoping for.”

“What effect . . . was that?” It seemed oddly hard for Don to put the words together, and the shimmering colors he’d seen around Corinne were brighter. They’d spread to other objects in his view as well.

“You must understand,” came the reply, “I was working with a substance derived from the venom of a snake from the Amazon jungles.” Corinne paused. “The natives there used all sorts of reptile and amphibian toxins in their folk medicine.

“This particular one caught my attention because the locals claimed it could ‘tame the soul.’ According to them, someone dosed with it would do anything he or she was told to do, believe whatever he or she was told.”

Corinne leaned forward slightly. Don noticed she was wearing some sort of gold chain around her neck. Its links disappeared between her breasts and emerged as a single strand just below her bosom, supporting a glittering locket. He found his eyes drawn to it; the little disk was now surrounded by the same rainbow colors as his stepmother’s body, but brighter. Piercing.

“From what I could piece together, if it worked, this substance would greatly heighten suggestibility.” Corinne might have been delivering a college lecture. “There are other such chemicals, of course: Haitian witch doctors use one, for instance, in creating zombies—who aren’t really the living dead, you know: they’re drugged unconscious, their burials faked, then retrieved from their ‘coffins’ and put to work, their minds numbed by repeated drugging.”

“What does that have to do . . . with Dad?”

“Everything, Don sweetie.” Idly, Corinne reached for her locket, pulling its chain out of the cleft between her breasts and twitching it to set the shiny disk at its end swinging gently. She smiled as she saw Don’s eyes follow the motion. “As I told you, I needed money for my work, and I wasn’t having much luck getting it. Then I met your father, unattached, successful, with more than enough money—and attractive, too!” She laughed. “I’d have been interested in him even if he hadn’t had money. But he did have it, and I needed it for my research.” She laughed again. “And if I could satisfy other, more—personal—needs as well, why not?”

Don found himself nodding. Even as his head bobbed up and down, his eyes tracked the lazy side-to-side swing of Corinne’s pendant. It was very disorienting.

His stepmother continued: “When we met for coffee as planned, it was simple enough for me to slip a little something extra into Tom’s cup. I had only to wait until his attention was diverted for a moment.

“It worked like a charm. Just as I’d hoped, the drug made him completely open to suggestion.” Corinne smirked. “After a few simple tests, I . . . persuaded him to come back to my place, where I put him through some more, let’s say, intimate trials. He performed flawlessly, again just as I’d hoped.

“And the rest, as they say, is history. Oh, it took a few more sessions for me to gain really complete control, but even before our wedding I’d trained him well enough so that I hardly needed the drug anymore. All I had to do by then was say the right words, and show him my nice shiny pendant, the nice shiny pendant I’m wearing right now, and he’d go under. Or if I wanted, I could just show him the pendant for a few seconds, the way I’m showing it to you, Don dear, and he’d relax, the way you’re relaxed now, Don dear, and just find it impossible to say no to me, even without going under.”