The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Betsy,” the voice says. “Betsy. Betsy, wake up.”

Witchgirl opens her eyes. The world is a soft blur. Her mind is a soft blur. What’s going on?

“I had the strangest dream,” she says as she looks around the room. “And you were there. And you. And you too.”

She looks at Mason, Kyle, and Rich, who are gathered around her on the bed. It’s Mason who had been telling her to wake up. He’s holding her hand and looking into her eyes, a look of concern on his handsome face. He gives her hand a little squeeze and she sits up and smiles her pink-glossed lips.

Oh, that’s right, she thinks, as she looks around, I’m at headquarters with the boys. My teammates. My boyfriends.

She throws her long legs over the bed and stands up, stretching, hands above her head and chest out. She’s dressed in her Witchgirl costume—tight pink short shorts and black belt with a big ‘W’ on it, pink boots, and a pink top with an exposed midriff. Her legs are smooth and slightly shiny and her nails are done with pink polish.

“How’s the fourth and most fuckable member of our super team doing today?” Kyle asks, as he grabs her around the waist and pulls her to him.

She giggles as she’s tugged into his strong arms. “Awesome!” she says. “Except for the dream. It was SO weird.”

“What was it?” Mason asks.

She thinks for a moment, but it’s gone. “I don’t remember,” she says, with a furrowing of her brow.

“Well, then it must not have been very important, Betsy,” Rich says, and gives her short-shorts a strong squeeze.

She jumps and giggles again. “Oh, you guys!” she exclaims, and they all laugh along with her.

Witchgirl lies flat on a metallic table. Strategically placed silver straps stretch across her naked body, covering her privates, and a series of wires and cords run to her scalp. Her eyes are twitching, as if she’s dreaming. Genna stands over her, assessing her progress. She touches her shoulder and smiles. “She’s coming along sooooo nicely,” she says as she feels her pulse, which is as slow as molasses.

“She’s in the matrix, you say?” a voice says from behind Genna. It’s a middle-aged man in a laboratory coat. His graying hair is slicked back on his head and he’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses. He reaches out and touches Witchgirl’s hair tentatively.

“It’s okay,” Genna says. “She’s totally locked in. She’s not going to wake up or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about, and even if she did, she wouldn’t have any fight in her. She’d just want hugs and kisses. Trust me on this.” Genna pauses and looks at the man, who is still playing with Witchgirl’s hair. “The question is—can you do what you were hired to do?”

“She’s beautiful,” the man says, as he twists a strand of hair around his finger. “She’s a masterpiece.”

“I know,” Genna says. “Now, can you do what you’ve been asked to do? Answer the question.”

“Of course,” he says, with a shrug of his thin shoulders. “It would be an honor to work with her. To work on her.”

“Good,” Genna says. “You can begin whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now,” the man says, and with a motion of his hand, two other men in lab coats wheel over a large machine with two long needle-like prongs hanging down from a large, golden cylinder. To Genna, it looks a little bit like a oversized blender with double mixers, except that she can guess what process those double needles are designed to carry out. The men wheel the machine up next to Witchgirl, so that the golden cylinder hangs suspended over her torso, and when the man in the glasses clicks a switch, it begins to hum deep inside. The straps are pulled away from her body and the needles descend, barely touching her nipples.

The man grins, his finger on a red button, and says, “Welcome to your new body, Laurie Zormistradus.”

Welcome to your new body indeed, Genna thinks. Why do these male scientist types always have to be so melodramatic? It must be overcompensation. Too much time spent in their parents’ basements when they’re teenagers. “Her name is Betsy now, actually,” Genna says with a roll of her eyes.

“Betsy?” he asks, as he adjusts a dial on the side of the machine.

“Never mind,” Genna says with a little laugh. “Just do your job.”

So the needles begin their slow descent, pressing against Witchgirl’s erect nipples. The man reaches out and touches one of her breasts, positioning it just right, and then the needles push downward a little further. They slide easily into the tips of her nipples and then, with a twist of a dial, there is a soft pumping sound.

“Excellent,” he says, as he leans over the table.

They always say that, Genna thinks. So typical. Being a villain herself now, Genna doesn’t like that kind of standard villain talk. It’s so clichéd!

In the end, it didn’t take much to tip Genna to the other side. A very generous sum of cash. The right secret conversations with the right people. A little bit of jealousy. She resigns herself to the fact that Laurie—Betsy, she corrects herself, her name is Betsy now—will be much happier this way. She’s looking out for her best interests as well as her own. Everybody, including her employers, will be satisfied.

Genna will be able to buy a small island in the south pacific and Betsy will live the rest of her life as a devoted toy.

A toy with very, very nice pneumatic breasts, she thinks, as Witchgirl’s tits inflate slightly. The humming from the machinery is strong and steady.

A woman in a white lab coat appears, wheeling a portable sink with a long hose. She positions the sink at the head of the table and begins to wash Witchgirl’s hair with the hose, rubbing shampoo into her scalp. “What shade?” she asks, her voice all business.

“Bright blond,” Genna says, as she watches the needles. They are humming softly. Witchgirl’s breasts are becoming fuller, rounder, and larger. It’s quite amazing to watch. And Genna knows that while all this is going on, Witchgirl is living her life in the matrix, flirting with the boys. This makes it all the more amazing—all the more enticing.

Witchgirl’s breasts are now a “c” cup, and still the needles pump and hum. When the process is complete, she’ll have large, gravity-defying breasts on her lean, muscular body, and the real Witchgirl will have moved that much closer to the personality construct they are building inside the matrix.

She will be Betsy in two worlds.

“Betsy,” Mason says. “We have something private to discuss—Rich and Kyle and I—so if you wouldn’t mind, I was wondering if you could give us some privacy? Please do one hundred jumping jacks, counting and concentrating on each one. That should give us enough time for our conversation.”

“Certainly,” Betsy says, and she finds an empty space on the floor, spreads her legs, and jumps, her hands clapping together above her head. “One,” she says. “Two. Three.” Her breasts jiggle in her pink top. “Four,” she says, and closes her eyes, concentrating more deeply. “Five. Six. Seven. Eight.”

The three boys gather together in a loose huddle and Mason smiles, “Well, everything is coming along exactly as I planned it. As you can see, she’s taken to her personality reconstruction like a duck takes to water. There is one small element I didn’t take into account, though. It’s a small thing, but it’s definitely something we need to take care of before it becomes more of a problem.”

“What’s that?” Rich asks.

“Well,” Mason says, with a small laugh. “It seems that another villain has designs on Witchgirl.”

“Oh, REALLY?” Kyle says. “Now that’s interesting.”

“Yes,” Mason says. “You’d think with all the villains lusting after her, something like this would happen more often, but I honestly think this is a first. While we’ve been attempting to control her mind, someone else has been trying to do exactly the same thing. With much less style and grace, of course.”

“Of course,” Rich says with a laugh.

“Sixteen!” Witchgirl says, as he hands clap above her head. “Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen!”

“Who is this two-bit villain?” Kyle asks.

“His name is The Dokter,” Mason says, barely suppressing a laugh.

“What a stupid name,” Kyle says, as he glances over at Witchgirl’s bouncing body. “Man,” he says. “Could you have thought of something MORE distracting for her to do, Mason?”

“Twenty-three,” Witchgirl says happily. “Twenty-four. Twenty-five.”

“Every command she obeys brings her more firmly under control,” Mason explains. “The more outlandish the demand, the better, because it tests the limits of our control. By testing those limits, it EXPANDS those limits. Think of it like working out, Kyle, if you need a metaphor that you can understand. You tax a muscle group in order to train it. In this case, the muscle group is beautiful Betsy’s feeble little mind.”

“Thirty. Thirty-One. Thirty-Two. Thirty-Three.”

“So how big a deal is this Dokter anyway,” Rich says. “I feel like you’re keeping something from us.”

“Well,” Mason says. “It’s just that I have a sneaking suspicion about something.”

“And what’s that?”

“Let’s just say that we should keep a very close eye on our darling Genna. The real Genna, I mean. Not the one we built here in the matrix. She’s a VERY ambitious girl.”

“Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five.”

“Hmm,” Rich says. “I never did trust her. Anybody who would betray one of her closest friends...”

“Ah, Rich,” Kyle chuckles. “Always the idealist. It’s okay for YOU to turn her into a brainless bimbo, but when Genna does it, it somehow breaks your moral code!”

“It’s different and you know it,” Rich says quietly. He glares at Kyle, and then looks back at Mason. “What are the extent of this Dokter’s powers?” he asks.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Mason explains, “but I sensed his presence in our little dolly’s mind. A slight presence, but a presence none-the-less. We’ve been jockeying for position in her cute little head for quite some time now, it seems.”

“Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine. Eighty. Eighty-one. Eighty-two. Eighty-three. Eighty-four.”

Betsy’s body is glistening with sweat now and she is breathing heavily, smiling widely and thinking about the numbers in her head. All three boys stop and listen to her count for a while.

“Oh, good,” Mason says. “We’ve finished our conversation right on time. She’s almost done.”

“Ninety-nine! One hundred!” Witchgirl says, and she lowers her arms. She’s finished.

“Genna,” Witchgirl moans. “Is that you? What’s happening?”

“Of course it is, silly,” Genna says. “You’re coming out of the Matrix.”

Witchgirl sits up and puts her hand to her temple. “My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.”

“Really? Anything odd happen in the Matrix this time?”

Witchgirl swallows hard. Her throat is parched. How long was she under this time? It seems like she’s been gone forever. “I’m not sure,” she says. “It’s difficult to recall. Everything is fragmented. It’s like trying to remember a dream.”

She looks around the room and notices a strange machine positioned on the far wall. Two long, silver needles dangle from a large central drum. It’s polished and slightly menacing looking and Betsy wonders what its purpose is. Some matrix-related Genna must be working on, she decides, as she glances back to her friend.

“But you’re more or less okay?” Genna says. “You’re just a little disoriented, right?”

“I think so, yes,” Witchgirl says, as she swings her long legs over the table. Her legs are smooth and slightly shiny. She’s dressed in her Witchgirl costume—tight pink short shorts and black belt with a big ‘W’ on it, pink boots, and a pink top with an exposed mid-rift. The top pushes her large breasts up and out. She sits ramrod straight, her hands on her lap, and smiles at her best friend in the whole world.

Her hair is blond now, falling to the nape of her neck. Her hand moves from her temple to her hair. It’s a little damp, but she doesn’t give it a second thought. She pulls the right side behind her ear and puckers her lips a little. “How do I look?” she asks.

“Great as always, Betsy,” Genna says, and she holds out her hand and helps Witchgirl off the table. She looks her over, assessing her, then reaches out and gives her breast a squeeze. “Very nice,” she says.

Betsy giggles. “Why did you do that?”

“Just testing the workmanship,” Genna says. “Now, Betsy, you’ve had a very intense and long session in the matrix, so take it easy today, okay?”

“Sure,” she says. “I have an appointment with The Dokter, but other than that, my day is completely free.”

“Good,” Genna says. “After your appointment, I’ll meet you back at the apartment and I’ll give you another massage. Then it’s right to sleep for you.”

“Oh, Genna,” Witchgirl says. “You’re always so concerned for my well-being. What a good friend you are.”

“That’s right,” Genna says with a smirk. “You’d be lost without me.”

When Betsy walks into the psychologist’s reception area, she greets the secretary with a happy hello and a wave. “Wow!” the secretary says. “Nice new costume!”

Witchgirl is dressed in her pink short-shorts and “W” belt. She stops and puts her hands on her hips and smiles, her newly enhanced chest rising in her top. “Isn’t it great?”

“VERY sexy,” the secretary says, and then, “I LOVE the hair too!”

“Thanks!” Witchgirl says, and she gives it a flirty little shake, “but I haven’t done anything different to it.”

“What do you mean?” the secretary says. “It’s blond and...”

“It’s always been blond,” Witchgirl says. There’s something robotic, preprogrammed, in her voice.

“There’s something ELSE different about you too,” the secretary continues, “but I can’t put my finger on it. Ah, well. Anyway, you’re a tad early. The DOKTOR is in with another patient right now. Could you just make yourself comfortable for a few minutes?”

Witchgirl feels a little twinge of jealousy that the DOKTOR is with another patient. She sits down across from Re and picks up a Glamour magazine. All they have is Glamours and Cosmos to read, it seems.

There’s a young girl, probably 9 or 10, also sitting in the reception area. She’s dressed in a Catholic school uniform and seems pretty bored as her legs swing under the chair. Witchgirl looks over at her. “Bored, huh?” she asks with a smile, unaware that the girl is looking skeptically back at the superheroine’s body and clothes.

“My mom’s here for her weekly appointment with the box thingy and I have to wait here...”

“For a whole hour, huh? Well, at least you can talk to ME. And there are magazines to read.” Witchgirl nods and flips through the issue of Glamour on her lap. Smiling women stare back at her. Women jumping on beaches. Women winking at the camera. Happy women.

“Are you here to talk to the voice?” the girl asks.

“Yes. I come every week. Probably just like your mom.”

“And you don’t think it’s weird?” the girl asks.

“I thought it was weird at first, I guess,” Witchgirl says, “but now I’m very comfortable with it. You get used to it.”

The door to the DOKTOR’s office opens and a lovely woman steps out, a large smile on her face. She just seems to glow with happiness and beauty. Witchgirl stands up and smiles at the woman. She has to restrain herself from immediately bolting past her and into the office—she really wants to talk to The Dokter. “Hi, mom,” the girl says.

“Hi,” Witchgirl says. “I was just having a lovely conversation with your daughter about the DOKTOR.”

The mom spreads her arms expansively, taking in the office. “Isn’t he just the greatest? I mean, my life just seems to going in a better direction since I’ve started seeing him. I’m happy with my job, happy at home...” She giggles. “I’m just always happy, I guess. And my boss is just so supportive...I mean, I’d be lost without him.”

“I know just what you mean. He’s AMAZING,” Witchgirl says. “I’m moving through a period of transition right now, I guess. But I can see a light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s just beautiful...”

The secretary calls over to Witchgirl, “Laurie, you can go right in. He’s ready for you.”

“Thanks,” Witchgirl says, “and my name is Betsy.”

She smiles and steps through the door, leaving the secretary to puzzle over her reply. Betsy?

“Lieutenant,” the solemn, disembodied voice says, “have a seat.”

Witchgirl immediately sits down, hands on her lap, looking at the rug. “Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to, um, seeing you.”

“Yes, you do seem to be in good spirits. How have you been doing? Let’s start with work.”

“Well,” she says. “Work is going okay, I guess. I seem to be...how can I put this? Everything seems very dreamy lately. Work included. It’s like I’m floating through the world.”

“Floating you say?”

“Yes. Floating. I was telling Genna today that I feel...vague. Like I’m living a dream. It’s a nice dream though. A very nice dream.” Witchgirl slides her hand along her thigh and smiles. “It seems to be getting nicer too.”

“Really? How so?”

“Well...”

“Yes?”

Witchgirl thinks for a moment, looking down at the carpet. Then she looks up at the bookcase. The names of the books are long and complicated, written by authors with harsh sounding Germanic last names. “DOKTOR,” she says. “Do you like I’m pretty?”

“I would say that you quite beautiful, Witchgirl. In fact, you seem to have gone through some even more dramatic changes lately—changes I would like to talk to you about. And I also wonder why my opinions about my appearance matter to you so much. After all, we are working on the INNER you in these sessions, not the superficial outer you.”

“You’re my psychologist,” she says. “Your opinions matter to me.”

“Well, it’s my job to get YOUR opinions to matter to you.”

Witchgirl rubs her thigh. “My opinion is that your opinion, um, matters to me, DOKTOR. It’s important to listen. To listen to guys and stuff. Your opinion matters to me a lot.”

“I see.”

“And the opinions of the...boys.”

“The...boys?”

Betsy has surprised herself. She’s not even quite sure who she’s talking about. “I’m not clear on why I said that. I has something to do with work, I guess.”

“Work related? What boys do you come in contact with at work?”

Witchgirl thinks for a moment and then when she speaks again, her voice is quiet and thoughtful. “There were boys...there were boys in the matrix. Handsome boys.”

“Ah,” The Dokter says. “The matrix.”

Betsy can swear she hears an edge of anger in his voice and she cringes inwardly. He hasn’t said ONE thing about her clothes, either. She wonders if she doesn’t like them. “They’re really cute...” she stammers, as fragments of her time in the matrix spill through her head. She hears a little childish whine come into her voice.

“Cute? Lieutenant, the appearance of boys inside and outside of the matrix is a normal thing. And I’m pretty sure you are at the age where men are more a concern to you then youths.”

Witchgirl looks down at the carpet again. “You sound...angry...”

DOKTOR is silent for a few moments. Witchgirl looks up at the books again, reading the spines. She can feel his gaze on her body, from some hidden place that’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. She can hear every little movement her rear end makes on the leather fabric of the chair. There is typing coming from the outer office. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

The Dokter says, “Tell me more about these children that are having such an obvious effect on you.”

“It’s hard to remember much. It’s mostly a bunch of images and impressions. I seem to be remembering less and less of the Matrix these days. I thought it maybe had something to do with these sessions—my not remembering—but I guess not.”

“Why would you believe these sessions are effecting your memory?”

Witchgirl leans forward. There’s a small lump in her throat. She wishes she didn’t have to talk about any of this. She just wants to have fun, smile, do jumping jacks, have Genna give her a massage, kiss Rich, kiss Kyle, kiss Mason, kiss them over and over and over again and obey them and undress when they tell her to undress and have everything be simple and cool and okay and awesome and so sexy.

I’m not sure,” she stammers, as she tries to concentrate. “It’s just that everything seems so strange lately...”

“How so? It’s important that you tell me everything, Lieutenant, if you wish me to help you.”

“Well,” she says. “Something is happening, that’s all. I don’t know what, DOKTOR, but something is definitely happening. And it involves these boys. These cute boys. One of them, Mason, is really smart...”

Witchgirl blinks. It’s so hard to think. What was she talking about? Boys. Something about boys.

“Something wrong?” the psychologist asks.

“I’m starting to remember more...no...no...It’s gone.”

“This is interesting, although I may have to suspend your time in the Matrix until I can be sure it isn’t doing any harm to you.”

“Suspend...but...DOKTOR...” Witchgirl runs her hand along her thigh again. “It’s my job...and...and...the boys...”

“Lieutenant, if something is happening to you in the Matrix that is effecting your memory, it will work against everything I’ve been doing to assist you. Now unless you can come up with something more than some ‘cute’ little kid named Grayson, I’m going to have to ground you.”

“Ground...ground...me?”

Witchgirl suddenly feels like a little child. Her heart is beating faster. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she bows her head.

“Lieutenant...I need to do research on psychological effects of the Matrix. Perhaps you should come back for an extended session in two days.”

Witchgirl nods and stands up and moves to leave, head still slightly bowed. “I understand,” she says.

“I am temporarily suspending you from the Matrix for the next two days. I suggest you take some time and relax at home. If you can remember anything else about these boys, contact my receptionist.”

“What boys?” Betsy says.

“Hmmph,” The Dokter says. “Interesting.”

When Witchgirl steps into the outer office, the secretary is looking down attentively at her computer. She doesn’t seem to even notice that Witchgirl has stepped out of her session early. Witchgirl says “good-bye” but the secretary doesn’t say anything back, or even turn her head and look at her, so she leaves quietly.

All the Secretary DOES notice are the words scrolling across her screen, orders from the DOKTOR about what she must do. Lieutenant Laurie Zormistradus’ treatment has apparently taken a unexpected turn. Either someone in the Matrix has been able to take advantage of the work the DOKTOR has been doing or an outside force in counter-influencing the superheroine.

The treatment of Lt. Zormistradus is now a priority one.

Information must be found on any and every resident in the Matrix with the first or last name of Mason.

Nothing can be allowed to stand in the path of the DOKTOR’s plans for Lt. Zormistradus.

The secretary stares down the message, enters it into her memory, and then clicks the ‘delete’ button. Another patient enters the room, a smiling young woman, and the secretary looks up at her, returning the same smile. “The Dokter will see you now,” she says.