The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter Two — No Questions Answered

The first thing Francesca -I mean, doctor Leonard- asks of me to do is to remove my shoes, socks and track suit, so I’m standing in the middle of her office in nothing but a black thong and tight shirt, as she looks me over and asks me questions.

She’s so pretty, and she must be brilliant to be a doctor at 21.

Slender body, long legs. A short, tight dark business skirt with tasteful stockings and professional, low needle heels. A tight wine red shirt with the top few buttons open by necessity, showing the bridge of her black lace bra. Tasteful eye shade with bright red lips, and a thick framed set of glasses that make her look like the naughtiest little librarian. It really makes those baby blue eyes pop!

The heels, even though they barely make her look taller, are cheating to me. Even without them I’d only come up to her chin at best. But wow, just look at her!

What a redhead! I can see why they’re so sought after.

The doctor circles me, looking me over up and down, and she looks pleased.

To be honest, I’m feeling quite vulnerable without my make-up on. I can’t quite put it into words, but my ‘pretty face’ is something of a mask for me that I can comfortably hide behind, so right now I’m quite uncomfortable.

With my ‘pretty face’ on, it covers up my baby face, my round, soft features that make me look like an overgrown child, and it’s helped to have people take me seriously over my squeaky voice and short stature. Only recently did anyone start to take me seriously, and going without make-up is giving all of that up.

Plus I’m barely clothed, so that doesn’t help at all.

“Have a seat.” she says, though it sounds more like an instruction than an offer, as she picks up a tablet computer and sits down at her desk.

It’s a bit chilly in the office, because the air conditioning is on at full blast.

“How old are you?” she asks, even though she must already know how old I am. My date of birth is on the file she’s reading off of and making notes on.

“Uh, eighteen.”

“In how many weeks will you turn nineteen?” she asks, her eyes briefly shooting me a look as if to see how I react to unexpected questions. Is this a math quiz?

I bite my lip trying to visualize the calendar on my dorm room desk. Mentally flipping through the pages, I try to count the weeks in my mind’s eye. Today’s the fifth of October and my birthday’s the twenty-seventh of January. “Uh, sixteen, I think.”

“Do you have any objections to being talked down to and looked down on for the sake of science, and in return for monetary compensation?”

That’s a definite red flag... but I do need the money, and I’ve struck out with basically every other employer in the region—and I don’t want to move back home to get a job. I try to avoid the straight answer. “Uh... I guess not?”

“You guess?”

Dammit.

“I mean, I’m fine with that, of course. If there’s a good reason...”

“Would it humiliate you to serve those who outside these walls would be your peers, but inside these walls are your betters? Get them coffee, clean their desks, mop the floor, run their errands, and other tasks below your regular standing? They’ll look down on you and talk down to you, and you must obey and serve with a smile...”

“Uh... I mean, I’ll do it...” I answer honestly, trying to avoid the actual question. Are they doing some sort of bizarre social experiment down here?

But she presses. “Would you feel humiliated?”

I purse my lips. I don’t want to answer. But I feel like she won’t let it go. And the money’s so good. “It would be humiliating.”

She’s eyeing me up, tapping things into that tablet computer. I wonder what she thinks of me...

“Do you have any fillings, and do you still have all your teeth?”

“Uh, no fillings, and I had my wisdom teeth pulled. All four of them.”

“Tattoos or piercings?”

“None.”

“Not even the ears?” she asks.

“No, never. Never liked the idea of putting a needle on or through me.” I shrug.

“Would you consent to being examined fully nude by our staff perhaps several times a day for months on end?”

Ugh. Do I really want to be here? “Sure. If the pay and benefits are what’s been promised.”

She smiles. “Let me assure you, by being part of our project, by participating in this trial... you not only get a running start to doing better next year and the years to come, but you’ll make it easier for young women to find out who they want to be, and then become those versions of themselves, with minimal effort! You could say, we’ll be able to turn people into their ideal selves at the push of a button!”

Another red flag. I’m always wary of things that sound too good to be true. Especially if it’s phrased like a commercial.

My step-dad signed me up to a ‘nondenominational church’ trip for introverted young girls once. Pretty sure it was a big hideaway trip for molesters looking back, so I’m grateful my mom managed to get me out of it.

“Would you like to be a part of that?”

I put on a smile, even though I’m sure she can tell right away I’m faking it. I never was good at hiding my true feelings. “I’d love to.”

Doctor Leonard puts her excited smile away and taps on the tablet some more.

“Hypothetical: would you rather be a cheap whore or starve?”

“Um...” I say, thinking about it.

“Don’t think about it. Top of your head.”

“Whore myself out.” I relent. I already feel like I’m whoring myself out to this woman, in a way.

“Would you whore yourself out for science?”

I don’t want to answer that... yet I do. “Yes.” Truth be told, I’d whore myself out for money. But if the science makes me the money, so be it.

“Does your self-respect, your self-esteem, your self-worth... have a price?”

“Y-Yes.” I groan. Fuck... I really am a whore.

Deep down I start to feel like I’ve always had a price, and I just never got around to admitting to myself that I lack the spine to be honest about my deepest, darkest truth: I’m not just easy to manipulate... I’m actually looking for someone to pull my strings. Is that why I keep agreeing?

It’s gotta be.

“Do you consent to being humiliated regularly and thoroughly for the benefit of mankind, and science?”

Ugh, what is with these weird questions? I feel like I’m joining a cult...

“I’ll do whatever needs to be done, doctor.”

Talking to the good doctor is murder on my self-esteem.

She’s smiling again. That can’t be a good sign.

“You have very nice breasts. Cute butt. Adorable little face.” she says, a little wry smile on her lips. “You could make quite a bit of money as a whore, I’m sure.”

I feel pretty bad being humiliated for the heck of it, but I struggle to smile and say “Thanks.”

“Thank you, -who—?” she asks, basically grinning.

“Thank you... -doctor—.” I say. It’s gotta be super obvious how uncomfortable I am.

“Wonderful. Now lift your shirt.” she instructs. “Expose yourself.”

I roll my eyes and with a sigh, I pull up my top right up to my bosom. I hesitate, but after a big inhale for courage I show off my perky, perfectly round breasts. The most perfect set of F’s you’ll ever see. I couldn’t be happier with them.

They bounce as they drop out of my top at the same time.

“Delightful. They’re real, I assume?”

“Of course.”

She grins. “Of course. Jiggle them at me.”

I stop. “Uh... I mean... What is it you guys do here, really?”

“I can’t tell you that, sweet pea. That’d interfere with our results.”

“So... no questions asked, huh?”

“No questions answered.” she winks, then gestures at me. “Jiggle.”

I sigh and perform as requested, gyrating my shoulders so my bountiful mounds dance and bounce, as she watches and enjoys. “Why not?”

“Because if you know what’s going on, everything we put you through will be useless.” she says, staring at my chest, licking her lips just barely. “Knowing means you’d influence the results. Lean forward and keep jiggling.”

I do as instructed, leaning forward just a bit as I shake my upper body for the woman. She gestures me to lean over more, so I do, and she writes something down on her tablet. I feel my breasts weighing me down more and more, the further I lean down. I hope I can stop soon, my poor boobs are getting really sore.

“That’ll do.”

She then puts the tablet down and gets up from her seat. With her now moving to loom over me, I feel even more uneasy. Like she’s getting ready to pounce and eat me or something...

But instead, she reaches under my arms and grabs my breasts, groping and kneading them rather firmly and roughly. Her fingers splayed, my breasts bulging out between. Her hands aren’t that small, but my breasts are still a little too much for her to handle.

I groan, and I so desperately want to remind her those tits are attached to me, but I bite my lip and try not to complain.

She escalates the creepiness by slowly dragging the back of her tongue across my cheek. “You really are a doormat, aren’t you?” she teases, and nibbles my ear. “I want to hear you say it.”

Fuck. I’m so embarrassed. “I... am a doormat.” I squeak out.

I could just burst out crying right now. Thankfully she lets go of my breasts and pulls my top down, so I’m a little more covered again.

“I want you to do a simple IQ test.” she explains, picking up a second tablet computer from a cabinet on the far wall. “Twice. Once just as you are, and once wearing a headset. We just wanna take some readings and... measure a few things.”

She almost shoves the tablet into my lap and I tap at the screen. It’s the kind of test they’d give to an eight year old, complete with icons, shapes and colors rather than asking questions in full sentences.

Nothing too difficult. I breeze through it in a minute or two.

“Oh, that was remarkably quick. And looking at your file, you were a wonderful student in middle school and high school... until you, let’s say, ‘fell off the boat’.” she grins. Ugh, she’s not even trying to hide the fact she’s making fun of me. “133! That’s pretty good! Quite remarkable in fact!”

“Thanks...” I say, if only to say anything. I clench my fists by my side, out of her view, trying not to burst out a complaint. Turns out I am a doormat—not just passively so, but actively. I choose to be a doormat... dammit.

It’s obvious how humiliated I am and uneasy I feel... and she’s eating it up. She’s relishing my discomfort.

She holds up a strange little headset, with a techno-thingamabob at the front that has, aimed inwards on either side, two pinlights like the camera from the security booth had. The doctor puts it on my head and asks “How do you feel?”

The thingamabob is right up against my forehead, and it’s giving me a bit of a headache. Not a full headache, just a bit of one. The onset of one. “Uncomfortable. And it’s like I can hear a very high pitched noise that isn’t there.”

What am I even doing here?

“Good!” she smiles. “Now do the test again. You can take as long as you need, but try to do it as fast as you can.”

There’s a faint ticking, like the faint ticking of the heart of a pocket watch, and a strange hum, like... um...

Sorry, it’s hard to think straight. What was I saying?

My finger moves sluggishly across the tablet as I do the same exercises I did before. I should know all the answers already, so it should go faster, right?

Well, it’s not going very fast at all. In fact, it’s going very, uh, unfast. ... What’s the word for that again?

The doctor grins. “Feeling a bit out of it? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to that.”

It takes me five tries to line up the right shape with the right hole, and I keep mixing up sevens and eights. Which comes first again? Eight. Five six eight seven nine... Wait.

Ugh, my head hurts. Like I’m being pricked by a long needle straight through the forehead right down the middle.

I don’t know how long it takes me to finish, but finally I do, and almost immediately afterwards the headache vanishes, and the doctor removes the headset, putting it away.

She looks me over. “How was it?”

“It was... like, way, way harder the second time.” I admit. “Funny, I did the exact same exercises before, right?”

“Yes. Exactly the same. Took you twenty-nine minutes this time, and you got most of them shamefully wrong, too.” she grins. “You scored a 64—I couldn’t be happier!”

“I don’t enjoy wearing that thing. It gave me a headache.”

“You seemed to manage it. And at full power, no less!” she says, writing down her findings into her tablet. “I’ll use the reading’s I’ve gathered and I’m sure I can bump you down to a nice, comfortable 55, perhaps even 50. Ideally, we’ll get you as low as 45, or 40.”

I don’t even know how to react to that. I doubt there’s even anything I could say right now that would break her concentration away from whatever it is she’s going through on that tablet of hers.

Then she grins, and I don’t like it one bit. “I think you’ve deserved some breakfast. I hope you’ve brought a big appetite, little girl...”

I find myself obviously excited by the prospect of a meal, though that turns to alarm as she puts a large cup on the desk, and fills it with some strange, gross white ooze pouring out of a rather complicated-looking container.

From the measuring tool on the side of the container, it seems like one and a quarter liter of whatever this gross goop is.

“Wh-What is it?” I ask, concerned for my own well-being.

“What does it look like?” she teases.

“Like you jerked off a horse and you’re serving me his load.” I say, and am suddenly horrified. I’m never this forward.

The doctor giggles. “Don’t you worry, a temporary loss of inhibition is normal after mental ‘stimulation’ from that device you were wearing. You’ll probably be bad at keeping track of time for a few hours.”

“I don’t really have to drink this, do I?”

“You most certainly must, I’m afraid.” she says, relishing my plight. “Let me just assure you that no horses were required to fill up that cup.”

I lean in and smell it. Even its scent is revolting, and I recline in disgust.

“It’s a nutrient solution, with natural proteins and vitamins. I understand it smells -and yes, tastes- absolutely awful, but it’s quite good for you, and it’ll keep you fed for a whole day.

I dip a finger into the disgusting beverage and pull it up, creating a trail of slime form my finger to the cup. Yet I take a deep breath and lick it up, and, oh Gosh, it’s even worse than I thought. Salty and vile. And warm! Why is it warm?

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.” I try.

She’s of course not having that. “It’s a requirement. Try not to think about it.”

I sigh, and pick up the cup. I need both hands as it’s surprisingly heavy, and put it to my mouth. The slime coats my lips as I pour the nasty drink down my gullet and try to swallow it faster than my tongue can taste it.

I’m on the verge of tears when I’m only halfway, and my whole body is trembling as I struggle to do as I’m told. I should just tell this woman I won’t do it, but...

Wait, why am I here again?

I just can’t get on her bad side. I have to do what she says... ugh, the headache’s back.

“Good girl. Every last drop.” she instructs. “No cheating.”

I let the cup drip out onto my tongue and I swallow every last bit of it. It’s coated the inside of my mouth and throat, and it’s assaulting my sense of taste with its nasty flavor, and it’s not going away.

Like a large rat died on my tongue a week ago and someone covered it with my own weight in table salt.

“You’ll taste that for a while. You won’t ever enjoy it but... you’ll get used to it, in time.” she explains. “Would you care for another?”

“Please, don’t...” I whine, tears in my eyes. “Please don’t make me drink another.”

She lifts another canister of the vile goop onto her desk. “But if I tell you to, you’ll do it, right?”

Tears trickle down my big puffy cheeks as I nod. If she tells me to... I won’t refuse. Gross.

“Well, for now one will do.” she says, and relief washes over me.

I rub my eyes with my wrists, and wipe away the tears.

She hands me a paper tissue, and I blow my nose. I’ve gotten all emotional, even though I’m so used to keeping everything inside—especially after that humiliating fall off the boat.

For a moment I was worried she’d take the tissue and put it in a little bag for study -it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen today- but thankfully she just tosses it in the bin like a normal person.

“Stand up.” she says, and I come up to my feet, a little wobbly from the rush of peculiar but ineffable emotions coursing through me.

She gives me a hug. A long, soft, warm hug, and I hug her back.

When she lets go, though, she says “Look up and open your mouth as wide as you can.”

I’m confused, but willing, and when I do as I’m told she puts her whole hand in my mouth—aside from her littlest finger and her thumb which just don’t fit, though she tried to make it fit—and presses down on my tongue. I feel her fingertips rub the sides of my throat, even the back, and I wince, trying to retract myself away.

Her other hand is gripping the back of my neck firmly, and I feel like some puppy getting force-fed a yucky pill by an experienced veterinarian, while I struggle limply in her grasp.

She’s not even wearing gloves, and who knows where her hands have been?

When she finally removes her hand I wheeze out for air, and drop back onto my seat. “Wh-What were you doing?”

“I can’t tell you that. No questions answered, remember?” she replies.

I groan. “Well, that was obviously -probably- a gag reflex test.” If that’s the case, I probably passed it. I don’t have a gag reflex, it runs in the family. That’s why my mom’s given me so many step-dads. Sadly I got stuck with the worst one after she passed.

The emotions surging through me have made me more defiant. Sadly, it’s come right at the end of things.

She smiles a sweet smile and her eyes look down on me with compassion. “Aww, honey. The interview is over. You did it.” She seems like a completely different person. “Yay, you!”

“Did I... Did I get in?” I ask almost incredulously, ready to burst out crying.

“Oh, yes! If you still want in, that is.” she says. “In fact, we haven’t had a candidate so susceptible to the device as you, so naturally receptive of its influence... so I’m really excited to see what we can put you to work on.”

She holds up her tablet computer to show me a scan of... my brain? Was that what the device was doing?

“99.62% attunement on your first try! That’s incredible!” she smiles, showing genuine excitement. “You have to join us, we’d be lost without you!”

She then opens a drawer and pills out a huge stack of papers all bound in eight folders. The thickest one is up first.

“Sign at the bottom of the first page, and indicate you have read the contract and you understand it and consent to it in its entirety.” she insists.

“Shouldn’t I...?”

“...read it first? Well, it’s quite dry and boring, and there’s tons of things to be done. We don’t really have time to wait around for doubting Debbies...” she says, casually insulting me, goading me into just signing.

And it fucking works, dammit! Double dammit!

I sign it, my name, the date, and I mention I’ve read it and understand it and agree to it... whatever it is.

“Great! Now sign these!” she says, handing me closed envelopes with little openings cut out just over where I have to write my name and where I have to sign.

“But... don’t I even get a chance to read these?” I wonder out loud, looking a little helpless no doubt.

“Oh, the first contract covers us for you not knowing and fully understanding every last detail of every contract as it’s in the pursuit of experimental science and, as you’ve been made aware, if you know what we’re doing we can’t test you for it anymore, so we’re keeping you in the dark purely out of necessity.” she’s quick to inform me. “Just sign, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You’ve already foregone informed consent, now just sign the important details.”

“What do you mean, ‘every detail’? But I’m not getting -any- details now!”

She sighs aggressively. “Just sign, little girl.”

“I’m not that much younger than you are.”

“Well, act your age then.” she bites.

I’m taken aback by how rude this genius doctor can be. Still, like the doormat I am, after a moment of pause I’m quick to crumble and sign the seven thick packs of paper leaving each neatly sealed as I probably just sold my soul to the devil.

“Wonderful, we can move forward!” the good doctor exclaims. “Your control phrase is ‘I am a brainless whore’.”

“My -what—?” I blink. “W-Why would I ever say that?”

“Because it’s a phrase you’d never say otherwise. We can’t give you a line you might say in daily life.”

“Well... I guess it’s okay as long as it’s clear I don’t mean it.”

“It’s important you only say it when our staff orders you to. You shouldn’t say it at any other time and you certainly must never tell anyone what your control phrase is—even other participants.”

“I understand.”

“Let’s give it a try. Tell me your control phrase.”

“I...” I start, and groan.

“Come now. Don’t be difficult, this is all in the name of science.”

“I am a brainless whore.” I say, feeling ridiculous.

“Try saying it five times in a row. So you get used to saying it.” she says. Because she’s so serious yet casual about it, it makes me feel like it’s an okay thing to say.

“I am... I am a brainless whore. I am a brainless whore.” I start. “I am a brainless whore. I am a brainless whore... I am a brainless whore.”

“That’s good! I can tell we’re going to love working with you.” she smiles. “Now let’s get you in the Chair and fix you up!”

“Uh, fix me?”

“No questions answered, sweet pea.” she winks, and gets up to head out the door, holding it for me. “Come along, let’s go! Put a little pep in that step!”

It’s with slight terror and some trepidation that I rise from the padded seat and follow the doctor to the door.

“Uh, leave your clothes here. All your clothes.” she instructs, biting her lip and looking me over.

“You mean... I gotta go nude?”

She shoots me a rather stern glare. “I’m not telling you twice. You signed the contract, you gotta fall in line.”

I sigh, if only so I don’t burst out in yammering cries. “... F-Fine...”

The feel of that cold processed air on my fully naked body, covering my flawless skin in tiny little goosebumps. I’m so on edge, my blood is pumping, I get a little light headed and my nipples are rock hard.

I leave my clothes, even my panties, in a pile on the chair by the door.

“That’s a good girl...” she teases and smacks my ass, gripping a buttock.

I blush and moan, biting my lip. I don’t know if it’s from embarrassment or from arousal. Ugh, I feel so low.

Just when I think it can’t get any worse, she grabs one of my breasts in her free hand and squeezes it firmly, her fingertips vanishing deep into my plush tit.

“Tell me your control phrase, girl.” she grins, leaning in to me.

I pout and beg “Please don’t make me say it.”

She grips my tit tightly, squeezing and turning it, and I wince in pain.

“I am a brainless whore!” I call out, whimpering.

She lets go of my sore breast only to smack it rather sharply.

“I guess you need a little more practice.” she says, and pulls me into the corridor. “Get on your knees and tell me your control phrase five times again.”

I slowly drop to my knees, one at a time, and feel my heels -cold from the floor- rub against my round, plump butt. It takes every last ounce of strength I have left not to burst out crying.

“I am a brainless whore... I am a brainless whore... I am a brainless whore... I am a brainless whore... I am a brainless whore...”

Oh Gosh, she’s petting my head... I look up at her and she’s smiling.

Did I... do well?

A rush of powerful emotions courses through me, and I smile back. I giggle. Oh man, I’m so glad she likes me after all.

I was so worried she didn’t like me...

... oh dammit, I’m such a doormat.

I rise to my feet and follow her down the corridor to the room where I watched the gorgeous girl from before vanish into.

There’s a strange dentist’s chair in the middle of the room, with plenty of leather straps to bind someone into place, and a whole bunch of cages against the far wall. There’s also a scary looking electrical contraption right behind the chair, and it looks like it’s meant to lean back towards that machine.

I’m basically shoved onto the chair and immediately the good doctor snaps her fingers.

“Start strapping up your legs, and then strap up what you can.” she instructs. “Make sure it’s snug, the less you can move, the better!”

I don’t even bother asking why anymore, I’m not going to get an answer. Instead, I just do as I’m told and start binding myself to the chair, starting at my ankles and moving my way up.

Doctor Leonard is working on a large computer station next to the machine, tapping away. At least she looks like she’s having fun... I guess that’s something.

Once I’m done with the four big straps, two on my ankles and two around my plush thighs, I put on the biggest one around my waist, and then one that goes under my arms and over my breasts. Finally, the last one I strap up is around my neck, leaving my fully snug against the chair—not counting my arms of course.

The doctor comes by and checks the straps, and tightens the ones around my waist and neck. “Your comfort doesn’t matter here. It’s important there’s no wiggle room.” she explains, as she straps up my arms to the padded supports on the sides.

Then, with the press of a pedal, the chair starts to lean back, and I’m laid stretched down.

Without warning, she shows me a large, thick vibrator shaped like an alien bowling pin with two little stubby hooks near the base, and inserts it into my vagina without hesitation or lubrication.

“Ow!” I cry out, and suck my teeth. I can’t lie, this really hurts. Not to mention it’s uncomfortable being stretched around this bizarre shape.

Then she turns it on, and immediately my whole body starts to spasm by its mighty influence. Not so much because it vibrates, but because of powerful energy coursing into my body through the stubby hooks pressing on the outside of my lips, and the fat base stretching my walls.

I climax, painfully and severely, within two seconds, and the device isn’t letting up.

My mouth is wide open, my toes are curled and my eyes are crossed more than ever before. None of my toys in my dorm room ever came close to this kind of pleasure.

Yes, pleasure, even though it’s one of the most painful experiences of my life.

Oh, Gosh, what are they doing to me?!

Thankfully, after what feels like an hour -though probably only a few seconds have passed- she lets up, and I can catch my breath, wheezing loud and fast in complete panic.

“Your number is 14.” she instructs. “When you’re in the high security zone, there is no Alex. Only 14. You’re not to speak with anyone about the project, not even other participants. You’ll do whatever staff tells you to, no matter how strange or humiliating.”

“Please...” I try, but I get assaulted by the vibrator again.

If I wasn’t this restrained, I’d be flopping like a beached salmon.

I feel so helpless. And I strapped myself in! Why am I this stupid?

My body cries out in helpless agony and forced pleasure. When the device lets up again, she snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“Control phrase.”

“I... am... a brain- brainless... whore...” I say, barely able to breathe.

To make it even more difficult, she puts a red rubber ball gag in my mouth and straps it snugly in place around my head.

“Again.”

I repeat my control phrase, but it’s muffled by that big ball awkwardly stretching open my mouth and hurting my jaws.

“Good, 14.” she grins, and leans in to lick my fat, captive breasts, dragging the back of her tongue slowly across from one tit to the next, pressing into those pillowy mounds if just for fun.

The bench moves towards the scary machine behind it, and my head is suddenly stuck in a sort of dome. Things are spinning and whirring and I’m terrified. I break out crying, whining and sobbing.

I struggle as hard as I can, but the vibrator has left me exhausted.

Bright blue pinlights surround me, and give me the mother of all headaches, as ice-cold metal probes extend and press against my scalp, and it sounds like it’s charging up to shock me.

Am I going to die? Oh Gosh, she’s going to kill me!

“Control phrase, 14.” she commands again.

In between sobbing, I repeat that I’m a brainless whore into the ball gag, and she flicks the switch, sending however many kajillions of volts through my brain.

I’m done for.