The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Dweebs!”

Fiona Matthews’ thought ached with contempt.

She was watching a man and woman sitting at the bar, both looking painfully embarrassed and anywhere but at eachother. It was obvious they wanted to connect; they were both just too painfully shy to do anything about it.

Fiona sighed, putting down her coffee. She created a thought, compelling the man to make some innocuous comment about the weather and inserted it into his mind.

The man spoke, the woman replied, they talked, they laughed, and they edged closer together, bingo! They were on the path to true love.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” Grumbled a husky voice.

Fiona looked up to see the disapproving, wrinkled face of her partner, Joe Debs. He sat at her table, shaking his head.

“What?” Fiona protested, drawing out the vowel.

“Psi-Corps regulations plainly state that the frivolous mental invasion of another is punishable by reprimand, suspension or expulsion. I must have told you that a million times but yet you still do it.”

“Aw come on, look at them. They’re happy. How can that be a bad thing?” Fiona teased, her kohl-colored eyes sparkling with merriment. She flipped her gently curling dark brown hair to accent her joke.

Joe was not mollified. “You are going to drive me to an early retirement. Just you wait. When I am not around, you’ll get a partner a lot less tolerant, someone who will turn you in in a heartbeat.”

“Aw Joe. I’ll be good, I promise.” Fiona giggled as she reached out to pinch his cheek.

“You’re too damn cocky. You may have made it to Level 5 agent faster than anyone else in Psi-Corps history, but don’t let that go to your head. You still have a lot to learn.”

Fiona gave her older comrade a smirk of disbelief and quickly sought to change the subject before Joe went into one of his fatherly sermons.

“So what’s the big news?” She queried.

“I’ve got a lead on Devlin…I think.”

“Jesus no!” Fiona blurted.

“I said ‘I think.’ Anyway, here’s the scoop. A week ago, I passed over an article in the “Times” about that new Chemcore building that they want to put up in Brooklyn. It turns out that the land acquisition for the project is going really well, too well, no community opposition. That neighborhood usually goes ballistic if outsiders come in and start changing things. It didn’t make sense. So I did a little research and what else did I find, but homeowners have been selling their property to Chemcore at assessment value or a little less. In this market..!”

Fiona waved her hand impatiently, “Come on, come on, cut to the chase.”

Joe crossed his arms disapprovingly, “You up-and-coming youngsters have no patience for the basic detective work…”

“Come on!” Fiona groaned.

“Ok, so there is one guy left to sell whom I go to meet, owns a rowhouse with four apartments, and he knows everybody else on the block, and saw this guy on the Chemcore negotiating team that looked a bit out of place. Anyway, he said everyone on the block was either not going to sell or make Chemcore pay through the nose, until they met this guy. After that, it was smooth sailing for Chemcore. The guy matched Devlin’s description.”

“That’s it?” Fiona said with no little disappointment.

“Its not much, maybe nothing, but its worth checking out. The Chemcore team is supposed to meet with my contact tonight. So lets go and see if we can pick up something.”

Joe ushered Fiona to his car and the two set off.

They were mostly silent as they navigated the city streets, crowded with traffic, thinking about the task ahead.

Fiona broke the silence. “Did you know him…Devlin, I mean?”

“I knew of him. He was like you, a real hot shot. Believed he knew everything. When he thought Psi-Corps limited his greatness, he decided to take his mind control show on the road.”

“A section 822 case, a “Critical Risk.” Fiona mused, “A potentially uncontainable threat to public safety and Psi-Corps. The only one to get away.”

“Yeah, yeah…a royal pain in the ass. Here we are.” Joe said as he pulled up to a row house. “We’re late, damn traffic. You see that limousine? That’s Chemcore’s. Ok, if were not too late we’ll…”

Fiona cringed, grabbing her head. Joe gritted his teeth.

“God!” Fiona exclaimed, “That was the biggest blast of psi-activity I ever felt...its gotta be him!” She started to get out of the car.

Joe grabbed at her sleeve. “Jesus, Fi! Get back in. We don’t have back up and we don’t have a warrant, lets just find him, trail him, and get an army of Psi-Agents to take him down.

Fiona pulled her arm away. “No guts no glory. He’s mine! Psi-activity like that is ‘probable cause’ so fuck ‘due process,’ I’m going in.” She said gleefully, drawing her gun and heading for the rowhouse door, a stream of Joe’s curses following her. If making Level 5 in such a short time was impressive, wait till she took down Devlin on her own, she thought. She would be a candidate for the Psi-Corps Directorate in no time flat. Fiona slipped in to the entryway, a standard New York rowhouse-turned-apartment building foyer. The lock was simple enough to open, yielding to a well-placed credit card. Slowly, she moved in. The apartment down the hall, past a set of stairs, was slightly ajar. There were voices coming from it, harsh ones. She held her breath as she moved toward it. This was it…if Devlin was there, she would have to shoot first and ask questions later, get him down before he had a chance to use his formidable psi-powers. She was only a foot from the door and readied to swing it open.

A hand fell on her shoulder. Fiona sucked in her breath and…an invisible wave crashed through her mind, flooding it, tumbling her control, leaving only consciousness and sense. She froze and then went slack, her arms becoming like leaden weights, falling to her sides. Her hand let go of the gun and it clattered on the floor.

“Lets go.”

The hand pushed her down the hallway, her body moving sluggishly where directed, despite her best efforts to regain control. She was turned up the stairs and stopped at the third floor window.

“Open it.”

Fiona unlocked and opened the window. She was pushed out on the fire escape and directed down the stairs. She jumped down into the alley, followed by the stranger, who pushed her down it to a street perpendicular to where Joe had parked his car. The hand that directed her motioned for a racing cab that was just passing by. Though it had a passenger, the taxi screeched to a halt. Fiona was thrust toward the door and into the car, only to face a protesting man in an expensive suit. His anger was soon halted by a gesture from her “companion.” In response, the man instantly jumped out the opposite door into oncoming traffic. There was a squeal of tires followed by a sickening bump.

“Lets go.” The mysterious voice commanded and the cab took off again.

Fiona sat with her hands on her knees looking straight ahead. Mentally, she was going through every trick in the book to regain control, nothing could shatter the hold. She was allowed only enough power to get a look of her captor out of the side of her eye: he was a lanky pockmarked man, with greasy hair, dressed entirely in black. The cab filled with the scent of his underarms. She had seen his pictures before and heard all the stories: he was Adam Devlin.

Though she hated to admit it, Fiona was impressed. Devlin was everything everybody had said about him and even more: the best. Not only had he laid a trap she had failed to detect, even masking his psi-power when he was up close to her, he had controlled multiple people, including a Level 5 agent, without breaking a sweat. Fiona could control normal people no problem, but it took some concentration for her to take on someone with psi-power. Still, she had never met her match until now.

Desperate, Fiona took a different tack to break free.

“So, what are you going to do, make me your sex slave or something? That’s your thing isn’t it!?” She yelled at him mentally, hoping to goad him into making slip. “That is the only way you can get any, isn’t it, pencil dick!”

The insults echoed in the corners of her mind, but no retribution came. Only a cold utterance:

“Psi-Corps should update its files. I’m way past puberty.”

She sensed nothing from Devlin, no hate, no lust, no anger…there was some interest, but it was the kind someone might have for an X-Box or a new cell phone with the latest technology: a possession to be owned.

After that exchange, the cab ride was as silent as it was interminable; it ended, at last, before a decrepit old building in a warehouse district. Devlin took Fiona out by the hand, as if a prince helping his princess disembark from a carriage, and then sent the cabbie off with an order to spend all night driving around Queens. Fiona glided along with Devlin, her hand still in his, into the building and then before a door. After Devlin made a soft knock, a woman opened it.

“Welcome back, Mr. Devlin.”

The woman was familiar to Fiona, it took a few moments to connect the face to memory: she was Mindy Mahone. Mindy was a former member of the endless parade of starlets who blaze ever so briefly before twinkling out in an oblivion of intermittent “Where are they now?” stories. When Mahone’s career started to skid on gossip of her legendary temper tantrums and rumors of drug abuse, she gracefully abandoned public life. Somehow her descent into obscurity had landed her here, with Devlin, though with some dramatic changes: her flaming red hair was bleached blonde and pulled back in a ponytail; her pleasingly plump body was firmed, though her life preserver breasts had been substantially enhanced; her wholesome youthful freshfacedness had been erased, replaced by a stupid smile and with a puppy dog-like gaze, sparkling with a desperation to please. She was naked, or at least mostly so: lacy wringlets decorated her wrists, a red thong clung desperately to her sex and waist, red transparent stockings gilded her legs, her feet sat in near right angles in red, impossibly high-heeled shoes, and a bow clasped her neck like a collar. A stench of expensive perfume hung about her like a cloud. She closed the door behind Fiona and Devlin.

Devlin stopped Fiona for a moment and gave her a brief moment of concentration.

“This is it!” Fiona cringed mentally, this is where he remakes me into some horny slut and I end up sucking him off! Where the hell is Psi-Corps!? They must have been able to trace me here!”

For a moment she was paralyzed with the feeling that her consciousness was decomposing, decaying into fragments like an image on a scratched DVD. After some time, she had no idea how long, control came back to her body. She looked at Devlin, half expecting to fall to her knees, be totally in love with him and plead with him to use her.

She had no more desire for him than she had had before.

So what had he done? She, Fiona, as she knew herself, was still there. Devlin could have done a total makeover, made her into a willing fuck slave with no trouble. But he didn’t. Maybe he had done something worse. Devlin was a “player;” he was famous for it. One of his “m.o.’s” was to leave personalities alone, depriving them of control while giving them prurient urges, toying with them, breaking them, like a kid who takes immense pleasure peeling the wings off flies. It would be any minute now: she would find out what game he had in store for her.

“You know what to do.” Devlin barked at Mindy with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Mindy nodded. “Come with me.” She took Fiona’s hand, guiding her into a sparsely finished bedroom.

“What the fuck has he done to you!?” Fiona blurted, finding she could speak freely once more.

Mindy raised a forefinger to her deep red lips. “Hush. We have work to do. Take off your clothes.”

Suddenly Fiona had a thought pass through her mind, she wanted to take off her clothes. It was more of a compulsion really, like when you dip into the Ben and Jerry’s for just one bite and end up unthinkingly eating the entire carton. She matter-of-factly slipped off her jacket, undid her blouse and unclasped her bra. Despite all her efforts she could not resist the urge to keep obeying the command. Devlin must have erased any ability for self-control; Fiona knew she would now do what anyone asked, like in that fairy tale movie. Her hands undid her belt and she pressed her trousers and panties into a pile on the floor. Her long-legged willowy body, toned by athletics, stepped out of it, clothed only in the air.

“Please. I can help you. Just give me some control.” Fiona pleaded.

Mindy ignored her, her face still locked in its dull grin, its hauntingly compliant gaze. “Bend over that table, grasp the other side and spread your legs.”

Fiona turned and did as she was told, the table was wide and she struggled to grasp the opposite side, spreading her legs as widely was she could.

“Don’t! Whatever he told you to do…don’t!” Fiona moaned.

Mindy leaned over Fiona. “Listen to me.” She whispered as she let one of her inch-long fingernails glide down the furrow of the woman’s spine. Slowly, she ran over a lengthy list of tasks and subtasks, a series of menial chores: wake up at 7:00 am; prepare breakfast, a half full bowl of Rice Krispies, clean kitchen so that chrome and tiles sparkle, clean living room, remotes will be organized this way, DVDs this way, video games this way; clean bathroom…. Fiona was compelled to take note of this inventory of duties even despite her confusion of their ultimate meaning.

“Repeat the list.” Mindy commanded after she had finished, rubbing Fiona’s firm ass expectantly with her hands.

Fiona stuttered her way through the list of tasks, repeating as much as she could remember, which was not much.

Mindy slapped the Psi-Agent’s ass with a loud smack when she could recite no more. “Ow!” Fiona squealed, not so much from light stinging pain of the hit as from surprise. “What the hell…!?”

“Repeat the list.” Mindy commanded in a more authoritarian voice.

Fiona struggled through the list again, earning two harder slaps on her butt, the pain sending tremors through her being, the wake of its peal leaving her body tingling with pleasant warmth. “Why doesn’t she just order me to memorize the damn list!?” Mindy thought to herself. “The bimbo has the power to etch the fucking thing in my brain.” Suddenly, Fiona realized the point of this exercise: it wasn’t just to make her just do something, it was to show her how subject she was to Devlin, how low she had sunk. If Fiona, crack agent of Psi-Corps was subjugated to a slave of Devlin; if Fiona could not resist even Mindy’s power over her, what did that make Fiona? The understanding of her utter abjection made her whimper with shame: how could she have let this happen, how could she not resist it, not even just a little?

“Repeat the list.” Mindy hissed again.

There was no time for Fiona to wallow in self-pity. Compelled to speak the list and fearing the implications of what would happen if this exercise continued, she struggled to say it all. She made it halfway through it before she tripped up. The staccato clapping sound of hand against butt filled the room; Mindy increased the force and number of her blows. Tears streamed from Fiona’s eyes: her flushed red cheeks matching the color of her pained raw behind. Her self-esteem trembled with each spank: she was utterly helpless, like a naughty little girl being punished. Her attempts to dispel this insight weakened as she bathed more and more in the intense pleasure that replaced the receding pain of the blows she received. Her belly tingled, she was wet. The feelings only accented her humiliation. Fiona had a secret fantasy of being spanked and dominated in the loving secrecy of a bedroom, but she had always told herself only bad people, fetishists, liked that sort of thing, and she had buried and locked the desire in the safe of her discipline and restraint. Devlin must have found it there and seen to it that it was brought forth for view by both Fiona and her tormentor. Now the agent felt she was no better than people she had despised: she was one of them, and loving it despite all attempts to resist it.

“Repeat the list.”

Fiona almost made it all the way to the end, but a moment’s hesitation led to an even harsher and longer series of blows. The pain was excruciating; its attendant rapture intoxicating, aching for satiation. Fiona felt the breath of her torturer against her neck, its gusts laced with a lust fueled from her exertion of dominance. With Fiona’s secret fixation unleashed, it taunted her, joining in the ritual demanding her submission, and, as it did, it asserted sovereignty over Fiona’s ego. Each of Mindy’s puffs now blessed Fiona with her own craving for the woman that was mastering her, urging her to appease the wishes of her dominator, each offering the rank bribe of fantastic pleasurable release. These growing yearnings deepened Fiona’s disgrace with revulsion at what she was becoming from a mere spanking, the whirlpool of conflicting emotions sucking her completely beneath a pool of lustful subjection. Too weak to resist, she was drowning, becoming the personification of the bad girl fetishist that had so appalled her.

“Repeat the list, bitch!.” Mindy spat.

Fiona made her way down the list, without hesitation, without a mistake, her voice plaintive, pleading, lost between an eagerness to please and a hunger for more.

“Good girl.” Mindy cooed. “Lets hear it again.”

Fiona groveled at the approval; her ego collapsing under the weight of her ignominy, a new personality, based on newly released carnal desires, flooding forward to replace it. She repeated the list even faster and louder, taking a base exultant pride in her ability to do so.

“Good little girl. Again!” Mindy purred, massaging Fiona’s burning red ass.

Fiona complied, speaking even faster and louder, her body writhing like a snake, grinding her engorged breasts against the table, throbbing from the ecstasy of her accomplishment.

Hungrily, Mindy pulled Fiona up from the table, turning her around to offer compliance’s reward, burying her face against her neck and rubbing and tugging her hardened nipples. Fiona arched her back to present her chest fully to Mindy’s ministrations, groaning and growling, wrapping her arms around her mistress, kneading her back’s smooth flesh. Fiona had never gone bi, she had thought about it on occasion, but dismissed the possibility, putting that temptation away like her spanking desire. But with all restraint lost, all lusts were loose within her, their combined forces storming through her being, looting and pillaging like a gibbering barbarian horde, making her a veritable beast of passion.

“Uhhhh.” Fiona sighed in a vacant voice. “Uhhhh…mommy…mommmmmy”

And Mindy was a maternal figure to Fiona now, the woman with the power, the control, the ability to make Fiona do anything: the dominatrix she had secretly wanted. She fell beneath Mindy as the other woman feasted on her tongue, sucking it and slurping it like a Popsicle. Soon the two wrestled themselves into each other’s crotches, their tongues darting at each other’s throbbing pink pussies, bucking and moaning, rolling spasmodically about the floor, their heads clasped in the other’s thighs. Their cuming was only a prelude to the relentless feast of passion that would consume them for hours.

“She knows what is expected of her, Mr. Devlin. She is yours.” The girl who was Mindy Mahone told Adam Devlin, “was” because the rigidity of the personality that was Mindy had been made as pliable as soft clay, to be remolded into anyone, or anything, Devlin wanted. She wore a “graduation” out fit of a French maid’s costume that left little to the imagination.

Devlin humphed. “The bitch’s body is mine, but, she’s got the fucking will of a weed. Stamp it down and it will grow right back up again.” He glared at the girl. “A stupid slut like you has the mental power of a Twinkie. I could crush it in my sleep and once its gone its gone for good.”

The girl stared impassively: having no longer any will, any self-respect, she had been liberated from the capacity to take injury from insult.

“No this one will take a little finesse.” Devlin mused to himself. Furrowing his brow, her turned his attention back to the girl. “There is a limo waiting for you downstairs. There is a guy in it who you know. He was the producer of your last movie. He got so sick of your bitchiness shit, and not doing what you were fucking asked, that he paid me a lot of money to make you so you would do what you’re told—WHATEVER you’re told. Go to him. Obey him as you would me.”

The girl nodded. “As you wish, Mr. Devlin” She turned and left.

Devlin smirked, slipped in a porno DVD and sat down to watch. His heart was not in it; he was thinking how he would best play with his latest toy.