The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Kinshi Corporation’s American office was an imposing edifice situated downtown, surrounded by buildings less than half its size. Damon stopped the sedan in front and ordered a random bystander to take it for a joy ride. His three slaves followed him in. There was a pretty Japanese receptionist in the lobby. Her eyes rolled and she moaned with pleasure as Damon turned her into Slave #4. None of the fetish clothes he’d brought with him would fit her, so he had her strip naked and fall in behind her sisters. He manipulated the pins where the key for the executive elevator went, and soon he was riding said elevator to the top, #4 nuzzling affectionately at her Master’s cock through his pants.

Guns swiveled on them as the elevator doors opened. Damon put up a barrier, and the armor-piercing bullets bounced off like B.B.s against a tank. He considered turning their heads around backwards, but decided that was too kind. The company’s president, visiting from Japan with his daughter, was made to watch as she was transformed into Slave #5 and gave her new Master a blow job then got fucked to orgasm by her slave-sisters with strap-on dildoes, two at a time.

“Tetsuko, stop this!” her father called.

“She no longer knows that name, Mr. Kinshi.” Damon said. “She’s just Slave #5 now, a fuck-doll for my pleasure. Now, I want the hit squad that killed my family yesterday in here, unless you’d like me to have her fuck you in the ass with a strap-on.”

“How have you done this?” Mr. Kinshi asked.

“The same way I know your language now, Kinshi-san.” Damon responded in Japanese. “Telepathy, and mine’s as strong as telepathy can get without increasing the size of my head. Now, I want the hit squad.” Slave #5 screamed in pleasure, prompting Slaves #1 and #2 to switch out with #3 and #4. Damon held up his hand, freezing the girls. “Girls, I don’t think Mr. Kinshi believes I’d have #5 rape his ass, or that she’d obey.”

“Whatever you desire, Master.” Slave #5 said. “I exist only to please you.” She unfastened the strap-on from Slave #1 and began to affix it to her own pelvis. Mr. Kinshi pressed the intercom button and called for the hit squad that had stormed the company picnic. Damon smiled. He could sense them approaching. He froze them in place when they tried to draw weapons on him. With their muscles locked as tight as rigor mortis, no longer responding to their mind’s demands, he was free to do as he wished. He touched the closest one, confirming that he was indeed one of the ones he sought, and locked his mind in a loop of emotional torment and phantom physical agony. His eyes became as wide as dinner plates and he flopped limply to the floor, screaming from his own personal hell. He moved down the hit-squad, doing the same to each member, one by one.

“Are you done now? Change my daughter back!”

“I am the one who gives commands here.” Damon said, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Mr. Kinshi. “Slaves 1-4, hold him down. #5, ream his ass out with the strap-on.”

“Yes, Master.” the slaves said in unison. Damon prevented the rest of the board from trying to get away. Everyone had to watch as Mr. Kinshi was anally violated by the sex slave who had once been his daughter. His mind was awash in shame and disgust, but there was arousal there as well, which heightened the shame. Damon smiled as he enhanced the pleasure just enough to ratchet up the shame. The man made a sticky mess on the underside of the table as he climaxed.

“Hey, Mikey, I think he likes it.” Damon said derisively as the strap-on was withdrawn. Mr. Kinshi got to his feet and jumped out the window. Damon stopped his descent telekinetically and brought him back in, prodding #5 to kick him in the balls once for his initiative.

“Master makes all decisions now.” Slave #1 said. #4 and #5 nuzzled affectionately at Damon’s cock through his pants.

“That’s right.” Damon said, putting the two slaves to sleep. He levitated them and lay them on their backs on the table. Touching his hands to any part of their bodies he didn’t want hair to grow, he killed the follicles with psi ability, leaving them bald in those places. He then put his hands on the girls’ chests and redirected what scant fat cells he could find to their breasts. The board watched in awe as each girl’s breasts grew—slightly but noticeably. While they were gawking, Damon reached his mind out, taking hold of those of his audience. Those who had had anything to do with the planning of the attack at the company picnic received the same fate as the hit squad. The remainder had their worldview radically altered—and now Damon was at the center of it. There were six of the original board of twenty-four left. The new converts dragged the condemned out into the foyer, where medics were summoned.

Damon spent the rest of the day making the company—and everyone in it—his to command. In the hours from the time the paramedics hauled away the shrieking businessmen in padded wagons until he bedded down for the night in the president’s luxury suite at a nearby hotel, his harem doubled from five to ten members, all blissfully unaware that they had ever been anything other than toys for their Master’s pleasure. Slave #10 was a busty French maid who had been cleaning the suite when Damon had taken over. He let her keep her accent, since it was sexy.

Damon was awakened briefly several times during the night by terrors he forgot upon waking. The only things he managed to hang onto were a sense of impending disaster, distrust and paranoia.

The next day, Damon made preparations to move the entire operation to a city called Waco, Texas. It was time to fulfill his promise to the aliens. He purchased a defunct hospital and the parking garage next to it, then hired contractors to renovate them to his specifications. He had hit squads scouring Manhattan, robbing the radiology departments of all the local hospitals. The radioactive material he loaded into one of the former president’s bulletproof limos. He left the remainder of the board in charge, while he and his harem traveled to Russia on a corporate jet.

After a week of searching, he ran across Dr. Svetlana Zdenkavich, a thirty-year-old prodigy in nuclear physics who worked in one of Russia’s larger nuclear power plants. Brilliant as it was, her mind easily fell under his control. He didn’t erase her past as he had done with the rest of his harem, but he did make her fanatically devoted to him.

She had a marvelous body, once he got her into heated quarters. It was made even more marvelous by Damon’s powers, as he redistributed fat cells to emphasize his favorite parts. He also softened the hard lines of her cheek and nose, tapered her formerly-square jaw, and lightened her skin, hair and eyes, making her a pale, blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty.

Svetlana was eager and vocally appreciative of her new Master’s carnal attentions. She warmed him up with a blow job followed by sucking him back to erection. Then, he did her doggy-style while the rest of the harem cheered her on. Judging himself lubed-up enough, he slid his member into her back door. She relaxed as best she could and repositioned herself to ease his egress. Her ass was tight, with just enough padding thanks to his remodeling, and she brought him off quickly. He half-staggered to the bathroom and wiped himself off with a warm, wet towel.

Two days later, they were back in America. There, he learned that the board had finished liquidating the Corporation’s Manhattan assets. Personnel were already on their way to Waco to get everything ready. Damon and his pets would be traveling at a more sedate pace by means of a luxury RV for which a driver had been hired—a former playmate who was quickly reborn as Slave #12 once Damon saw her. He skipped eleven because Svetlana was technically Slave #11 even though he hadn’t given her the full wipe-job because he needed her expertise. The RV was indeed a luxury cruiser, capable of accessing all of its features while driving, although its water tank needed to be refilled when they stopped for the night. The sewage release was on the left-hand side. Damon got a kick out of using his powers to make it spray cars when they passed.

Slave #12 was a fun ride indeed. Subconsciously, she did tricks with all three of her glorious holes that brought Damon off in record time. He also got a kick out of pressing a flashlight to her big, fake boobs and watching them glow in the dark while he rested between rounds. Whoever had done them was good at their job—her scars were barely visible. Under Damon’s hands, they disappeared entirely.

They encountered Slaves #13 and 14 in Mississippi. The two were identical twins who looked like someone had carved the Western ideal of sexy curves in chocolate. Their shoulder-length straightened hair framed their pretty faces, and they were very experienced in showing off their assets. He sensed that they had come alone on a cross-country road trip—were, in fact, heading to Manhattan to visit with family, until Damon decided they would make perfect additions to his collection. Surprisingly, both were virgins. Damon took great pleasure in popping their twin cherries.

Construction detours and a number of wrong turns resulting from misfolded maps landed them in Kansas, where Slave #15 joined the party. Damon ordered the RV to stop as they passed a tanned blonde dressed only in overalls who was walking on the wooden fence. Damon remade her mind as he made her body float off the fence and into the RV. Sexually innocent, she needed a lot of coaching before she was ready to take up her new purpose in life, but she had a mouth like a calf and was eager to please her owner. Her virgin cunt and ass were equally pleasurable, and Damon fucked her in every way imaginable until he passed out from exhaustion. #15 lay down next to him, sore but uncaring, as the pleasure of serving her owner outweighed any mere physical discomfort.

They found the right road and slipped through the Oklahoma panhandle without pausing, and then they were in Texas. They stopped for a night in Dallas, having a wild sexual romp that left a room at the Holiday Inn in shambles.

They arrived in Waco without incident. Damon slept through most of it—fitfully, to be sure, as the nightmares wouldn’t leave him alone—finally waking up entirely as the RV pulled into the parking lot of their new home base. He took the bag of lukewarm water that had once been ice off of his crotch and put some pants on. The slaves were walking funny—his self-healing abilities had allowed him to recover faster. He decided to give them a break and take their asses tonight.

The top-floor room gave him a panoramic view of the city. Far in the distance, he could see his target—the Orpheus Hotel, whose top floor housed Victor Phillips and his harem. Maybe it also housed the enemy alien who had given Victor his powers.

“Here I come to wreck your daaaaaaay!” Damon sang as he familiarized himself with the contours of the hotel. Soon, now, very soon. He just had to give Svetlana time to assemble the stolen radioactive materials and other supplies into the device that would serve as his back-up plan if his “quieter” alternative didn’t produce the desired result.

Victor Phillips was going down, one way or another.