The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The phone rang in the study of the Cain house; it wasn’t exactly a house, it was more like a manor. A woman picked up the phone. “Hello, Cain residence,” she said, with a slightly accented, yet professional voice. “May I help you?”

“Hi, Val,” a woman’s voice returned. “This is Bridget. Is Jon in? I need to speak with him.”

Valentina Rudyenkova smiled as she recognized the voice. “Bridget, he’s in the gym at the moment. Can I have him call you back?”

“Actually, Val, it’s sort of—important. I can wait on the line.”

“Okay, it’ll be a couple of minutes,” Val said. “I will put you on hold.” She pressed the button and hung up, feeling a little guilty at leaving Bridget stuck with today’s latest hits. She headed downstairs to the gym, where Jon Cain was having his daily workout. She silently stood by the door, admiring his well-toned body for a few moments as he ran on the treadmill. Jon worked very hard at keeping in fine physical shape. He slowed his pace, shut off the treadmill, and headed for the phone on the wall before Val could say a word.

“Hello, Bridget, how are things in Virginia?” the sandy-haired man said as he picked it up. He frowned at the response, and listened in silence. His frown grew more profound. Finally, he said, “I see,” and then there was another silence. “Well, Val’s the only one here right now; Carolyn’s in Colorado skiing, and Maribeth’s in New York at a hair show.” He chuckled as a rejoinder came through the phone. “No, she’s running it. She’ll be back next week.” Another pause. “It wouldn’t do your career any good to be seen with a Russian expatriate who used to be a KGB spy. Especially one who was known to be bisexual and trade sex for secrets. And definitely not that close to the office.” He grinned, even with the grudging acknowledgement. “Your next vacation, then.” Jon’s smile went away. “It sounds bad. I’ll make arrangements, and I’ll be in DC tomorrow.”

“Is there something wrong?” Val asked. “Bridget usually doesn’t wait if you’re in the gym.”

Jon gave a quick nod as he accepted the towel she handed him. Toweling off, he said, “I know. Val, please make reservations for me. One, first-class, Washington, DC. Call Maribeth and have her meet me there after the show.”

“I am not going?” Valentina asked with a surprised pout.

“No, Valentina, you are not. As much as Bridget and I would enjoy your company, you will stay here and take care of the house,” Jon firmly said.

“But Jon, I want to—ohhhhhh...” Her complaint turned into a long, soft, drawn-out moan.

“Valentina, feel it... Your body preparing itself... the heat, the hunger... they are very strong.” Jon watched her legs begin to quiver. “Yes, you are in heat, your sexual urges are taking over... Your body is preparing itself for—”

“My-my-mas-terr... I need my master. I need his cock. Please, fill me, master. I am ready for you,” Val whimpered, each word raw and hoarse. Her slow, inviting undulations belied the urgency she felt. Her thighs gathered moisture as her pussy got wetter and warmer. She shuddered. “Please, master, fuck me. Fuck me now. I’ll do anything.”

“On your knees, my little Russian turncoat. Welcome me with your mouth,” Jon said, leisurely slipping out of his shorts.

“Yes, my master,” Valentina eagerly replied, sinking to her knees with a ballerina’s grace. “I serve your every wish.” As she began her assigned task, Jon couldn’t help but remember how she came to be in that position. She was the most recent addition to his harem, having been with him for less than two years. It had been a good assignment; he’d gotten both the money and the girl. She had been an excellent Russian spy, playing the sex-for-secrets game. He’d put an end to it.

Although the KGB no longer formally existed, several of its officers still ran their pet projects, waiting for the good old cold war days to return. Val was one of a group of girls who had been taken from their homes at an early age and trained as sexual spies. At 23, she was good enough at it that she had been marked for deletion by the CIA. The first three agents sent to accomplish this had been turned, including the married female one.

That particular agent was caught in a heated lesbian tryst within 24 hours of her stateside return. Extensive debriefing revealed her conversion on several levels: she declared that she was Valentina’s love slave, and would do anything for her. It didn’t take long for Jon to get a call from the deepest cover department within the agency. He received a generous offer for successful completion of the assignment, and arrived in Moscow two days later under the guise of a “diplomatic attaché.” He met Val at an embassy reception the next night.

It took a few days for Val’s boss to decide that he merited her attention. She became very interested in Jon. She was gorgeous, flirtatious, and was incredibly sensual when she moved. She used all of her feminine weapons on him, and she found herself alone, in private with him 24 hours later. She kissed him first; Jon felt an enormous lust for her as their tongues danced. His mental discipline allowed him to avoid ripping her clothes off on the spot. He felt a near-physical pull when she patted the bed and cooed at him, posed seductively.

Curious about these sudden, strong feelings and suspicious about their source, he probed beyond her thoughts, which reflected years of training in Communist doctrine and the skills of a spy. Jon quickly confirmed his suspicions: Valentina Rudyenkova had a medium-level psionic talent. Given her training in the sexual arts and the mission that had been drilled into her soul, it manifested itself as an irresistible sexual pull. Jon allowed things to progress as they usually did, leaving her unaware that she had been caught. In bed, Val was athletic, energetic, enthusiastic, and highly skilled. In short, she was the best fuck of his life. His power kept hers at bay quite easily, even during the extra charge it gained during her orgasms.

Spent, panting and sweating in the aftermath of their pure animal passion, they lay naked on the bed, recovering. Jon was the first to move, but Val’s sleepy-eyed, just-fucked expression instantly vanished. The spy was back, with no trace of post-orgasmic chemicals in her brain. Jon could sense that she was about to go to work. He reached deeply into her brain, grabbing the roots of her psionic power. Her eyes shot wide open in shock as he ripped at her power with his, making her gasp. She collapsed back onto the bed, a tiny bit of blood trickling from one of her nostrils, paralyzed by his vicious mental attack. He tore the psionic ability out of her brain, along with the mission that was so entwined with it. His assignment was to neutralize the threat she posed. Jon raped her mind, stealing pieces of her knowledge and her memories, removing anything linked to the spy trade. But he had to look at her while he did it. She passed out from his assault as he methodically worked through her mind. He was checking his handiwork when he felt himself pop out of her mind. Shit. I’ve been working too hard... His next thought was about Valentina’s beauty. Then Jon passed out, his mind and body overtaxed by the sheer exertion of his mental task.

It had been easy to get Val out of the country-Jon was able to make people think she was someone else by changing their perception of her facial features. Her spy training and capacity for guile had been completely removed, along with her psi-talent, leaving only her sexual training-and appetite. Valentina had been rendered an innocent nymphomaniac. Her debriefing at the agency confirmed her state of innocence, so she was released to Jon’s custody instead of tried as a spy. The third member of Jon’s harem was gorgeous, bisexual, possessed exquisite sexual skills, and she was damn near insatiable. In spite of all this, she had a charming innocence that could disarm the most hardened cynic.

Jon moaned; his flashback demanded more than Val’s formidable oral talents. “I want to fuck you, ballerina,” he growled. A thrilled sparkle lit her eyes as she eagerly stripped and prepared to join with her master.

Jon looked up from his newspaper at the airport; the weather was terrible, so his flight was delayed indefinitely. He shrugged as he looked at his watch. Patience was one thing he had in droves. That was one thing that always infuriated Bridget; Jon could wait out a situation almost indefinitely, seemingly secure in the knowledge that it would be satisfactorily resolved. A rustle of air caught his attention; an airline stewardess sat next to him. She was beautiful, long blonde hair and green eyes, along with a great set of legs. The thought that immediately jumped into his head got kicked out, and quite viciously. He was much more mature than that. Still, he couldn’t suppress the smile at the young woman’s stray thought. She was curious about him. He lowered his paper and pretended to ponder his watch and the flight board. When he caught her discreet glance, she smiled at him, and he smiled back. Based in New York... hmmm... maybe sometime on a vacation.

There was a message waiting for him at the hotel from Bridget. “Couldn’t wait because weather sucked. Some people have to work for a living. See you for dinner at seven.” Jon snickered at the inside joke. His hotel suite was well appointed, but he decided to nap. No telling what Bridget would wind up getting him into tonight. At seven on the dot, there was a knock on the door. “Hey there,” a tall, rounded-at-first-appearance redheaded woman said to him. “You lookin’ for a good time or what?”

“Bridget Riley, looking good enough to eat as always. Come on in,” Jon smiled. Special agent Bridget Riley stepped into the room and they hugged, exchanging a chaste kiss. “I always enjoy our time together, dearest, although I must say that I didn’t like the tone of your voice and the content of your message.”

The FBI woman smiled briefly. “No shop before food, Jon. You know I don’t like to discuss business on an empty stomach. Come on, let’s go. I know a neat Brazilian place a few stops away on the Metro.” She spun and headed out the door, not bothering to wait for him.

“Same old Bridget,” he muttered as he grabbed a light jacket. “Haven’t changed a bit since college.”

Jon studied the wine in his glass; dinner had been nothing short of excellent, and the banana dessert was a perfect conclusion to what would have been a very nice dinner date. “All right,” he said, just another voice in the chatter and clatter of the restaurant, “I have wined you and dined you. Now, you tell me why you think you need me.”

Bridget leaned forward. “It started with this routine background check on a stripper. Nothing really out-of-the-ordinary.” Jon looked blankly at her. “She was going to give a private lap dance to a-very influential, and somewhat paranoid man. Not that he doesn’t have good reason to be.” Jon waved his free hand and took another sip of wine. “Well, the division doing that investigation found nothing. And I mean nothing. No priors, no prints, no nothing. It was as if she didn’t exist. The findings were reported to the-gentleman in question after he’d-gotten his two cents’ worth. Said stripper no longer exists.”

Jon nodded, nonplussed. “I see,” he said. After a pause, he asked, “So how did this case come to your attention? I mean, background checks are routine stuff, for the new kids on the block, and deletions aren’t exactly your department.”

“Well, I’m working on a case involving disappearances. MO is they vanish completely. Victim profile: young, single, pretty and female, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-four. There’s no pattern to the disappearances, other than the fact that they seem to cluster geographically over distinct periods of time. I just happened to see the report on the stripper because the new agent in charge of the background check thinks he’s-in love with me. He wasn’t aware of the deletion, and he was following up, honestly believing that this woman could have been part of some plot. I saw the fingerprint ID and thought I had seen it somewhere recent. I kept the report and ditched Romeo.”

“What did you find?” Jon asked. His ability to read minds was limited to images and impressions, unless the person being read was thinking in terms of coherent words. This usually didn’t happen until a split-second before they said it.

“That Miss Lolly Popps, all5DDD of her, was once Liza Marie Weston of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. A sophomore at the university before she disappeared. One day, her roommates reported that she didn’t show up at the dorm. And Liza was a born again, god-fearing girl, with no boyfriend. She spent her Friday nights working at revival.” Bridget rolled her blue eyes, there was a pause, and she punctuated that with a quick, “Just your type.” She tried to hide the smile at Jon’s mock-wounded reaction. “So the disappearance was very out-of-character, and got dropped into my file, along with about 20 others. I’ve managed to eliminate two or three of those, but a bunch of them seem to be legit.”

Bridget drained her glass, and asked for another. “The strange part was that Liza didn’t have5DDD boobs. Maybe a 34B. The corpse didn’t look anything like her. But everything else matched. Prints, dentals-exact, except where real dental work had been done. And it wasn’t cheap work, either. Somebody paid a lot of money for her perfect teeth. Her lips are full of collagen, in addition to the boob job, and her nose has been bobbed. So, I have one reshaped, altered, obviously re-educated, very dead stripper who turns out to be a missing person, a college co-ed from some eight hundred miles away.”

“Split personality?”

“Maybe. Her prints were from a shoplifting incident at age fifteen. I spoke to her parents-until she got saved, she was a real hellcat. Grounded almost constantly. So it’s possible. Still, she was attractive enough at college, never wanted for male attention, at least not until they figured out they’d never even get to first base without marriage.” Jon nodded. “No woman in her right mind would ask for5DDD tits. That’s a lot of weight to be carrying around. I mean, she was almost a caricature. She was a live blow up doll.”

Jon had to lean back in his chair; Bridget was getting upset, and he needed to block her agitation so he could think. “So you believe that she was mentally altered as well as physically.” Bridget nodded and hummed in accord. “What are the possibilities of brainwashing through the usual means?”

His dinner companion shrugged. “Possible. But why would she be brainwashed and then left to fend for herself in public? That much mind-fucking is going to take a lot of money-and already several tens of thousands of dollars were invested to change the body. Her toxicology levels were normal, so no drugs were involved. No trace of cult activity unless you consider Christian fanaticism a cult-the MO doesn’t fit. I’m convinced that this is paranormal. No brainwashing technique I’m familiar with could cause such a complete reversal of personality. Not even my sources at that other agency have any recollection of something this total. Programming someone to do a singular crazed act, yes. But turning a 34B born-again co-ed into a 45DDD stripper doing Lewinsky’s for senators-that just does not happen.”

“So where am I on this one? Official, unofficial, or somewhere in between?”

Bridget sighed. “Our funding isn’t like those other guys. Real people look at our numbers. So I can’t give you a blank check-by the way, dinner’s on me tonight, not the agency. My boss knows that I called you-he’ll pick up local hotel and transportation expenses.”

“In short, you’re gonna owe me for this,” Jon said.

“Well, you can always say no, Jon.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “You know I can never say no to you, dear Bridget.” He looked at his empty wineglass. “You realize that my job would be much easier if the good senator-don’t worry, I won’t say the name-hadn’t panicked and had the poor girl removed.”

Bridget shrugged. “Yeah. But he’s a cold warrior. A stripper who doesn’t exist gets next to a high-ranking government official. You tell me that’s not prominent in the KGB dirty tricks book.” She paused, then muttered, “You’d think at his age and his temperament the shit would have stopped working.”

Jon laughed quietly as the waiter arrived. Bridget paid the bill and they walked out into the night. “Well, I probably won’t get much done on this tonight. It’s been a long day, and I need to check on Val, and find out how Maribeth’s doing. Carolyn never bothers to call when she’s on the slopes.”

“You could always change that.”

Jon gently rebuked her with, “What would be the fun in dealing with perfect women all the time? You, of all people, should know better than to say that, Bridget.” The target of his jibe just made a slash in the air with a finger and silently mouthed, “touché.” The pair hugged outside the restaurant and went to the Metro arm-in-arm, looking all the world like lovers.

Once Bridget had left him at the hotel, Jon made his phone calls. Valentina was still pouting about being left at home. Carolyn, as he had surmised, had not called, and Maribeth was in the middle of a crisis which would keep her in New York for a few days longer than expected. He took off his shoes and shirt before reclining on the bed, quickly taking mental stock of the situation. He had no solid leads, no real clues, and no one to start with. Bridget’s forensic evidence, the presence of Lolly Popps’ body in the city morgue, and a list of women who had vanished were all he had to work with. He loved Bridget dearly, but he could tell that this one was not going to be easy.