The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sophia and I were in her favorite fish place, Jax, when she remembered that I had been promising to let her in on the latest investigation.

“It’s loud enough in here tonight—hi, Phil—Margaret, it’s good to see you—that you can just shout in my ear and it’ll look like we’re being romantic.” Jax is kitty-corner from our quasi-residence at the Oxford Hotel, and as I was gone part of the time while Sophia was in town, it had become kind of her home away from home away from home.

I had to admit that it was loud enough.

“We can start here, and move back to our room if it gets to be too much,” I said loudly. Sophia touched me gently on the arm and whispered hoarsely into my ear, “I want to hear as much of the story as possible before we get any ideas about other activities!” We both laughed.

“You knew I was going to Boise,” and Sophia nodded as she remembered my trip, “but you didn’t know that I also went to Reno. That came up after I was underway.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I answered her body language, “one thing led to another.”

“How does a meeting with a well-to-do Mexican immigrant in a western agricultural center lead you to the Biggest Little City in the World?” Sophia was genuinely puzzled.

“Once upon a time...” I began in a sing-song voice.

Sophia leaned back and laughed heartily with me; the motion highlighted the curves of her generous breasts, distracting me for a moment, and when you hear this story, you’ll understand why I did not expect us to stay long in the fish place, attractive though it may be.

Joe Martinez is a guy who came to this country with nothing but his personal drive and integrity. He does not owe any living being anything for his success. Apparently his parents passed away a while back, and his wife left him at an early age—probably could not take his driven nature. He has two people in the world who are his pride and joy—his daughters, Carol and Crystal. Carol was about to get engaged to the son of a prominent area business couple, when things started to go wrong.

Carol had a faded schoolgirl crush on Nathan Twill, some kind of football star at her high school. She was finished with high school and college, but not with thoughts of Nathan. Apparently, he would not give her a second glance. Whether it was some ethnic preference or just the glare from the sunscreen on Class President Cynthia Slidell’s bare back at the class lake party that drew his attention, Carol was not clear.

Joe was partly oblivious to all of this. He probably could have remembered his child crying herself to sleep after the lake party. Perhaps he would remember having made her replace the teen femme fatale top with a more modest blouse before she left with Crystal, for the party. Where had she gotten that thing, anyway?

What he did know, and why he contacted a friend who referred him to me, is that his daughter Carol started acting very strangely after she had visited Reno. For that matter, Nathan Twill and Cynthia Slidell had started acting strangely, too. And, though he had never noticed it, so had his younger daughter, Crystal.

As he told his friend, it was as if some unseen force had entered their lives. She remembered my work with Tony, my dear departed young investigator, on the Voodoo Candle Fraud. She thought that I could help Joe. I went over the mountains to Boise with an open mind and Joe had an open wallet, and so another research project was born!

Sophia had followed this with polite interest, and now she interrupted.

“As a businesswoman, I’m glad to know that you found a good customer. However, this report isn’t the sort of thing that is going to have me pushing you backwards onto the bed.” She punctuated that with a raised eyebrow.

Figuratively speaking, I drew out a new card.

“Have you ever heard of the Casino de Amour?” I shouted gently into Sophia’s ear. It had the desired effect. She raised her eyebrow with curiosity this time.

“Let’s get to that part!”

When I interviewed each of the young adults involved, I was earning my money. None of them wanted to talk with me at first. I had to piece things together from what they told me individually.

That bothered me at first, as I had such a good rapport with my university students. With Carol or Crystal, it was easy to imagine the sort of warm, intellectual conversation that would so naturally lead to their logical, natural climax in my big leather chair. As I spoke with them, I came to realize that even though cautious with a stranger, that they had that sort of inner comfort with their feminine sexuality that comes naturally from positive experiences.

With Nathan Twill, I felt that he was the kind of young man who I had counselled before. In my teaching days, the smarter male students who had noticed the coeds slipping out of my office with those special smiles had been clever enough to ask for suggestions, rather than feeling jealous. Yes, I must admit that it felt great on a Monday morning, strolling across the Midwestern campus, hands jammed in the pockets of my tweed coat against the chill, to see one of the men who had taken my extracurricular course now staying warm in the clinging embrace of his eager new love.

Men and women, the students at the Midwestern campus had shared some interesting observations with me, as they first experienced life’s adult ins and outs. Now, though, I was representing Authority, and neither the Martinez and Twil kids nor I could feel that level of comfort.

Carol and Crystal had come up with the idea for a trip to Reno on their own. Crystal still had a couple of years left in her interrupted college education, but Carol wanted to make a “letting off steam” trip, and she had enough of her dad’s values to not want to go on her own. Crystal had just turned 21, so she was eager to hit something other than more school books. From Boise, Reno was a glittering promise of entertainment and excitement, but she knew that it had a darker side as much as any other place. For no particular reason, though, she packed the red negligee and panty set that she had hidden away. She liked the way it set off her black hair.

“Just in case,” she giggled when Crystal spotted her doing it.

“Just in case of what? A fire? You’ll look cute when the firemen put their ladders up to your window.” The tone was sarcastic. Carol did not need to be reminded that lately she had not had much of a social life. Crystal sometimes seemed a touch too negative these days, for some reason. Perhaps her slow academic progress was getting to her.

“I don’t mind you saying that.” She tried to sound conciliatory. “I’m starting to feel a lot more comfortable about the man-woman thing. If you want me to imagine firemens’ ladders extending, I will, and I’ll enjoy thinking about it.” She paused theatrically, noticing Crystal’s sour look. “And it’ll be funnier than a fire warden fumbling his hose and spraying all over you!” She had turned the knife, and Crystal ran from the room.

Crystal had gone furthest in high school with her Senior Prom date, who just happened to be on the Fire Squad at their school. And Carol knew the secret outcome of that attempt, as she had helped Crystal get her prom dress to a remote dry cleaning place to get the semen stains out.

It was pretty understandable as to how it had happened. Crystal had alternately coaxed and rejected her date’s advancers throughout the evening, feeling an urgent need for the sexual fulfillment that her body had grown to demand, and then finding herself horrified at her date’s pawing and attempts at French kisses. Bravely carrying on, she had tried unzipping him the way she had read about in one of Carol’s magazines, but when she tried stroking his penis he had been so desperate that he pulled it all the way out and before they could do anything about it, he had cum. A week or more worth of 18.5-year old enthusiasm had fired off, and the evening had ended in a mess in more ways than one. Now Carol had brought this up again and rubbed it in.

“Damn!” Carol muttered to herself and threw some more things into her bag. Then she went to Crystal’s room and they talked. And talked. They were sisters, and sometimes it was hard to get along. And Crystal was coping with more than Carol could identify.

There was nothing remarkable about the flight to Reno, except for one thing. They had to sit in different rows because the plane was so full, and Carol had ended up in an aisle seat next to a couple who had argued about which things they were going to do in Reno.

“It sounds so tacky—the ‘Casino de Amour’—the woman had muttered to the man next to her. Carol’s ears had picked up.

“Well, yeah, they all have their come-ons, but this is for real!”

“Sure!” she snapped back. “They put some model in a skimpy dress on their ad, and you guys all think you’re going to win big... one way or another. We should stick to the regular casinos. Besides we’ve got reservations.” He agreed with her on that, but when the flight ended, they went off bickering again. Carol sat back down in her seat to wait for Crystal to come up to her row, and as she did so, she noticed that her former seatmate had dropped a card that advertised the casino she had been dissing.

There was no skimpily dressed model on it, just words and a street address. The card offered a catchy message—“virtual reality meets gaming in the most exciting technology available” and “win at the game of love!” “Feel your luck in love... growing.” She could use some luck in that category, she thought, and popped the card into her purse.

It wasn’t until two days later that she remembered it and pulled the card out. It was when she and Crystal were tussling with each other about which place to go to next. It was almost like a joke to produce the card. Since it was a place that neither of them was pushing for, somehow they agreed to go—egging each other on.

“It’s probably just some new machines,” Crystal commented.

“It’ll be okay if we both go out there,” Carol reassured herself as much as Crystal.

They had to explain the address to the cabbie, and when they got to the location on South Virginia Street in a strip mall, it did not have any flames leaping from giant torches or multi-hued variable message signs. It did have a modest sign identifying itself, and there was nothing rundown or disturbing about the property Perhaps the stone frieze of satyrs and maidens to the side of the entryway seemed a bit risque, but still, as Carol whispered, there were lots of things like that in Nevada.

Just as in the other casinos, the two women were confronted with a wall of sound and lights. Somewhere, a machine was whooping a jackpot and the sound of excited friends congratulating the winner could be heard above the din. It made thinking difficult, and as they tried to make sense of it, a hostess was greeting them. Her badge said “Let me help you enjoy playing”—just like in the big casino downtown.

“You must be here for your first time,” she observed. Drawing two plastic pouches from her casino apron, she offered one to each of the women. The packets had a “female” symbol on them.

“Uh, what is this?” Crystal asked, with a grin that indicated that she already had guessed the answer.

“Oh, there are several things that you may need here,” the hostess replied pertly, but a bit vaguely. “And here’s a special treat from the house.” She reached in her well-structured bosom and fished out two complimentary game tokens. They were warm. She moved on to the next new arrivals.

Carol was opening her package, and found herself looking at several little gadgets with plug-in wires attached. There was also a brochure about the big sweepstakes prize draw held every evening, with entries based on machine play.

“Do we put these things where I think we’re supposed to put them?” Crystal asked. Carol’s attempt to answer was interrupted by the scream of satisfaction from a woman playing the machine closest to them.

“They always pay off better near the entrance,” Carol whispered. It was an old truism. As she looked back at the lucky winner, she realized that the winner had tossed her head back and was writhing in pleasure. Small electrical cables like the ones on the gadgets in Carol’s hands ran from her waistband to the slot machine, or vice versa. Other players walked back from the cashier’s booth to their machines, carrying a pair of plastic bowls—one with coins, the other with little cables and electronic sensors and stimulators.

Carol looked away hastily, and was surprised to see Crystal watching intently, licking her lips in an excited gesture. Crystal walked toward an open slot as if drawn by a magnet.

“Look, Carol!” It’s got everything. This is MY kind of excitement.” There were pushbuttons to take credit cards. There was a traditional coin slot. At first glance, Carol thought, it all looked so tacky and obvious. She was shocked as she saw Crystal grabbing the vaginal unit from her pouch and squeezing it into her jeans right there between the machines. And then she was popping the M-269 breast teasers into her bra, without a second thought. No one was using this line of machines, but surely some security guard was watching on closed circuit tv!

Crystal was now punching buttons like crazy, enjoying the tiny buzz that signalled the start of play. The machine began flashing warmer colors as Crystal advanced in the game. She was using a trackball to guide a cursor to the next choices.

“She’s doing very well,” murmured the hostess, who had reappeared. “Oh, and she’s using a trackball...” Carol wondered why that was interesting.

“If she makes the next level, she’ll be eligible for an entry in the prize draw. If you have any questions, by the way, please ask. We don’t want you to miss out on the fun. And just remember, we have the loosest slots in town!” Carol nodded, still trying to make sense of it all.

And then Carol did have a question. But it was not about the trackball. She started to ask why that meant something, but as lights flashed and coins jangled, and Crystal shuddered in deep excitement, a data entry screen opened on the video terminal.

“What’s that for?” she queried the hostess.

“It’s for the prize draw. You win on the machine here, and you can earn credits for the drawing. She won five credits and she can either turn them into more plays on this machine or put one or two each on small prize draws or put them all on something big. And, if you play hard enough, you might qualify for the Ultra-Platinum Club.”

Crystal had read the on-screen directions and was typing something. Carol leaned over and read the entries:

“Choose one:

• Fling: 5 credits
• Passionate affair: 20 credits
• Dominate: 100 credits
• Commitment: 700 credits

Crystal’s machine had rung 5 credits. She had typed a name into the entry field: C-Y-N-T-H-I-A S-L-I-D-E-L-L. Now she was typing more information into the data entry fields—what personal information she had on Cynthia, such as her birthdate.

Suddenly a barrier in her mind fell for Carol. Hastily, she dug into her pouch and pushed the gadgets between her clothing and her skin. She felt so sensitive, excited, but they did not hurt. The vaginal unit slipped in more smoothly than she expected; she was already moist. Quickly, she drove the plugs into the jacks on the machine. A few questions about her interests appeared, and she typed hasty responses. When the first credit card reading was complete, she would feel the alerting tingle, and then spin the wheels of “amour”.

The wait for the credit card reading seemed to be the longest of her life, like making a big purchase on the Saturday after Thanksgiving Day.

And then the machine lit up. Instead of the trackball that Crystal was using, a small panel whirred aside, and a phallic joystick rose in a simulated erection from the console. Gingerly, blushing, Carol took hold of the joystick. A little buzz and a flash of lights indicated the machine’s readiness for her. She pulled back on the phallus and saw the wheels begin to blur.

In each round, Carol found herself enjoying the game more. Her credits piled up as she chose to pass the data entry screen when it presented itself, and she returned to the spinning reels.

At the entry level, she found herself remembering boys who she had gone out with. Zack, and she could feel him touching her arm so cautiously. Red, and her nipples were tenderly touched. Rich, and she was in the back seat of his car again, desperately rearranging clothing as he struggled to get his condom positioned, and then their hard humping. Roberto, stretching out with her in his first apartment, and her every nerve sensing him. Crystal and other players nearby were forgotten.

But her energetic play took her past that. The hostess stopped by with hot towels, which Carol used to mop her brow while the next spin of the wheels was completed.

She glanced down the line of machines for a moment as she refreshed herself, and saw that other players were perspiring, too. A woman who had started after her had undone a couple of her blouse buttons. A man tried to find a comfortable position for his hard-to-miss hard-on.

Carol dropped the towel and shrieked with pleasure as the disks lined up on three statues of Venus.

“Wow!” she vaguely heard Crystal exclaim. “700 credits!”

“Yes,” said the hastily returning hostess, “she’ll have to choose now—what might be the orgasm of her life, RIGHT NOW, or joining the Ultra-Platinum Club for a higher level of play, OR obtaining a commitment from the man or woman of her choice. It’s a hard decision.”

“The Ultra-Platinum Club! She’s got to do that!” someone whispered to another in the small crowd. “No way, man! Wouldn’t you want to have an orgasm that might send you into shock?” Side bets were being placed on what path Carol would take.

As if this were not enough, Carol turned to the machine. It began flashing its streaming lights in a pelvic thrust pattern, slowly, teasingly, timed with increasing urges from the stimulators. The joystick flexed in her grasp. Carol moved slightly as the breast teasers gently coaxed her toward awareness of the steel coil that was winding up inside her. The machine was more sensuous than Roberto had been. Carol shifted on her stool. She took in a deep breath and hit the decision button.

“Awww...” a guy in the little crowd said in disgust. Other gamers had stopped to stare. As they saw Carol choose the data entry screen, they turned back to their own games with renewed frenzy.

“Think of the ways you could split that up,” commented Crystal. “Have an affair with Mr. Simmons (he was the high school science teacher who Carol had thought was so cool) and have that creep at the bank come over and lick your floor clean!” She grinned broadly at these thoughts.

Carol said nothing, but thought for a moment. Then she typed in N-A-T-H-A-N T-W-I-L-L and clicked on “Commitment”.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before!” The hostess was genuinely shocked. “Most winners want something of everything. It’ll be quite a challenge to arrange.”

“Yes!” Crystal agreed emphatically. “now that you mention it, how is this going to happen?”

Sophia looked at me with great curiosity.

“Yes, I want to know that, too!”

“That’s why I had to go to Reno. What little they would tell me didn’t fit together enough to make sense. But let me tell you what happened to Crystal first.

Carol quit while she was ahead, much to the disappointment of the hostess. She pointed out that Crystal had taken what she regarded as a much more progressive step, having now played intensely long enough to enter the Ultra-Platinum Club. Carol firmly reminded Crystal that she would wait for her to come out, and stepped over to the snack bar. Crystal assured her that she would not be long.

Crystal entered what looked to Carol like an airline first class lounge—richly furnished, but innocuous. And then the doors closed behind her.

Time passed. Occasionally, another recent winner would hesitantly enter the lounge. Others, men and women who must have qualified previously, strode past with an assertive air. Carol began to realize that the lounge that she could see inside the doors was only a reception area. There was another grand set of doors on the far wall of the room.

Each time the door opened, she caught a glimpse of another detail. There were men’s and women’s dressing rooms (... or undressing rooms?—Carol joked nervously to herself). There was a receptionist who wore a skimpier version of the hostesses’ costume, if that were possible. It was clear that the room was as well air-conditioned as the rest of Reno—the receptionists’ nipples in her revealing cups were visible at Carol’s distance. Or was that display because of what she was watching between customers on the tv monitors at her desk?

Eventually, Carol decided it was the monitor. The glow from it lit the receptionist’s face as she peered into it. Or perhaps her face was lit for other reasons. At one point when a couple was leaving, Carol thought that she saw the receptionist massaging her breasts, her eyes riveted to the monitor. Before the doors hissed shut, Carol saw that the woman was licking her lips repeatedly.

The couple! Carol realized that she had been there long enough to have seen them go in, singly. What was Crystal doing in there? The receptionist had handed the couple a bulky envelope as they went out. What was that?

The next time the doors slid open, a threesome came out, hugging and hanging onto each other intimately. Carol looked closer. One man carried three videotapes, the other the slot machine gadgets to turn in. The statuesque brunette between them carried nothing except her handbag and a very big smile. Her barely-buttoned blouse displayed her bad case of whisker burn. She looked down at curious Carol with an air of dreamy pity.

Again, the doors hissed, and another clinging couple came out. Carol’s eyes opened wide, as in the background she saw a young woman who had most recently rushed in. She was emerging from the changing rooms in a loosely fitting dress of a white sheer material. She headed toward the big doors, placed her palm on a sensor, and the ornate doors began to swing open—but the outer doors slid shut before Carol could see into the next room.

Carol realized that she herself was aroused, and she was just thinking about what must be going on in that room! She was worried for Crystal, or was she jealous? She realized it was some of both, as she rearranged herself to be a bit more comfortable. Her bra felt a size too small.

Finally, Crystal emerged from the room. She was holding hands with an older woman—their fingers touched against each other’s in an intimate gesture as they parted. Carol sat speechless, though not completely surprised, as she had thought she had already noticed intimations of Crystal’s interests diverging from hers.

Her sister glowed as brightly as if she had both shared in intercourse AND taken a shower. Perhaps she had done both. Her make-up looked better than when she went in, Carol mused.

“What was that business with the palm print sensor on the entryway?” Carol tried to think of a tangential question, unwilling yet to ask the obvious.

“Oh, they have to try keep out the state agents. The gaming commission is always checking on them. I guess they want people to keep on gambling the old-fashioned way. But, sis,” whispered Crystal, while waving goodbye to her recent lover, “it was what I’ve been looking for.. and, remember, it’s what Cynthia Slidell will be looking for soon.”

“That’s right!” Sophia interrupted. “What is going to happen with the casino’s big prize awards? You were going to tell me? It’s easy to start thinking of all kinds of possibilities for the next step.”

I started to explain. Of course, the trouble with thinking of all the possibilities is that it got harder and harder to stay in the busy restaurant, when there was a quiet and intimate hotel room across the street.

“Richard.... on second thought,” Sophia purred, “perhaps we should continue it later. There’s something that you need to do with me first.” She unbuttoned the top button on her blouse.

“It’s getting very warm in here.” She grinned and touched her bosom. Suddenly, I was acutely aware of the pressure building in my slacks.

(Why do they call them slacks? There was nothing slack now.)

We rose from our table, and hurried back to the hotel.

As you must imagine, there was no way to continue my report for the time being. As I had experienced many times before, the more and more that my lover thought about what must have been happening behind those sliding doors, the harder it became to actually talk about it. Instead, she wanted to feel the story, as an experience. Inside our suite, she whispered hungrily to me—she demanded that we begin in a trance tonight—a trance that would let her savor the wild thoughts that spilled out as I recounted this tale. She felt the need to understand it on the deepest level.

Of course, we already were breathing and moving in deep empathy, our bodies tuning to each other. Her trance word took her under so quickly that I barely caught my breath. I framed the thought that as we removed each item of clothing, she would remember and feel another aspect of this story. The simple act of undressing became a powerful tool in the right hands; I suggested that she undress us both. Willingly, she enjoyed the responsibility, and took in the hypnotic suggestions to more deeply comprehend the story with each item.

As you may picture, when she slipped her hands into my waistband and tugged my briefs down over my urgently pressing organ, I lost control of her trance. She began to glide to the surface of her consciousness, but before that process was complete, she was stretching her panties over her hips, naturally reachubg a point of perfect unity with Carol and Crystal’s feelings. Her willing trance melted into the thrill she felt as she acted on that sensation. She looked over me and licked her lips. (I was standing, hands on hips, legs braced, with a big smile on my face as I enjoyed the way her eyes followed my rising penis.)

“I feel like I did when I was that age!” Sophia tested the firmness of her breasts with a grazing touch and smiled with approving pleasure.

“And what did you want then?” I teased.

Sophia laughed. We had no choice but to tumble into the bed. She was hot and hungry as I penetrated her excitement.