The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

01 Now: A Complaint Has Been Made

“You’ve been a naughty girl, Jane.”

It sounded wrong somehow, coming from Mary.

“Have I? What have I done?”

“Well, now don’t get me wrong, you know I love the clothes you wear. I think you look great, you know...”

“Has someone complained about me?”

Jane could hardly pretend to be surprised.

“Well, not complained exactly. But it has been mentioned.“

“It’s nice to be noticed. So who mentioned me then? Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry or anything. It was Olivia.”

Olivia Charles. Lovely Olivia. This called for a pause of some kind. Not too long, obviously.

“What did she say about me?”

“Oh, she just mentioned that your skirt was a bit short, you know. It’s nothing serious, I’m sure. She just mentioned the dress code and all that.”

Though she didn’t want trouble, Jane was pleased to have been noticed at all by Olivia Charles. She wanted to ask if her legs had been mentioned too. She could have done; she knew she could say anything to Mary. But she didn’t. She doubted she could make it sound like she was just joking.

Besides, even if Olivia had noticed Jane’s legs, never in a million years would she have mentioned it to Mary. Olivia didn’t talk about those kinds of things. Not the prim and proper impression of Olivia that had formed in Jane’s mind anyway.

“Is this my formal warning then?”

Mary chuckled.

“This is your informal... mention.“

“OK. Thanks Mary. Message received. I suppose I’d better do something about it.”

Indeed. For about a year now, Jane’s sexual fantasies had been almost exclusively about Olivia. Perhaps it really was time that she did something about it.

02 Then: The Institute

More than anything else, what Jane had learnt at the Institute was how not to be special—how not to be the one they were looking for.

All the patients at the Institute were special of course, but Jane had been exceptional. She had learnt things they didn’t mean to teach her, and she had done it without them knowing. She had found out what they were looking for and why they wanted it. And so then she had set about convincing them that she didn’t have it. She convinced them that they didn’t need her.

And of course, ironically, what they were looking for was someone who could do precisely that.

It was little wonder that paranoia was rampant at the Institute.

They were reluctant to let anyone go, least of all someone who’d shown Jane’s early promise. But she didn’t fall for their tricks—the traps they laid for her, trying to catch her out.

At least, she didn’t believe she had. And they had let her go. But even now, when she was apparently free, there was always the possibility that this was really just another trap.

So although she was out of the Institute, she was not truly free of it. And what Jane wanted more than anything else was to be free.

They had set her up with a flat and a job. In spite of her constant suspicions, she could not deny that this felt a thousand times better than the Institute. And it felt less like a trap with each passing month.

As long as she was taking the pills they supplied her with—as long as her powers were suppressed—then it seemed they would continue to allow her this taste of freedom, however illusory it might be.

But she was not taking the pills.

She had stopped taking them three months after her release. She had boxes of them, unopened, in a drawer.

It was not an easy decision to stop. The truth was that life was easier without her powers. After all, it was not a record of social ease and good mental health that had brought her to the attention of the Institute in the first place. It certainly seemed easier just to swallow the pills and keep floating along, being the person they wanted her to be.

But that person wasn’t her. And that wasn’t freedom.

And so she had stopped. And her freedom became less of an illusion. And her powers were not suppressed.

But she was breaking the terms of her release. She was breaking the rules. She was a criminal, as yet uncaught. Even as her humdrum working life rolled on, she was a fugitive on the run.

Or so it seemed to her.

03 Now: Elevenses

A quick double knock and then Jane entered.

“Your coffee and sandwich, Rachel.”

Rachel was Accounts. She was thirty-one and very... handsome.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, Jane.”

“Have I, Rachel?”

“You know you have, you little slut you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come over here.”

“OK.”

Although she sounded hesitant, Jane seemed to know exactly what was expected of her. She stopped beside Rachel’s chair and reached across to put the coffee cup and the sandwich down in a safe spot on the desk. Then she turned and bent down forwards over the desk.

Rachel breathed deeply at the sight.

Then Jane heard her whisper, “Oh yes. You’ve been a very naughty girl.”

Rachel’s hands were soft but they played rough. There was little smacking; mostly it was groping, mauling, probing.

Jane had been a naughty girl. She needed to be punished and she meekly took her punishment with only a few little whimpers.

It was always like this with Rachel. She knew Jane needed to be taken in hand. She just rolled up her sleeves and did what had to be done.

04 Then: The Job

One or two things that Jane had been told when she started in her job seemed to have slipped her mind when she came off the drugs. For example, she knew that her position came with a job title, but the only words she could recall of it later were “junior” and “assistant”. Maybe that was it: Junior Assistant. It didn’t seem to matter.

Despite being twenty-three years old, she would barely pass for eighteen. So whatever assistance she might have been capable of giving, she was inevitably seen as being too junior for it to amount to anything anyway. She seemed to spend most of her time just making cups of coffee for people or fetching sandwiches.

She knew the work was beneath her, but she couldn’t really say she deserved better. Although she was very intelligent, and actually very capable, her chequered history had left her with little education and no qualifications at all.

In any case, as someone who had never dreamed of being able to hold down a job, the monthly arrival of her salary still always felt like a miracle. She was genuinely grateful. She knew it was very little, in comparison to most of her co-workers. But then, what did she do to earn it, really?

There were only about sixty employees in the building. A few of them—including the lovely Olivia Charles—were actively involved in the business itself. But it was mostly an administration and data processing centre—support functions really. As such, it was something of a backwater, and a relatively relaxed place to work. That was certainly true for Jane.

Although she could put a name to everyone in the building, the teams generally looked after themselves. She mostly serviced the needs of a small group of individuals tucked away in offices on their own—most of them managers and most of them women. Jane sometimes felt her role was really to provide some company for them. In her own way, she did.

She shared an office with Mary, a spinster in her fifties whose duties loosely encompassed HR, though her job title could easily have been Senior Assistant. Still, Mary was always busy with real work.

And Mary for one had certainly always seemed glad of Jane’s company. She’d been very kind to Jane when she first started—very understanding—and was very protective of her.

Jane would always be very grateful for that. And she liked Mary a lot. She really did.

But Mary was the first one she drugged.

05 Now: Eleven Plus

“Hello Miss Emily. I’ve got your sandwich.”

“Oh thanks, Jane. Just put it... Oh! Jane! Have you been a naughty girl?”

“I’m not sure, Miss Emily. I think I might have been.”

“Do you think I ought to punish you, Jane?”

“I don’t know, Miss Emily. Do you think so?“

“I’m looking at that skirt, Jane, and I’m rather thinking that I ought.”

“Oh, Miss Emily, I do try to be good, but sometimes I just can’t help myself...“

“Jane.”

“Yes, Miss Emily?”

“Do you think everybody needs or wants to see quite so much of your legs?”

“Well, a lot of the boys do seem to like it, and a lot of the girls do too.”

“Are you being cheeky, Jane?”

“Not really, Miss Emily. Only a little bit. But... you like my legs don’t you, Miss Emily?“

“Of course I do, Jane. I love your legs. I want to stroke them and kiss them and lick them. But... well, that’s not the point really, is it?”

“No, Miss Emily.”

“Come here, Jane.”

“Yes, Miss Emily.”

“Now, let me teach you what happens to naughty girls who can’t stop showing their legs off.”

“Yes, Miss Emily. Please do, Miss Emily. Please show me how to be a good girl.”

06 Then: The Paranoia

It was paranoia that made Jane do it.

She knew that the Institute had found her this job. She was never told which strings had been pulled. She didn’t know who here, if anyone, knew about her past.

She could never shake off the feeling that none of this was real, that she was still somehow in the Institute. It seemed only too possible to her that this whole thing was just one last trap to catch her out—a final test to prove that she was the one they were looking for after all.

She didn’t quite believe that, but she couldn’t be sure. And it was that lack of certainty that she couldn’t live with.

Even on the drugs she had felt like this. When she stopped taking them, it wasn’t that her suspicions became more concrete, it was just that her need to do something about it grew.

Barely a month after she stopped taking the pills—four months after she’d left the Institute and started in her job—it had become impossible to bear.

And so, quite deliberately, she did the stupidest thing she could think of. She ground up one of her growing cache of pills and added it to Mary’s lunchtime sandwich.

Her reasoning was more or less sound. If this was a trap then she wasn’t really free and thus she had no freedom to lose. She would prefer to find that out sooner rather than later and get this trick they were playing on her over with.

So if they were testing her, she resolved to fail the test. And drugging people, she figured, had to be a fail.

Of all the people here who might know of her past—of all the people who might be an Institute spy—Mary was the most likely candidate.

If Mary wasn’t a spy then it wasn’t as though the drug would actually harm her at all: the side-effects were quite mild. She would most likely put them down to illness or tiredness, rather than jump to the outlandish conclusion that Jane had drugged her.

But if Mary was a spy then she would almost certainly recognise the effects of the drug and report back to her masters. And surely then they would immediately swoop down and take Jane out of there. And this charade would be over. If it was a charade.

It wasn’t much of a plan but she simply had to do something.

And so Mary ate a sandwich with a ground up pill in it. And Mary did feel a little woozy that afternoon. And she did put it down to tiredness. And beyond that... nothing happened.

And thus Jane’s plan failed to prove that it was all a trap, which she realised then was by no means the same thing as proving it wasn’t.

But something did happen that afternoon. Because Jane’s experiment did reveal something to her. If she took the drug, her powers were suppressed; if someone else took the drug, their susceptibility to her powers increased immeasurably.

07 Now: An Itch You Can’t Scratch

“Your ciabatta, Debbie.”

“Thanks, Jane.”

“No problem.”

“Your legs look great, by the way.”

“Thank you!”

“Do you...?”

“Do I what, Debbie?”

“Do you... need to be punished, at all?”

“I think perhaps I do, Debbie.”

“Could you come here then, please?”

“Of course, Debbie. Are your nails nice and long?”

“They are.”

“Good. Because I’ve been such a bad girl, and I really need to be punished.”

08 Then: The Floodgates

They do exist but very few people know of them. Even fewer can actually perceive them.

As a young child, Jane could see them. That was very unusual. She described them as “floppy grey circles” that “floated and bounced” around people’s heads.

Later she could only say that she still knew they were there and she knew how to access them. This was what they classed as perception.

They called them doors, or windows, or portals, or portholes. As a child Jane had frightened her mother with her constant talk of “the circles”. But by the time she was in the Institute, she’d taken to calling them socks, because she likened getting into them to putting her socks on in the dark.

When she took the pills they gave her, she lost her perception of the socks.

When Mary unknowingly ate one of Jane’s pills, her socks stopped bouncing around and opened so wide that Jane felt she ought to be able to see them again. She could certainly feel them.

There is no way to describe how Jane did the thing she could do. She called it playing the bagpipes. No one else called it that. No one else called them socks.

Suffice to say, she could not read minds—not really, but she could squeeze ideas into them and somehow tweak ideas that were already there. It was just a matter of locating those bouncing socks and reaching in.

In the weeks after she came off the drugs she’d had her powers back, and so she could easily have played with Mary’s mind any time she liked. It was certainly not a trivial matter to gain access, but she shared an office with Mary and had plenty of time to work on it.

Ironically, the same paranoia that had eventually driven her to drug Mary had stopped her using her powers at all up to that point. She was supposed to be taking her pills; she wasn’t supposed to have any powers.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, Mary was sitting there with her mind wide open...

Jane had already done the stupid thing after all; there was little point in holding back now.

And besides, Mary’s socks were so wide open it would probably have been impossible to do nothing. Jane’s mind was already engaging with Mary’s automatically. Trying to stop that was like trying to defy gravity.

It wasn’t as it she was going to keep doing this. Jane had held back with her powers up to now; she wasn’t going to just lose that self-restraint and start using them on everyone willy-nilly.

But for just an hour or two that fateful afternoon, Mary’s mind was wide open to her, and she had to do something with it, if only to see what the consequence would be.

09 Now: Read On

“Hi Sue.”

“Oh, hi Jane. Wow, look at you!”

“Oh, yeah. I should probably change my skirt.”

“Not on my account! Wow...”

Sue might have felt differently about the suitability of Jane’s attire had this conversation taken place within the confines of her office, rather than in the corridor.

“Er, so, Sue, could you do me a favour?”

“Sure, what?”

“Could you drop this sandwich off with Olivia?”

“Yeah, sure... Oh, wait! I get it!”

“What?”

“Well, I think I know why you’re avoiding Olivia. Especially dressed like that.”

“Oh shit, does everyone know about that?”

“Probably not quite everyone. Did she really complain about you? I mean, formally?“

“I, er, I can’t really say. Anyway it’s not really that. I’ve got this meeting with Eva and I’m going to be late.”

“Oh, well, don’t let me keep you. And don’t worry, I’ll get this to Olivia.”

“Thanks—seriously. See you later.”

“See you.”

Sue watched appreciatively as Jane ran off up the stairs, and then waited to catch a glimpse of her passing along the landing too.

She stood there looking up for a few seconds more, just in case.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she muttered. The fingers of her free hand twitched.

Then with a sigh she resumed her life, and made a detour to pass by Olivia’s office.

10 MR3

There were actually four meeting rooms, which was three more than were ever needed. Jane was responsible for room bookings. That is to say, occasionally someone would ask for Meeting Room 1 at a particular time, and it would inevitably be free, and she’d enter the details in the book.

She had no illusions about her significance in this process: the book had to be somewhere and that happened to be her desk. If she wasn’t there, they entered the booking themselves. If anything, she was in the way.

But this small responsibility had nonetheless given her a sense of ownership of these rooms. She had taken an interest in them.

Jane had adopted Meeting Room 3 for herself because it contained a cupboard and a filing cabinet and they were both lockable. Both had been empty, possibly for years. No one missed the keys. And the room itself was lockable. And the two small rooms either side of it were unused. It even had a complete set of blinds.

Of course, her position didn’t require her to attend many meetings. But a vacancy had arisen on the Social And Charity Committee when Sheila had left a few months earlier, and so Jane had volunteered.

She had done this mainly because the only other person on the committee was Eva. And if Jane had compiled a list of the co-workers with whom she most wanted to have sex, Eva would have been second, after the lovely Olivia. Olivia was unattainable: too distant, too high up the chain, too... perfect. She was a fantasy, but Eva was actually available. Once a week. For twenty minutes.

Eva was the same age as Jane. She was eastern European, or German maybe—Jane had never bothered to ask. Either way, she was strikingly beautiful: blonde hair, blue eyes, petite, and a golden tan. It was no surprise she’d got married a year earlier and become Mrs Eva Green. She’d had her pick of men, but unfortunately she hadn’t given much thought to their surnames.

And now it was time for the weekly meeting of the Social And Charity Committee. And not for the first time, Eva was more punctual than Jane.

“Sorry I’m late Eva, I had to get a sandwich for... Er, well, actually Sue needed to talk to me about something.”

“It’s OK. I’ve only just got here myself.”

Jane locked the door behind her. Then she unlocked the filing cabinet.

“So, what are we going to do today?”

Eva knew that it was not her place to answer the question. But she was smiling as she sat eyeing Jane’s behind, waiting for her to decide.

After only a short time poking around, Jane shoved the filing cabinet drawer closed.

“Tell you what, before we get to that stuff, I really need it right now. Get your blouse and trousers off.”

Eva looked serious and businesslike as she stood up and began unbuttoning her blouse. There was something slightly boyish in her features—something a recent change in hairstyle and a conversion to wearing trouser suits had only served to emphasise.

She was very open minded, both figuratively and (unbeknownst to her) literally. When her desire to be Jane’s sexual plaything had first awoken, she had accepted it without question as a product of her own psyche. Well where else could it have come from? And it was not as though Jane was the first woman to whom she had felt sexually attracted.

The most striking thing for Eva was the way in which Jane had intuited the existence of this subservient streak before she herself was aware of it. That put her slightly in awe of Jane, which—neatly—made her total acceptance of this subordinate status feel more natural.

Eva wore plain white cotton underwear but it looked good on her body, as would anything. Jane was happy for it to stay on, for now anyway. She herself had only removed her skirt and knickers. And now she had positioned herself on the edge of the meeting table, her legs apart.

“You want it, don’t you?”

“I really do.”

Eva really did. It was Jane who commanded her but it was Jane’s pussy she was truly slave to. She was actually shaking with the anticipation of tasting it again.

“Then you can lick me out. But take it slow. I want you to be Olivia.”

And so Eva spent the next six minutes kneeling in reverential worship of the thing she craved the most in all the world, having somehow to imitate the tongue of a woman she knew only by sight. But she must have done it well, for she knew, when it came, that Jane’s appreciation was genuine.

Later the filing cabinet was re-opened and Jane put a leather collar on Eva, as well as a ball-gag she’d recently acquired. Eva had always liked wearing the collar. She found she did not like the gag, but she knew that this would make it all the more pleasurable to wear it for Jane. It had been the same with the butt-plug with the tail attached.

Jane took a photo with her phone and Eva knew that she would receive a copy later. She was already looking forward to it. She had no photos of Jane, only photos of her subjugated self. Sometimes she would masturbate to them at her desk—and this in spite of the fact that she shared an office with seven other people.

Eva stood passively as Jane slowly removed the white underwear and explored that flawless body, mainly with her mouth.

Eva would undoubtedly have made a very effective disciplinarian. But that role would have restricted Jane’s access to this body. And so instead she was Jane’s thrall.

She was more beautiful than Jane. To put a collar on her, to gag her, to stick a tail on her—to degrade her—could have had something to do with envy. But there was certainly no malice in it. Indeed, Eva herself was almost irrelevant to Jane.

Jane certainly enjoyed Eva’s willing obedience and her eagerness to please. But all she really needed from her was her body. She knew it was the most beautiful thing she was ever likely to own. And own it she did, as Eva herself was quietly and repeatedly affirming as best she could through the gag. It was a mantra that never failed to sexually arouse her.

As Jane knelt, lapping at Eva’s anus, she was really just inspecting and polishing a prized possession.

When this meeting both charitable and sociable was over, Eva left looking as immaculate as when she’d arrived, and was just as punctual. Jane lingered, unlocking the cupboard and deliberating over a change of outfit.

11 Angel

Although the time was displayed on her screen, and her phone, and her desk phone, and the clock on the wall, Olivia glanced at her watch. She liked the way it looked on her wrist. And she wasn’t really a vain woman, but she’d just had her nails done and it pleased her to be reminded of how good they looked.

It was approximately five minutes past two.

When she looked back at her screen she noticed that her eyes were slow to manage the switch. She felt a little lightheaded too. It could only be tiredness. She wasn’t going to be ill; she was determined not to be.

There was a double knock at the door and then Mary’s girl—Jane was it?—entered. Olivia was twenty-eight; she honestly thought Jane was sixteen.

The first thing that Olivia noticed was that Jane was wearing a cream-coloured blouse and a long dark blue pleated skirt. She was pleased to see that her polite and very mild complaint had had the desired effect. But realising for the first time that there might be, she hoped there wasn’t any resentment on the girl’s part.

Jane seemed cheerful enough though.

“Would you like a coffee, Olivia? Or anything?”

“Oh, I... Actually a coffee would be good. I was just thinking I’m feeling a little tired.”

“You do look a little peaky, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Oh I don’t, do I? That’s the last thing I need.”

Olivia leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, briefly rubbing them with her hands. She was feeling lightheaded again.

“Would you like an aspirin or something, as well?”

Olivia opened her eyes again, looking at Jane, confused.

“As well as what? Sorry.”

“The coffee.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. A bit tired...”

“You should just close your eyes and relax for a bit.”

“Well that would be nice but...”

“No, really. Just for a few seconds. It can work wonders.”

Olivia did feel a little woozy. Closing her eyes was certainly not a problem.

“That’s it. A minute or two won’t hurt. Just take a few deep breaths, nice and slow.”

Olivia breathed in deeply, paused, and then exhaled slowly. She was reminded of the yoga classes that she hadn’t had time to commit to.

“That’s it. Just do that. It’ll soon pass.”

It seemed to be getting worse if anything, but Olivia did find Jane’s voice to be surprisingly soothing. Perhaps it was odd but in her weakened state it felt reassuring—good even—to have someone else there taking control, even if it was this young girl she barely knew.

So Olivia continued to breathe slowly and deeply.

Slowly and deeply.

Slowly.

And deeply.

And then, somehow, time seemed to stop.

It is a strange sensation, to have thoughts without thinking.

If we describe what Olivia experienced as dreaming, then the theme of her dream was certainly Jane. Much of it consisted of real memories Olivia had of their encounters: passing Jane in the corridor, asking her for a room booking, following her up the stairs.

What was clear, on reliving these experiences, was that Olivia was always pleased to see Jane. She found her to be not just unfailingly warm, kind, and considerate, but also very attractive. It seemed as though Olivia had forever been noticing and focussing on some new detail or other: Jane’s eyes, her legs, her hands, her bottom, her breasts...

It was odd, but sitting with her eyes closed, focussing on her breathing, she’d forgotten that Jane was there. It was a shock to hear her voice, albeit a muted kind of shock.

“Look, I’ll just go and get you that coffee. I won’t be a tick. You just rest for a bit.”

Olivia didn’t open her eyes at the sound of the door closing but it did bring her properly out of her reverie. She was feeling a lot better. For some reason she was thinking about Jane, and what a little angel she was. It pleased her to continue to do so.

One knock. And with the door, Olivia’s eyes finally opened.

“Here’s that coffee. How’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m feeling much better, thank you. I think I’ll be all right now.”

“That’s good. There you go.”

“Thanks.”

“Right. I’ll let you get on then. See you.”

“Bye. And—thank you, Jane.”

“No problem.”

Olivia watched Jane’s neat little behind as it wiggled efficiently to the door, dress code compliant all the way.

When the door had closed, she thought about Jane having been so close to her, putting the coffee cup down. She thought about Jane leaning forward in her cream blouse, with the top two buttons undone. She thought about Jane’s long fingers holding the cup handle. She touched the handle lightly with her own fingers and tried to recall Jane’s scent.

She shook her head. She had work to do.

She looked at her watch. It was half-past two.