The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Emily usually got home before I did, but traffic had been light and the radio said that there was some sort of hold-up on BART, so she wasn’t home when I got back that evening. As I was changing out of my suit the doorbell rang, but before I could throw on my sweatpants and answer it, whoever it had been was gone.

The clock by the door read a quarter to seven. Since we had already purchased the groceries for dinner, I figured that I would walk down to the BART station and meet her on her way home, maybe carry her briefcase or something. Women appreciate that sort of thing.

As I walked out the door, I almost stumbled over a package which had been left on the front step. Briefly, I wondered who had sent us something. Whatever it was had been shipped in a rectangular cardboard box, about the size of a shoebox, but when I picked it up I saw that it was not actually addressed to us.

We lived in a condominium, one of a few dozen high-end units near the BART station. Housing prices in the Bay Area had become ridiculous, so we were putting off buying a house until we had kids, figuring that, even if the prices didn’t fall, at least by then with our two jobs we’d have saved enough to put most of the price down.

So we bought a small but nice condo instead. Emily loved not having to drive to the firm she worked at in the city.

Where we lived in Union City, though, they had already gone through the street addresses, and didn’t have quite enough to allocate to another forty units. So the developer, in a fit of cuteness, gave each set of five condos one address, and a letter A, B, C, D, or E.

We were A. We knew that B was a young black couple, but we had only moved in a few months before, and didn’t really know anyone else on our block.

According to the package in my hand, though, D was home to ‘Lord May’.

My first thought was we had some down-at-the-heels British Aristocrat for a neighbor, but I dismissed that quickly. On a lark, I took the package with me on my stroll to the BART station, thinking that Emily might enjoy the chance to meet this odd neighbor of ours.

It was a brisk fall day, and even in California the leaves were crunchy underfoot. I had only gone three blocks when I spotted her coming towards me. I flung out my arms, and jogged towards her—her face lit up when she saw me. I love that.

After we kissed hello, I asked her how her day had been.

“Remarkably shitty, actually,” she replied. “I really wish I could quit that job. Peterson actually tried to take total credit for the work I did on the Young case, and although I managed to convince Blair that I did more than ‘basic research’, he looked unhappy to have to believe me. I did all the fucking work on that case! Fuck Peterson, and fuck the senior partners, too.”

“Wow. You know, love, you can quit if you really want to. I am making enough to support us, and you can always find work at some other firm.”

She sighed. “I know, but the longer I can hold on there, the better my resume will look. Oh, I’d rather not talk about it. What’s that you’ve got?”

“No idea,” I said, “it was left on our doorstep, but is actually addressed to 157D. Look at the name.”

“Lord May? Sounds like an upscale gay clothing company.”

We waited to cross the street. “Well, I was going to walk over and give it to him, but I thought you might enjoy coming along and seeing who ‘Lord May’ is.”

“Yeah, I would. Sounds fun. So, how was your day?”

I gave her the run-down on my day, and in a few minutes we were passing by the front of our house. We quieted, and Emily gave me a conspiratorial eyebrow raise as we stopped at the white front door of 157D. I winked back, and rang the doorbell.

There was some shuffling inside, and then the door was opened by a tanned brunette in a bright pink fluffy bathrobe. She was showing terribly impressive cleavage, which I tried not to stare at.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Er, hi. We’re the Strongs. We live in building A, down there, and we got this package delivered to us by mistake.”

“Oh, okay.” She took the package, and read the address. “Lord?” she called back into the house, “There are some neighbors at the door. They have brought a package for you which was delivered to them.”

The voice which answered the pink-robed tart at the door was deep and rich, with a hint of a European accent.

“I’m afraid that I’m not, as it were, decent. If you would be so good as to take the package, Holly.”

Holly smiled, and tilted her head. “I’ll give it to him,” she chirped.

“Now thank the dear people, Holly. And come back inside.”

“Thanks!” she said, and closed the door.

Emily gave me a bemused look, and we walked back to the house.

“Well,” I finally said, as I opened the door, “that was interesting.”

“I’ll say. Did you notice her tits?”

I paused. “Um, not especially. They were nice, I guess.”

Emily laughed, and punched my arm. “They were fantastic. Fake, almost certainly, but while you were not looking at them did you see the strange tattoos she had?”

I was on my way into the kitchen, but stopped to recollect. “Damn. The one time I have license to stare at a nice pair of breasts and I pass it by. No, I didn’t.”

“Sucks for you,” Emily called from the bedroom. “But she had these strange drawings on her breasts. Not her cleavage, and I could just barely see them, but they were like little black lines and stuff.”

“Huh. Well, next time I visit Lord May, I’ll ask Holly to flash me, and get a good look.”

“Don’t you dare. At least, not without me.”

One of my products was shipping the next month, and I became even busier than Emily for a while. A few times I slept on a cot at work. So we mostly forgot about Holly, and Lord May, as fall turned into winter.

It was perhaps a month later, after we had shipped, and my whole team dissolved into ten AM starts and comp time, that I saw Lord May for the first time. I had indulged in a comp day myself, and gone to have lunch with Emily in the city.

I got back at about three. The sky threatened rain, the first for six months (fall had been drier than usual), but I made the walk from BART to our condo without any rain catching me. Inside, I made myself some coffee, and flipped the computer on, settling down for a long game of Civilization.

Some time afterwards, I noticed it was raining. Hard. I smiled, and went to the window. The street in front of our row was already a sheet of water, churned by raindrops and sliding into the gutter at the end of the block.

On a whim, I grabbed an umbrella, and went outside. The rain roared on the fabric as I stepped out into it, but wind was steady, so I could tilt the umbrella, and only my shoes got wet. The first rain of the winter always made me happy, and it was really coming down. I walked down the block, enjoying the feel of the cool humidity, the splash of the rain.

Lord May’s window was open. I did a double-take as I walked by, but it was definitely slid open. Worse, it was open directly into the wind. Whatever was inside was going to get soaked.

I rang the doorbell. There was no response, so I rang it again. I debated the merits of trying to close it from the outside, when I heard Lord May’s distinctive voice.

“Who is at the door?”

“It’s Tom Strong,” I replied. “From A building.”

“Ah, Mr. Strong. Please come in—the door is open.”

I turned the knob—it certainly was. I turned to close my umbrella, and slid into the door. The house smelled like sandalwood. Turning, I saw that it was decorated in an oriental motif, with Chinese patterned rugs and wall scrolls.

“What brings you here today, Mr. Strong?”

That’s when I first saw him, standing in the hallway, in a burgundy smoking jacket. He was tall, but very thin, and had white-blonde hair that hung down his back. He also was leaning on a pair of canes, metal with multiple legs at the base. He had the palest blue eyes.

“Ah, I was walking by, and I saw your window was open.”

“Really?” His placid face turned concerned. “Which one?”

“On the side, there, in the back bedroom.”

“Oh my. That is bad. Please—would you be so kind as to assist me?”

He turned in the hallway, and moved down the corridor to the back bedroom. I realized, from the way he used his canes, that his legs were actually not supporting him at all. I also saw that my impression of his thinness was from his legs, which were very thin, but his shoulders and arms were actually remarkably muscular.

Pushing open a door, he made a worried exclamation. I arrived behind him, and looked in. The room was some sort of electronics workshop—all the walls had metal racks, upon which a wide assortment of equipment in various degrees of assembly was lying.

There was a puddle of water on the floor.

The open window was surrounded by shelves—as Lord May entered the room, I realized he couldn’t reach the window, not without using his legs to stand on. I also realized that he shouldn’t need to ask for my help, so I walked across the room, climbed up on a shelf, and closed the window.

I climbed down, and turned to find him looking at me.

“Thank you,” he said. “Both for telling me of the problem, and for fixing it. As you can see,” he looked pointedly at his legs, “I am somewhat impaired in my mobility.”

“No problem,” I replied. Looking around, I added “It’s a good thing I noticed—what is all this stuff?”

“My hobby,” he replied. “Mr. Strong, I don’t wish to be rude, and I do appreciate your assistance, but I am rather in the middle of something. It grieves me to do so, but I must ask you to leave.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit disappointed, “Well, glad to be of help.” I walked past him, and down the hall to the front door. The condo was designed like ours, and as I passed the staircase I heard heavy breathing from upstairs. I realized what I must have interrupted.

I opened the door and readied my umbrella.

“Good-bye, Mr. Strong,” May said. “And thank you.”

“Any time,” I replied. “Give my regards to Holly.” I couldn’t resist.

“Oh,” he replied, “Holly is away. But I shall tell her you said ‘hello’.” Something must have shown on my face, for he smiled a little smile and said “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to Rebecca.” He began to ascend the stairs, using his arms and canes.

I paused, chuckled, and let myself out.

The following Tuesday, I returned home to find Emily waiting for me in the kitchen.

“Hi, love,” I said, kissing her.

“Hi yourself. I’ve made curry for dinner. How was work?”

“Oh, good, good. We’re back at the drawing board for the next release, but we had a major support issue today, so I had to stay a bit late with some of the engineers to figure out how bad it was. Luckily, it turns out it’s only a problem with one customer’s libraries. How was your day?”

“Pretty decent. I got a new project with Janis Hollaw, to prepare briefs for some cases MUNI has going on. Not all that interesting, but fairly high profile. It’s possible I’ll wind up in court towards the end of the month.”

“Nifty,” I said, lifting the lid over the curry. “This smells great.”

“Well, it should be ready in about ten minutes. So why don’t you open your package?”

“My package?” I asked.

“It’s on the table. It’s from Lord May.”

That raised my eyebrows. I went to the kitchen table, and picked up a shoebox sized package in brown paper. It had a little card attached with string. Obviously it had not been mailed. The card read:

For the Strongs. You may find this interesting—consider it in gratitude for your rainy day assistance. Lord May

“Rainy day assistance?” asked Emily.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Last week, when it started to rain, I noticed that Lord May’s window was open. So I knocked on his door, and he had me in to close it.”

“He had you close the window?”

“I don’t think he can use his legs. He was walking around using his arms and a pair of canes.”

“So? What was he like?”

“Um... tall, thin, long blonde hair. Vaguely European—maybe Belgian. He had a woman with him, too, though she didn’t come downstairs. Rebecca, he said her name was.”

“And you didn’t tell me you got to see the elusive Lord May?”

I shrugged and tried to look helpless. “I forgot. That was the day that I picked you up and we went to Fresh Choice, and it just kind of slipped my mind.”

“Well,” she said, “open our package.”

I took the letter opener from the pencil stand nearby, and cut through the brown wrapping. It came off to reveal a black box, very much like a shoebox only a bit smaller and thinner. I looked at Emily, who waved her hands at me.

“Come on, what’s in it?”

So I lifted off the lid. Inside was some tissue paper, and a hard object, which I took out and held up.

“What is it?” asked Emily.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “It looks like some sort of remote control.”

Which it did. It was perhaps a foot long, rectangular, made of off-white plastic. It had a sliding tab on it, a small set of holes that looked like a speaker, and a red button. The tab was in the middle of its groove, and beneath it triangles were embossed in either direction, as though moving it to either side changed which end of the spectrum it went towards, or perhaps it was some sort of volume or power control.

I turned it over a few times; there was a set of odd screws holding the thing together on the bottom, but nothing else.

“So, should I?” I asked.

Emily smiled with her crooked smile. “Why not?”

I put the box down on the counter, and pushed the red button. Nothing seemed to happen. We looked at each other. Emily reached down, and slid the tab a little off center to the right. She nodded, and I pushed the button again.

At first it seemed that again nothing had happened, but then I realized that the speaker had come to life, albeit softly. Very softly. I leaned my ear down to hear it.

Very faintly, it was emitting an electronic tone, and I thought I could hear voices, but they were far too faint to make out. I leaned back up, and Emily leaned over to hear.

“Are those voices?” she asked.

“I think so, but they’re very soft. And listen—that musical tone is growing louder.”

Sure enough, the tone was gradually getting louder. The voices seemed to have stopped. Emily and I stood around the kitchen counter, watching the whitish plastic box and wondering what was going on, as the tone became easily audible, though not loud. Then it stuttered, four times, and there was a sharp electronic discharge sound.

And the box moaned in a woman’s voice, loudly. Then it went quiet.

“What the?” We stared at each other. “Wait,” said Emily, “I can hear more.” She leaned over, listening. “Here, listen,” she said, gesturing for me to put my ear next to hers over the speaker, which I did.

It was growing fainter, but there was very definitely a woman’s voice coming from the speaker. It sounded breathless, panting.

“Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Lord,” it was repeating, softly, over and over as the sound grew fainter, until we could no longer hear it.

Emily leaned back up. We looked at each other.

“That was highly weird,” she observed.

“No foolin’. What do you think was going on?”

“Hell if I know. It sounded like a real person on the other end, though. And, after it beeped a few times, it sounded like, well...” She paused.

“Yeah. That’s just what it sounded like. Jeez, Emily, I think he’s given us some sort of remote control vibrator.” I ran my fingers through my hair.

“Very kinky. I’m gonna get a drink. Want something?”

“Yeah, a Diet Coke would be great. Is the food ready?”

“It should be.”

“I’ll break out the plates.”

After dinner, we tried it again. I cleared the dishes, and we sat back at the table with the device between us.

“Okay,” Emily said, “Let’s move the slider farther this time.”

“More intensity for our hapless pleasure victim, eh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, moving the tab farther up the scale. “There.”

“You do it,” I said. Emily looked at me, and then hit the button.

The tone came on again, and again this time we could hear voices, faint but distinguishable. There was some sort of background noise, and a woman saying “—right back. Just have to go to the restroom.”

With the tone building, and knowing what we were listening to, we could hear the sound of someone walking down a hall, and a door opening and closing. We waited a moment, until there was the quadruple stutter in the tone, and then the electrical discharge.

And a woman’s deep groan, followed by several loud whimpers.

“Oh, yeah,” whispered Emily, “that was a good cum.”

The sound of the woman’s panting was dying away as the device powered down. I expected more of the “Thank you” chanting, but it didn’t happen. Then the little LED went out.

Emily was looking at me with a bemused smile. I blinked several times.

“Wow,” I observed.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Push-button sex.”

“That’s really something.”

“I wonder how it works?” Emily mused. “Obviously some sort of butterfly or vibrator, but I’ve never found one that was, er, that fast.”

“Hey,” I said, “Let’s go ask. I mean, Lord May gave us this thing to use. Though it may be a bit late tonight.” I didn’t mention that I wanted some time to think about it.

“Okay, let’s go talk to him when we get home tomorrow. I’m just dying of curiosity.” She slid out from the table. “And besides, there’s something else you have to do tonight.”

“Oh?” I asked, as she walked around behind me.

“Me,” she said, pulling my chair away from the table. “Ha! You liked that, didn’t you?”

Busted. Sure enough, my pants were steepled by my cock. I blushed.

“Ah...”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, lover. ‘A hard man is good to find.’” She pulled me up from the chair. “And I’m going to put it to very good use.” She smiled at me. “It’s nice to see that you had the same reaction. Hearing her cum like that, just because we told her to...” Emily’s eyes took on a far-away look. “She’s on remote control. And she doesn’t even know by whom. She just cums when she’s told.”

Holding my hand, Emily pulled me towards the bedroom.