The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next time I heard from Mr. Scary was about a month later. I had almost managed to forget that I was still working for him, and the sound of his voice instantly brought back unpleasant memories. “There haven’t been any incidents with Miss Stafford as far as we can tell,” he said. “We’ve been keeping a close eye on her—don’t worry; only her apartment is under close surveillance. You are under what we call, ‘loose’ surveillance, Mr. Grant. How’s that new project at work?”

“Don’t you already know?”

“Touché, Mr. Grant,” he said, his voice flat. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. And when you get your promotion, it will be well-earned.” There was a pause while he let the implication sink in. “Have you seen any results from your—programming?” I replied negatively, but reminded him that any sudden change in her behavior might arouse suspicion. “Yes, I suppose you are correct—and you were right to make it gradual. A sudden change in behavior would raise many questions. Some of them without easy answers.” There was another pause. “Are you positive that you don’t want to work for the company? I like the way you think about certain things. We pay much better than your current employer.” I refused again, fighting off an involuntary shudder at the thought of what his stated esteem that said about me as a human being. “Very well,” he shrugged over the phone. “Your next installment payment should be directly deposited into your savings account tomorrow. To handle any—extra—expenses you may incur. Just don’t change your behavior suddenly.” The line went dead.

He was good at threatening me without threatening me. Nonetheless, the incentive he provided could get to be very addictive. Five thousand dollars a month, tax-free, was a lot of cash, even if it came with the Debbie string securely attached. My sexual interest in her had waned to almost nothing over the past month, and she had done nothing to keep it going. About the only thing that had changed between us was that we saw each other more often in passing, spending a few minutes to chat, or maybe it was that I just noticed her more often.

This abruptly changed two weeks later. Debbie called me out of the blue, and invited me to dinner in her apartment Saturday night. “I’m sorry, I’ve been really busy between school and my jobs, but... I’ve been feeling guilty about the trip back from San Francisco, and everything you did for me. I know you don’t want any money, but I have to show you my appreciation somehow, or else I’m not gonna get a good night’s sleep again. Please?” I laughed and accepted after telling her that I had to work on Saturday, so it would be a good idea to have a late dinner. She happily agreed, and dinner was set for eight. “Don’t worry, I’m a good cook,” she smiled.

She met me at her door wearing a simple black top, which de-emphasized her size without hiding her ample chest and black jeans that, when she bent over to check the dish in the oven, displayed a wonderfully pear-shaped, if slightly large, butt. I wondered if I’d get to visit that butt up close. I knew that Debbie was an anal virgin, but the magic words should make it easy enough to change that. “Dinner won’t be ready for a half-hour,” she said, inviting me to her dining room and offering me some wine. “Have a seat. I’ve got everything pretty much ready except the main course,” she smiled.

I thanked her for the special touches, and let her know that I was flattered with the obvious attention and care she had given the evening. “It’s the least I can do for a guy who upgrades to first class so I can sit with him, just because we randomly met in San Francisco. I could get used to that,” Debbie smiled.

The meal was outstanding. She served me chicken breast in a brandy-cream sauce served with saffron rice and grilled green beans. Dinner conversation was pleasant; we talked about my job, her progress on her M.B.A., and the fact that she was thinking of quitting her data entry job. “I make enough money; I just have to tighten my belt a little... no more weekends in San Fran, y’know? Even if I did have a wonderful time.” I made a mental note to let Mr. Scary know—then realized that he did, at about the same time that I found out. Dessert was a homemade chocolate mousse. Debbie taught me how to whip the cream to top it. “I seem to be really good at desserts... as if you couldn’t tell,” she said, with her slightly sad, self-depreciating smile firmly in place. I told her that she was an awesome cook, and that this had been the best home-cooked meal I’d ever had. She smiled for real at that. I offered to do the dishes, but she refused to let me, suggesting instead that I help her finish the bottle of wine. “I’ve been really careful about drinking too much lately. But if you’ll excuse me for a second...”

I refilled our glasses, feeling well fed and relaxed. My work issues had been forgotten, and realized that I was genuinely enjoying a quiet evening with my neighbor. At least until I heard a lighter click behind me. I turned to see Debbie holding a More, and exhaling quickly. She sat at the table. “My work has been getting stressful—my new manager doesn’t like me at all,” she sighed before dragging again. “I asked one of my co-workers for one when I was having a really bad day with him. It relaxes me.”

“Debbie...” I began, only to stop. I was absolutely unprepared for this. She gave me a worried smile. “No, I’m not objecting, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She shook her head. “Should I feel bad about you picking up the habit because of what I said in San Francisco? I didn’t think that you’d... even remember.” The last sentence was, of course, a lie.

“No, I chose to start smoking,” Debbie answered. “It’s something to make sure I get up and get away from my boss a few times a day. Like I said, he seems to like picking on me.” Debbie stopped and smiled, “I have a whole new bunch of friends at work now, and I don’t quite feel like such a misfit there any more. They’ve been great at helping to keep my spirits up and my stress down. And, I’ve lost some weight, too.”

“OK,” I nodded, trying not to let my excitement at the success of the experiment show. “Can I ask another question, then?” Debbie took a drag, looking very much as if she’d studied old movies and practiced. She told me to go ahead. “Is it a coincidence that you’re smoking a More, or are you doing this just for me?”

“Well, it wasn’t what I started smoking, and my co-workers gave me a little bit of shit about the brown cigarettes the first time I smoked one at work, but I kinda like these better compared to some of the cigarettes they smoke.” Debbie paused, and the room grew quiet. Suddenly, she blinked and tossed her head quickly, as if she had come to a decision. Her voice suddenly became throaty and predatory, and as she leveled her gaze at me, her eyes had the same cast as just before I had ended our game in her hotel room. “You’re right. It’s not a coincidence that I picked Mores,” she admitted. “I thought that... maybe after what you said, it might get you to pay a little more—attention—to me.” Debbie dragged again and, head upturned, exhaled a long, flowing ribbon of smoke. “I’d like to think that these will help me seduce you. I’m not drunk this time, either.”

This was playing out almost perfectly. She was being more aggressive towards bedding me, and starting a relationship, even if it was purely sexually motivated at this moment. “I know you’re not,” I hoarsely said, lump growing with each puff.

“So, is this working?” The question was delivered with a mixture of hope, lust, and just the barest touch of someone preparing herself yet again for disappointment.

I moved away from the table. “I think the answer is—ummm—apparent,” I said. She glanced down, and her smile lost its nervousness. “You look... hot,” I finished.

“Fantasy hot?” she asked, tossing her red hair before exhaling a long stream of smoke. “I haven’t been able to find a cigarette holder that fits the Mores yet. Would you like it if I did?”

“Uh-huh,” I panted, not really thinking about what she had said at this point. Any other thoughts about experiments, Mr. Scary, or bugs in the apartment weren’t important to me now, either. She put the cigarette out, knelt in front of me, and opened my pants. My cock was trapped in my underwear, but she gently maneuvered it free and engulfed it, pausing to give me a devilish smile. I moaned in pleasure. She slowly, carefully, made love to my cock, and I couldn’t—didn’t want to make her stop.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since I moved in,” she said, stopping. “I always thought you were so hot—and nice. The other good-looking guys here don’t even act like I exist. You always smiled at me and said hi.” My cock softened a little, and she gave it a quick, impish lick.

“I wanna do you,” I panted. “Now.”

“Now?” she innocently asked, standing up and turning towards the bedroom. “You have to count to ten after the lights go out.”

“Fuck that,” was my glandularly-driven retort as I pulled her back to me and said, “Here. On the carpet.” I attacked her mouth with mine, unzipping, and pulling down her pants. Debbie, obviously inexperienced at being with someone who really wanted her, gaped in shock while I knelt and stuck my tongue between her legs, feeling heat and moisture in waves on my face.

“Wait!” Debbie squeaked. “Let me... take everything off!” Now she was panting, and as soon as she got her pants off she joined me on the floor. Her top and bra promptly flew across the room. I immediately buried my face between her legs, stuck a finger inside her, and began to stroke the roof of her flooding pussy. “OHHHHH!” she gasped, her hips bucking. “Ohmygod... ohmygod... ohmygod... I’m gon... gonna... I’m gonna...” Her voice became increasingly throaty, as her hips began to rotate and grind with increasing force.

The first time I saw Debbie come it had been artificially induced, and I had had been in the middle of my own massive release, so I didn’t really care. Now it was awesome to watch, as her face went almost purple, she took a deep, hoarse breath, and wailed as her juices flowed onto my hand and down my arm and onto the carpet.

I kept stimulating her, keeping her in orgasm until she grunted, “UH!” Her body locked in an arch, and then Debbie collapsed onto the floor panting, “St-st-stop! Please!” I granted her request, with a devilish grin that she was in no shape to register. Her face was almost as red as her hair, and her breaths came in great, hoarse gulps. Her eyes, a beautiful light blue, rolled around, unfocused, as she blinked rapidly. As soon as they did, though, she reached for my hips, and pulled me towards her with purpose. I was as hard now as I had been with the drugs that they’d fed me in captivity.

I slid in with the barest resistance and a loud, wet squishy noise, making Debbie cry out once more. She gripped my cock tightly inside of her, going into orgasm yet again. When she had relaxed enough to let me move, I began churning at her with abject lust, and she matched me thrust for thrust, grunting animalistically each time our hips would smack and echo loudly in the apartment. Her light blue eyes were on fire, only wavering from my equally intense gaze when our movement triggered a mind-frying internal shock throughout her body, and then her pussy would grasp me a little harder.

My fleshy lover raised her legs higher, displaying a surprising flexibility, inviting me to drive at her with more force. It seemed that her wet friction touched every molecule of my dick; we fit each other perfectly, as my tip bottomed out gently at the end of each downstroke. My whole body sang, led by the sizzle of my cock as I lifted my hips, almost pulling completely out of her, before pistoning forward into her warm, gently grasping, welcoming depth with mindless abandon.

I had no concept of time, past or present; the suddenness, force, and quantity of my ejaculation caught both of us by surprise: I had a brief vision of her mouth forming a perfect “O”, accompanied by an expression of complete shock on Debbie’s face. Then the white light overtook me as the indescribably pleasurable burn seared through me and flooded her. Again. And again. And again.

“GRNNHUURRRGGGHH!” Debbie’s primal scream and internal seizure ripped an answering one from my own soul. Another near-painful torrent of fire flashed through me, before my body began to shudder uncontrollably at the hips, the powerful contractions replaced by weak, erratic spasms. A sense of physical reality began to coalesce; I was sweating heavily, the air cooling on my skin. Debbie’s arms were locked around my back in a passionate embrace, a grip that begged me to stay. Her body, also covered in sweat, cushioned my body from her floor, a very soft, still warm, contrast to the solidity of the surface beneath my toes. I could hear our breathing, loud and panting, over the ambient noise from the street.

“Ohhhh... wowwwww...” Debbie deliriously sighed, simultaneously easing her grip on me, allowing me to slide to the floor next to her. “That was... incredible...” She rolled on her side to face me. “Was it—?”

“Oh, yeah,” I immediately answered. I gave her a hungry, deep, wet kiss to erase any doubts about the sincerity of my statement.

Debbie happily purred, “Mmmmmmm,” in response, and looked at me with dewy, infatuated eyes, and all of a sudden, I truly realized that she was cute. Moreover, un-hypnotized and completely natural, she was great at sex. “More cushion for the pushin’,” was a novel experience for me and with Debbie, it was potentially addicting. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, I mused. She sat, and then stood, a little unsteadily. “Legs aren’t quite working perfectly,” she apologized with a touch of teasing huskiness in her voice, “but I wanna see if after-sex cigarettes are all they’re cracked up to be.” She shot a grin at me as she headed for her room.

Shortly thereafter, Debbie discovered what her after-sex cigarette did for me, and by about a nine-inch extension, her.

I left Debbie’s apartment the next morning, after cooking breakfast, watching her smoke a More after breakfast (which inspired another bout of unrestrained sex), showering, and making a date with her for the following weekend. About two hours later, there was a knock on my door. “Courier. Delivery for Ray Grant?” I took the box, wondering who’d be sending me something on a Sunday afternoon. I had been wading quite happily in the blissful aftermath of one of the most satisfying sexual encounters of my life, but that all stopped instantly when I opened the box. There was a cell phone inside.

“Is this what it’s going to be like?” I testily asked when it rang an hour later.

“Such hostility, Mr. Grant!” replied Mr. Scary, with a feigned surprise that was designed to annoy me. It did. “I’d think that you would be continuing to celebrate your success. Congratulations on its magnitude. You have indeed earned all that we have... invested thus far.”

“Get to the point.”

He sighed, “As you wish,” sounding genuinely disappointed that I wasn’t enjoying his wit. “It does appear that your delayed trigger has taken effect. I won’t be sending this particular video out for analysis. In fact, I’m going to have it destroyed, so that our scientists don’t get—distracted.” When I didn’t respond, he continued, “However, I do have one specific assignment for you this afternoon. Please make sure that Miss Stafford stops entertaining the notion of quitting her data entry job. We need her in the office. It eliminates some—difficult—logistics. The easier our logistics, the better it is for both Miss Stafford, and you.”

I knew that I’d get no peace until Debbie had confirmed that she would not quit her job there to his satisfaction. “Is that it?” Part of me wanted to tell him exactly what I was thinking about him and this experiment, but the intelligent part pointedly reminded me that there was an advantage in being allowed to keep breathing, so I shut up.

“No. There is one more thing, Mr. Grant. Based on your success to this point, we’ve decided to extend the experiment for another month. Expect your next deposit next week. Consider taking Miss Stafford on a weekend getaway sometime within the next thirty days and spending some of that money we’ve paid you. We’ll re-evaluate the experiment’s status then.” There was a pause, and then, in the same deadpan, earnest tone, Mr. Scary closed with, “Have a pleasant evening, and please don’t forget the—favor—we asked.”

I collapsed into a chair, my blood thoroughly chilled with the implications in his last comments. Debbie and I had always been, and still were, on a short leash. They had made a decision to allow us to live and continue this experiment, until either something happened with Debbie’s command, or a month had passed. We had made that milestone with about two weeks to go. My head spun, and I ran for the toilet as the extremely unwelcome thought of what might have happened if she had been a little slower to assimilate the commands from San Francisco hit me.

I sat in a chair after brushing my teeth and mouth, contemplating what was next. It was time to subject the groundwork I’d laid to strenuous testing. So much for allowing nature to take its course, one that was looking more inevitable by the hour. Debbie’s evil master was back. I told my conscience to shut up as I grimly headed down the hall to my next-door neighbor’s apartment.

“Oh!” Debbie peeped in surprise, smiling as she opened the door to let me in. “I didn’t expect you to come back so soon,” she enthused, with a faint flush filling her cheeks.

The slight inflation in my pants at the memories of our recent encounter was just annoying; I was here on business. As soon as she closed the door and our privacy was assured, I said, “CS. DS. LO. Obey and Become. Ten-Gamma-Ten.” Debbie seemed to slow down, and then her eyes became attentive, interested, and she stood in front of me without another word. “You like your data entry job. You do not care that you do not need the money,” I urged. “It is a nice change from your new manager because they don’t hassle you. You will continue working there, because it is easy work, and you like the people you work for there. It is convenient, and it gives you a chance to earn money while you study for school when they aren’t busy.” My cock swelled a little more. She was under my complete control, and that was still, in spite of all of the moral baggage it carried, exciting.

There was no outward sign that she had even heard what I said. Her facial expression remained unchanged. “You will let Ray know that you have had a change of heart about your second job. You have decided that you could use the money, even though it means you may not see him as much. You know deep in your heart that this will be fine with him, and that you will still be very attractive to him, especially now that you know his secret. Zero-close-zero.”

Debbie blinked and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to see you again, Ray.” She came close and let her hand brush the front of my pants. I gave her a short, wet kiss. “Oh, by the way, I decided to keep my other job. The extra money really is nice,” she stammered, starry-eyed.

“Maybe then we can spend another weekend in San Francisco,” I suggested. My heart rate returned to somewhat normal. Debbie’s dual-boot operating system was still working, and I hoped this meant that I had earned another month for us. I was definitely going to take Mr. Scary up on his offer, though and spend some of that money. “I’ve had a bit of a windfall... from some investments my family made, so I’m game to go anywhere for a weekend jaunt. As often as your schedule will let us.”

She beamed at that. “In that case, I definitely need to keep the job. It’s not that I doubt your sincerity, but I would feel more comfortable if I at least paid my own way This is all kinda sudden, and it’s a little—scary,” she confessed. I asked her if she wanted me to leave so she could think about it for a while. “Yes... I think I’d like that, Ray. Thank you.”

I kissed her again and answered, “I can’t promise that this will last forever, but I can promise that we’ll have fun as long as it does.” From out of nowhere, Debbie’s eyes went horny, and she asked if we could start having that fun now. I liked her natural (as far as I could tell) horniness for me; she was refreshingly direct about it since I’d turned up her aggression. I politely declined, citing fatigue and the upcoming work week. At least until she pulled out a More, handed me a lighter, and huskily asked me for a light.

I didn’t leave her apartment until late that evening with my legs still feeling a little rubbery. She was an energetic and enthusiastic lover. We kissed goodnight at her door, and everything felt like the early stages of a relationship, including the infatuated smiles on our faces. I turned at my door, and saw her looking at me with a lustful stare. Debbie slowly ran her tongue across her lips and gave me a wink before closing her door. Five minutes later, the cell phone rang again, obliterating my afterglow.

“Good job, Mr. Grant,” Mr. Scary said. “I knew I could count on you to take care of business as soon as possible. The only thing you have left is a telephone call—for the moment. Have a pleasant evening.”

It was anything but. Brief, dark, evil nightmares tormented me, waking me up, heart racing. I would force myself back to sleep until I had a dream of me commanding Debbie her to stab herself repeatedly with a long, sharp, kitchen knife while Mr. Scary, horns, cloven hooves and all, urged me on.

The worst part of the dream was that I liked it. I cackled with glee throughout, and my cock would get harder and longer each time Debbie would blankly say, “Yes, master,” before plunging the knife into herself again, gallons of bright red blood spurting from each new wound. And I commanded her to keep going, because I was getting... close... to... Fire surged through my dream cock, and I screamed in ecstasy...

It was echoed in the real world with one of terror as I sat upright, chest threatening to explode. I got out of my sweat-soaked bed and surfed the internet absently until the sun came up, truly afraid to go back to sleep.