The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The leaves were golden treasure scattered on the carefully tended emerald lawns of the Puysegur Institute. Overlooking a path to the admissions building, Cricket sat and chewed thoughtfully on her lip. Her fingers played with the edge of the school tartan skirt she was wearing. A passerby might think she was enjoying the early fall display of color.

Actually the senior student was hardly there at all. The world around her was nearly invisible. Not surprisingly, Cricket missed the approach of Lorelei Crowther.

“Well, Ms. Oni,” the Mistress of Academics began, “since you haven’t yet handed in your senior thesis from last year, may I assume that today’s stint on the lawn is further research into ‘Pathways of Inner Isolation’ and that I will see your paper in a few weeks?”

Cricket twitched back from her distant contemplation. She blushed. “Oh, hello, Dean.” She smoothed a hand down her skirt and met the clear brown eyes of the older woman. “You’ll be surprised, I guess, but the paper is done. I finished it.”

The Dean raised an eyebrow and pulled a PDA from her gray suit jacket pocket. “Splendid. And should I come pick it up or are you going to deliver it as most students do?” The words were crisp, but a corner of her mouth was quirked with humor.

Cassandra ‘Cricket’ Oni was an honors student and considered brilliant by many professors of the Institute. It was troublesome to some that her last semester seemed to have robbed her of her usual zeal for her studies. The Dean was pleased that only five weeks into the new semester, Cricket had finished the advanced treatise due last semester.

And Ms. Oni’s parents would be pleased to find out that their girl was back on track.

The student blushed to her blonde roots. “I’ve been a bit—.” She stopped whatever confession was about to be revealed. Cricket nodded briskly. “Of course I’ll deliver it. Tomorrow. Your office.”

Crowther flashed a quick smile. “Good. I expect it will be a nice finish to your time with us. Congratulations. You’ll be home for Christmas and out in the real world.” The sharp-eyed Dean watched for reaction.

Cricket trusted herself only to nod and smile in return.

Knowing well that there was something more there, the Dean guessed there would be no forcing the hidden thoughts to light. There was only so much an educator could do.

And a graduate of Puysegur knew how to keep secrets. Cricket seemed determined to hang on to hers.

The Dean made a note to herself and put the PDA away. “I look forward to reading it. Good day, Ms. Oni.” She turned and made her way off across the lawn.

Cricket looked after her for a bit. She watched the sexual sway of those hips until everything lost focus again. The university slowly melted into glorious colors and she slipped back into the infinite.

The chains dragged her nudity upward out of the sweltering vat of liquid. She was coated in black from the nipples down. The cuffs on her wrists were padded, but the stretch of muscles in her arms and shoulders was so tight and wicked that she was wet between the legs.

The multiple dark speakers clicked and a woman’s voice spoke in monotone, “Drying will start now. Spread your legs, you weak little fuckdoll.”

Cricket gasped as the spike of energy lashed her mind. She defended, and defiantly squeezed her thighs tighter together. “No.”

A hose with a red sensor eye extended from the darkness and began blowing hot air on her face. She shut her eyes. She could feel her blonde hair halo away from her face with the force of the blast. The gusting traveled slowly with considerable force down her breasts and stomach. When it reached her mound, some function of the mechanism registered she had not spread.

The psychic lash doubled the attack timing.

She whimpered aloud.

“Drying interrupt,” the flat voice noted. “Spread your legs, fuckdoll.”

Her head felt like it was swelling up under the pummeling of the lash. Cracks developed in her defense. With a hiss, she bit her lip and closed the wards tighter.

The lash bit at her dwindling energy reserves.

“No,” she panted.

A distraction was introduced: the chains began vibrating; sending shivers down through her arms neck and breasts. Under the warm rubber coating, Cricket felt her pussy juice. The intensity was melting her. She wasn’t sure if she could hold out much longer.

“Drying interrupt,” the flat voice repeated. “Spread your legs, fuckdoll.”

And the air blower turned on again, blasting hot air on her rubber coated clit and lips.

A loud groan escaped her. Cricket stretched her head back and her thighs loosened. The energy lash snapped at her and softened her ego.

“Drying interrupt,” the voice snarked. “Spread your legs, fuckdoll.”

Cricket squeezed them tighter together. “No, bitch.” Squirming, she couldn’t ignore the lust in her groin. She did manage to keep her real concentration centered on the defense. Some of her desire and heat was adding to the strength of her defense and she gladly took that boost.

The air hose had created a roaring fire in her clitoris with the blowing heat. Now it began moving down her legs and soon toasted her toes for several minutes.

Just long enough.

With a twist of kink, Cricket realized her toes were bound now in the dried rubber. It was another kind of turn-on. Her feet ‘on point’ and welded together. Three seconds later, she groaned as a fat probe pushed into her cheeks and gently found her anus.

The lash at the door of her mind stopped suddenly.

“Drying complete,” the voice returned blandly. “Fuckdoll elected to have legs dried fastened together. Initiate statistical follow-up routine.”

The implication stunned her. She hadn’t agreed to anything. Cricket whimpered and twisted to avoid the anal probe before it could enter. Her bound legs didn’t give her much rotation, but she did manage enough turn.

“No,” she hissed.

The probe lost its position.

A whine of machine below her and then an invisible battering began on her skull: a very different assault with a low frequency of mental resonance. Cricket thought she would gag. It felt as if her bones were connected to a vibrator.

“No.” Her words were a whisper now.

And with the distraction, the dark mechanisms below her pierced the rubber on her feet and cuffed her two largest toes together. Something, a leash of some kind, tightened on the toe cuff and she was pulled bow-tight from top to bottom.

The bashing energy was turning her thoughts to gel and her awareness of her arousal was no help now. She had lost a great deal of focus.

There was only the snap and simmer of lava in her pussy.

She was drowning in black sweet syrup.

“Brain resistance slackening,” the voice could almost sound bored. “Fuckdoll floundered into further restraint. Resume ass plug routine.”

“Oh, gawd,” Cricket moaned. A reflex tightened her ass muscle.

The probe returned right on target. It was fatter than she realized from the first attempt and she was only halfway into the mental meditation now and losing further grounding. The lust was pulling her out of her mind grace.

“Spread ass, Fuckdoll,” the voice commanded. The plug pushed upward as if she had complied. The rubber coating between her cheeks held for a second, then popped and Cricket felt the smooth intrusion stretch her. Heat bloomed.

She orgasmed. “Ugh. Wah. Yes.”

That tripped her focus fully away from the grace state. The bashing energy vibration entered her skull and rolled across the wards. Theory crumbled. Technique washed away.

Cricket grabbed for anchorage. Missed. The ocean of heat washed over her. “Aaaaah.”

The heavy plug in her ass began buzzing and twisting. She came again. “Ah!” It was good. It got better.

Eyelids fluttering, she barely heard the voice.

“Fuckdoll enjoys a hot cock up the ass.”

“Ah!” Her thoughts tried to dodge around the words slipping through her ears. She grit her teeth and denied the sweet and hot vulgarity.

“Fuckdoll enjoys a hot cock up the ass.”

She blinked, suddenly seeing the phrase tattooed on her buttocks. Lubrication from her rubber-trapped pussy was backing up inside the coating and mixing with the thrusts in her ass.

“Fuckdoll saves her pussy for teasing.”

She gushed. The foot leash tightened again, pulling her further from wrist to toes.

“Ah!” She came again nodding with the jolts running through her.

“Fuckdoll traversed threshold during ass plug routine. Note stop at seventy-eight percent energy conversion. Wards are down. Thoughts jumbled. Concepts disrupted at thirty-nine percent. Automatic stop on test. Hold for override.”

Everything stopped around her.

Fuckdoll humped the ass plug and came several more times.

Cricket blinked and the campus was in focus again.

The university slowly resumed reality and the infinite disappeared. She shifted and her sopping cunt spasmed. Cricket pushed down on the foot tucked under her ass and when the heel pushed between her cheeks; her gel butt-plug warped just enough to let her come hard.

The colors of the campus glowed brighter. The smells of fall were savory and intense.

She smiled with lazy pleasure: it was time to graduate. Cricket shifted focus and snapped a mental whip on the Fuckdoll section of her mind. She grinned when the shiver of flesh surfaced.

All her questions about the lonely life of a mind controller were answered now.

Loneliness was a state of mind.

Only.