The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

While Emma slept, the seedlings crawled silently through the bunker. By keeping to the shadows they were able to avoid prying eyes and none of the archaic internal sensors were aware of their presence. Over time, each tiny weapon affixed itself to one of the soldiers. One slipped under a sergeant’s boot, while another slipped inside a corporal’s pocket. Once safely in place, they signalled their readiness. They lay dormant, hidden, sometimes in plain sight, but all waiting for the activation signal.

Captain Melissa Harris was entirely unaware of what was happening around her. Her assigned seedling was even now, creeping undetected through the base. She had other things on her mind, however. Like, how on earth Major Davies had escaped the base? For the moment Melissa’s rescuers appeared to be accepting her original story, but how long would that last once they started to interrogate the other woman?

She needed to make sure everyone knew that Davies was not to be trusted. After that it wouldn’t matter what she said. Of course, that was easier said that done. With the Major trapped safely in her holding cell there seemed to be very few options. Melissa considered this for a moment but found that she came to the same conclusion each time. She would have to arrange for Davies to escape and if she were to be killed while resisting recapture, then so much the better.

Her face grim, Melissa walked casually from her room and began to follow a round about route to the cells. It wouldn’t do for her to be seen in the vicinity, she had to be able to deny any involvement. That would be especially important if things turned nasty. It was late in the day by now and this helped her. The corridors were almost empty and no one spared her a second glance. Her chaotic path also left her seedling confused as it struggled to relocate its target.

When she finally reached the makeshift gaol, Melissa almost cried out with glee. The cell door was opened wide and there was no sign of the Major. This was even better than she had hoped for, by staging this escape attempt, Davies would more or less be proving her guilt. After all, if she had nothing to fear, why would she be running?

A thought came suddenly to her, pulling her up short and dampening her enthusiasm. What if Davies had a reason to escape? What if she had seen Melissa? She could not think of any other logical reason why the Major wouldn’t have been happy to stay in her cell and wait the chance to tell her own story. Warily, she looked around her, fear filling her as she tensed for the expected attack.

Melissa did not want to be the one to announce Davies’ escape; it could end up raising too many questions. She assumed that the Major would come gunning for her and realised that her only safety was in numbers. If she could make her way to the operation’s centre there should be enough people to protect her. Still anxious and unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched, she walked quickly from the gaol. The anxious woman chose not to retrace her steps, instead taking the shorter but less travelled route.

The keeper sensed her approach soon enough. With a trace of concern it noted that the seedling had not yet reached this particular woman. If she continued on her current path, it seemed likely that the soldier would notice Emma and that could not be allowed to happen. There was little chance that her seedling would catch up before she reached them. The only other option was to rouse its sleeping host and hope that she would be able to manage the situation.

Melissa rounded the corner at the same moment that Emma woke. The difference was that her keeper made Emma immediately aware of her surroundings and what was happening. In contrast, Melissa stopped in shocked silence when she first saw the black-clad woman. Anger surged through Emma and time seemed to slow, just as it had when she faced Samantha. She sprung to her feet, crossing the distance between them in two fluid strides.

Her target still hadn’t had time to react. Her face registered surprise and horror but she made no attempt to move. As Emma reached forward, Melissa finally managed to shake herself out of her stupor. She opened her mouth wide, sucking in air to scream for help. At that moment, the other woman thrust one hand into her face. The thick ball of black liquid, which had formed in her palm, seemed to leap forward.

Melissa flinched, but it was too late. The ball splashed into her open mouth, clinging and sticking. She spat and choked, using her hands to try to claw the material away. But nothing seemed to make an impression. In the confusion, Emma was easily able to wrestle the other woman to the ground, casually pinning her with preternatural strength.

Emma could feel her keeper trying to surge forward, but somehow she was able to hold it in check. She didn’t want Melissa “pacified” just yet, at least not completely. Silently she urged the weapon to stop fighting her.

“Please, I need to be able to talk to her”, she tried to communicate.

Her second skin seemed to ripple slightly and for a moment she was not sure if it had heard her. Then the pressure eased as the weapon relinquished its control.

“She is yours”, the weapon proclaimed simply.

The other’s woman’s eyes were wild over the top of her shiny, black gag. She tried to trash and kick but it was obvious that she had neither the strength nor the leverage to break free. Her cries had been muted to pitiful mewls. Emma found herself momentarily distracted by Melissa’s soft moans and weak, almost sensual, struggles. She felt suddenly aware of the overtly erotic overtones to this encounter.

Unconsciously Emma let her hand wander down over her captive’s body. The uniform seemed to peel away as she did, revealing pale skin beneath. Melissa’s struggles intensified, but even with only one free hand, it was easy to hold her in place. Emma smiled to herself, enjoying her captive’s discomfort.

Finally her hand finished its slow descent and rested lightly against the other woman’s stomach. The skin was smooth and warm, her heat even permeating through the keeper. Melissa’s eyes were locked with Emma’s now, seeming to plead even as her muffled cries increased in volume. When the keeper began to extend itself, her screams peaked and her frantic thrashing threatened to dislodge her captor.

Emma could feel a thin tendril, oozing out of her keeper. It was almost as though it was a part of her. She felt as it pushed gently against the folds of the other woman’s sex. She thrilled to the gentle pressure, gasping as the initial resistance faded and the weapon slipped inside. For a moment Melissa exploded into paroxysms of motion. Then, as Emma watched fascinated, the fight abruptly seemed to leave her.

The woman’s pupils dilated, responding to the intense stimulation to which she was now being subjected. Inside her body, the thin tendril had expanded, drawing substance from its surroundings. Its tip split into literally millions of frond-like projections, and each of these were tickling, probing and pleasuring. One found Melissa’s G-Spot and it was at this point that she was lost.

Emma pressed her body against Melissa’s, enjoying the proximity and responding to the other woman’s helplessness. Her hand drifted still lower, smoothing more black liquid over Melissa’s perineum before allowing a second tendril to flow slowly into her other passage. The response was less vigorous this time, although for a moment she did try to fight the intrusion. But soon her resistance seemed to die, her resolve weakening with each new pleasure that the keeper thrust upon her.

The two women were linked now, black liquid flowing from Emma’s hand and plugging Melissa completely. Both knew some measure of what the other was experiencing. Emma knew that this was wrong, that this woman was a traitor and that all she needed was a confession. But if that was the case, why did it feel so good? The connection between them pulsed steadily. Each pulsation made both girls squirm and shudder.

Every time Melissa responded, Emma could feel the echo of that response. For her own part, the other woman was almost too far gone now to notice. She had no comprehension of what was happening. Her world was contracting to a near constant series of sensations. But, Melissa’s feelings were tethered to Emma’s own, and with the echo of each new pleasure, the soldier felt herself being pulled down deeper.

They ground their bodies together, and Melissa’s uniform very gradually melted away. The keeper seemed to expand, a liquid tide that engulfed them both, leaving their coated forms still writhing and moaning. The same blissful feelings seeped unbidden into Emma’s mind. Her hand cupped Melissa’s sex, each tiny movement eliciting more wonderful sensations. Fiercely they kissed, dark fluid filling Emma’s mouth and leaving her helplessly gagged as well.

It didn’t matter, they no longer needed to speak in order to know what each other wanted. The keeper allowed them to communicate, even when their thoughts began to devolve into almost pure animal lust. Emma somehow managed to hold onto herself, but unprepared as she was, Melissa found herself just giving in. A soft voice whispered seductively in her mind, lulling and coaxing. It explained a new reality and Melissa almost seemed happy to let these new truths wash through her.

“I am a good girl”, came the thought.

It seemed so incongruous that she just tried to ignore it. Instead focussing on what was happening to her body. The liquid clung to her, supported her, warmed her, pleasured her. It was so wonderful and yet so dangerous. It was trying to beat her she knew, but it was so tempting to accept that. Perhaps to marshal her strength, all the better to fight back later.

“I love being a good girl”.

For a moment she wasn’t sure if someone had spoken, or whether the thought had been her own. But only for a moment, of course it was ridiculous that she would think such a thing.

“Good Girls feel weak”.

“Shut up!” she thought fiercely, trying to concentrate on something, anything else.

But as soon as she tried to distract herself, the keeper increased the intensity of its attention. Melissa found herself in a dilemma, should she try to ignore the words and risk being lost to the pleasure, or should she instead try to discredit what she was being told?

“I feel so weak”.

She did feel weak. In fact, every moment seemed to drain her that little bit more.

“And I love being a weak good girl”.

“No, I don’t love it!” she thought.

“Good Girl’s are made helpless”, the thoughts continued relentlessly.

“I feel that helplessness”.

“No!” but this time the denial seemed less certain.

She did feel it, wrapped in darkness, pleasured beyond the limit of her endurance and forced to listen and feel. She still fought, but wasn’t the outcome inevitable really? Wasn’t she relying on someone else to come and rescue her? Wasn’t she completely at the mercy of this weapon and the traitor who wielded it?

“And I love being a weak, helpless good girl”.

The thoughts seemed to link together, the first parts of the triad each undeniable. The trick, it seemed, was to ignore the final suggestion, to save your strength and only fight when necessary. She was, after all, helpless and where was the harm in agreeing what good girls did or didn’t do? She wasn’t anyone’s good girl, was she?

“Good Girls are naked”.

“I am naked”.

“And I love being a weak, helpless, naked good girl”.

“That’s where you are wrong!” she announced with a sense of triumph.

It was easy really. She was naked, helpless and weak but that wasn’t the insidious part of the messages. The danger was that she would admit that she loved feeling those things. Which she didn’t, how could she? How could those feelings make her hot? How could they make her wet, or make her want to cum?

“Good Girls get bound”.

She accepted it, easier to wait until the important battles. It didn’t matter what happened to good girls.

“I am bound”.

Yes she was, helpless entangled in the tight embrace of this oily second skin. She couldn’t deny it, it was obvious to everyone.

“And I love being a weak, bound, helpless, naked good girl”

“No!” she almost laughed.

“Good Girls wear gags”.

Again it continued, two truths and one lie. She lay back, not realising that yet another orgasm was being almost torn from her rapidly tiring body. The pleasure just seemed to blend together without any peaks or troughs.

“I wear gags”.

Well, normally she didn’t but at the moment she was certainly gagged. Even when she tried, only the barest whimper escaped her lips. Somehow that seemed to add to the feelings of being bound and indeed of being helpless.

“And I love being a weak, helpless, naked, bound and gagged good girl”.

“No I don’t!” she responded, “Third time’s the charm”.

“I am a good girl”.

“Yes”, she thought, “always the same, two truths and then a lie”.

Suddenly Melissa realised what she had been thinking. Her mind reeled. The rules had been changed and the weapon had cheated. But the litany continued, not giving her time to adapt. The pattern was set, two truths and a lie. Her response was always the same; she accepted the truths and ignored the lies. Just like a good girl.

“I love being a good girl”, came the second truth.

It was infuriating, for Melissa it was almost as though she was merely a spectator in her own mind. She could see what the weapon was doing, but seemed powerless to respond. Part of her cried out in mute horror as she saw herself accept the new thought and continuing the pattern.

“I love being a stubborn, resisting good girl”.

“No!” she resisted, fighting against herself now.

The cycle restarted, only this time subtly changed. The young woman listened attentively, accepting the truths but faltering each time she fought to resist. Slowly her thoughts were being reshaped and the small rational part of her mind seemed to shrink and fade with each passing second.

Emma floated, cushioned in sensuous pleasure. The keeper seemed to learn how to manipulate her more effectively each time it took her. Something about that was just so exciting while at the same time being deeply troubling. The dichotomy added to her confusion, distracting her from how powerful the weapon’s hold over her had become.

She found that she could hear both sides of the “conversation” between Melissa and her keeper. It was intriguing to listen and again, more than a little arousing. It was clear from the moment it started that the young soldier was going to lose. But she could still not help but marvel at how easily the weapon forced her to accept this new vision.

In a detached way, Emma wondered what technique her keeper would use when it finally decided that she had served her purpose. Would she too be subject to this relentless, droning mantra, or did it have more tricks up its sleeve? She assumed that it would not be letting her experience this if it would give her some way of resisting her own eventual enslavement.

It never occurred to Emma that the slow increase in her own arousal was due to anything other than her proximity with Melissa. The other soldier was still in almost constant motion, although now there was no real purpose to those movements, other than to increase her own pleasure. The tiny helpless noises which she continued to make seemed to echo within their tight prison.

But as her mind lingered on what she now saw as her own inevitable battle with her keeper, her ardour was increasing still further. Her imagination ran riot, stimulated by what was happening to the other woman. Although she started off trying to think of ways to counter the threat, her train of thought seemed to always end in ideas of how she might be beaten. It did not register that she never once managed to identify any means of escape.

“Good Girls do exactly what they are told”, the thought occurred to Melissa.

By now she was happily accepting each new idea that the keeper suggested. Each agreement caused a fluttering sensation to grow deep in her belly. This grew from a ring of gentle flickering tightness that moved slowly down through her body until it culminated in a light thrill in her clitoris.

“I am doing what I am told”, she agreed.

The feeling started deep inside again, stronger now, it moved down faster, ending with a jolt rather than a thrill. Up inside again, then down in a rush that made her groan as her muscles clutched at the weapon inside her and the next onslaught of pleasure went through her. So fast, next, that her vagina just clamped for an instant and she whimpered when the wave broke over her.

“And I love being a weak, helpless, naked, bound and gagged good girl who does exactly what she’s told”.

The feelings came faster and faster, becoming a ripple of intense physical joy, which moved from inside to out. Then it was coming so fast that she could no longer distinguish the individual waves.

“Good Girls are obedient”, she suddenly knew.

Her dark cocoon held her in a lover’s grip, her limbs entwined with Emma’s, their bodies rubbing and grinding together. All the while her keeper’s twin tendrils sang and roared, as if they were thrusting into her very soul.

“I am obedient”, she realised.

She screamed into the gag, a long soprano cry as the pleasure culminated and burst within her, and then it was fading, leaving only the last weak shudders of her own orgasmic spasms, dying into drowsiness and calm.

“And I love being an obedient, weak, helpless, naked, bound and gagged good girl who does exactly what she’s told”.

Emma tried to stifle the feelings, which welled up within her. The spectacle had been incredible and made all the more overwhelming because she could appreciate at least some of what Melissa had gone through. A silent longing seemed to lurk somewhere deep inside, an unfulfilled need, which she daren’t admit, even to herself. Impotently she continued to grind her body against her captive. But all she seemed to accomplish, was to keep herself on the brink, held there, but unable to tip over into the pleasure that she knew awaited her.

“You made ask your questions now”, the keeper’s soft voice announced, “but I don’t think you will like her answers”.

She imagined that she could feel some emotion behind the thoughts. Was it almost a trace of sorrow? Emma tried to ignore it, knowing that anything else could wait. The most important thing, right now, was to get the confession. Maybe the others would understand what she had been forced to do. If only they knew the truth.

“Melissa”, she thought, knowing that the other woman would hear.

“Yes”, came the groggy reply.

“Tell me why you did it”, Emma began, “tell me why you betrayed us”.

At first it seemed that she wouldn’t answer, but then, slowly, Emma began to feel confusion. Melissa’s bafflement seemed so real that if she hadn’t known the truth already, she might have fallen for the ruse.

“I don’t know what you mean”, Melissa finally responded.

“Yes you do Melissa”, she countered fiercely, “Tell me what hold the machines have over you, how did they make you betray us?”

“They didn’t have any hold”, came the immediate response, “Not until now”.

That brought Emma up short. It couldn’t be the truth though, could it? With a trace of desperation she tried to communicate with her keeper again.

“How can she still lie?” she asked, “Isn’t there something more you can do?”

“She’s not lying Emma”, it replied in a silken whisper, “She is a Good Girl now who will do what she is told”.

Melissa moved then, responding to the keeper’s thoughts. Her body responded to Emma’s and for a moment they were both consumed with each other’s lust. This seemed to satisfy at least some of Emma’s lingering need and reluctantly she managed to return her attention to the interrogation.

“Melissa”, she tried again, “Tell me what happened when the machines attacked”.

“I was scared”, the young woman began, “I didn’t want to be captured. Isn’t that silly?”

Emma let the comment pass, suppressing a shudder when she realised how easily this soldier had accepted this new reality. She waited for the story to continue, forcing herself not to interrupt unless it was really necessary.

“So I ran”, she continued and Emma could sense her guilt, “I fled down the escape tunnel as soon as I heard them coming. I didn’t stay to fight, or to help, or even to let anyone else know what was happening. I’d seen people sheathed Emma, I had no idea that it would feel like this. If I had known I wouldn’t have run. I would have embraced it willingly. You know that, don’t you?”

“But why would you booby trap the tunnel?” Emma asked, “Why sabotage the self-destruct?”

“I wouldn’t do either of those things”, came the shocked response, “I might be a coward, but I’m no traitor”.

Emma reeled, not wanting to believe what Melissa was saying. Maybe this was some trick; maybe it was the keeper playing mind games? Surely this woman was guilty. Unless, she had been right in the first place, when she blamed Samantha? She couldn’t trust the weapon, that much was obvious, but she needed to hear what it had to say.

Steeling herself, Emma spoke to her keeper once again.

“So, if she is telling the truth”, she began, somewhat hesitantly, “then who was the traitor?”

“I told you Emma”, the soft voice soothed, “You really aren’t going to like the answer”.

“That doesn’t matter”, she pressed, “I have to know”.

She felt the weapon sigh, rather than heard it. Then, with resignation heavy in its tone, it gave her its answer.

“Isn’t it obvious Emma? Its you!”