The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Bill?”

She stepped into the tall narrow doorway, her legs and back straight, her arms crossed, a fat manila report folder sticking out to one side and gripped in a smooth hand.

In the room beyond, the stooped man looked up from the battered wooden table and smiled. There was a large smear of grease on one of his cheeks and his thinning brown hair was disordered.

“Oh! Rita. Hi there. What can I do for you?”

“The big boys upstairs sent me down here in person to get you to fill out all of your inventory paperwork.” Rita returned the smile, just a little, and waggled the folder she was holding in a pointed sort of way. “You’ve gotten way behind. Again. And some of those things that you bought...” She sighed. “Bill, everyone knows how much money you’ve made for the company, but if you keep doing things like this eventually they’re going to fire you.”

He looked at her like a surprised owl, and fiddled with the screwdriver which he held in one hand.

“And you’d miss me, if I was gone?”

“Yes. I would, actually.” She carefully rationed out another smile, a bit more genuine than the last. But only just a bit.

“But you won’t come work down here with me? I still need an assistant.”

She sighed again and rolled her eyes upwards for a long moment, studying loops and whirls of the dusty ceiling before returning her gaze to him.

“No, Bill. I’m genuinely fond of you and I’m glad you work here. Really I am. But after all the... crap that I’ve had to put up with from certain people, and being this close to promotion, finally, I’m simply not going to kill my career by... well... I’m sorry, but by lurking down here in the basement with you. Besides, you must want an assistant who is a scientist. A technician. Something.”

“You could learn. I could teach you.”

“Bill, please. I’m flattered, but it’s simply not going to happen. Now, about this paperwork...”

He picked up a chunk of equipment from the table which spouted a collection of long trailing wires.

“Ah well.” He blinked. “Promotion? That’s right. I’d heard about that. It’s down to between you and... uh... Veronica, isn’t it?”

He gingerly poked at the whatever with the screwdriver. Something inside the thing gave off a soft click in response.

“Yes. Veronica.” She spoke flatly. “Bill, if you could just...” She broke off and looked more carefully at what was sitting on the table. There were several pieces of jumbled-looking machinery scattered across its surface, but the thing towering up in the very middle of it all had suddenly caught her eye. “What’s that you’re working on, anyway?”

“Just a little something I’ve been messing around with. It’s what I used most of that inventory on, actually. I got the original idea from reading up on some of Erik Desmond’s recent work over at Yankovich. But I made a few improvements, of course.” He spoke cheerfully again and waved the crud-streaked screwdriver at the thing that sat before him, the focal point of a miniature electronic Stonehenge. “I think I’ve finally got it working right. C’mon in, and I’ll show it to you!”

She took a small somewhat fastidious step into the dimly-lit room, her tailored wine-red business suit and skirt seeming to glow with their own internal power as they left the stark lights of the hall. She examined the object more closely for a long moment, her arms still crossed.

“It’s ugly.” She spoke flatly.

If her harsh artistic opinion wounded him in any way, it didn’t show. Bill just grinned again, put down the screwdriver and extracted a surprisingly white handkerchief from somewhere in his well-worn gray coveralls.

“Doesn’t have to be beautiful. Like all... er...” Another blink... “like most things in life, it just has to do its job.” Fumbling the equipment he held around into a new position so it was being held pressed between his arm and body, he took off his small rimless glasses and started polishing them. He squinted bemusedly at the already-clean lenses, then up at the dusty cobweb-festooned lights overhead. He frowned slightly, as if unable to make any connection between the two.

“Which is?” She casually shifted her plunging mass of long black hair.

“Umm...? Oh. Actually, I’m sort of hoping it will solve my paperwork problems.” He put his glasses back on, stashed away the handkerchief and again looked at the object which was now back in his hand.

“Oh?” Rita turned her gaze on him for a moment, her dark eyes narrowing with the mechanical precision of the sights on a sniper’s rifle, but then she resumed examining the array. Her voice was half friendly, half sarcastic. “What? It will finally make you enough money to retire? Or is it some new kind of memo-shredder and e-mail deleter?”

The central object was a crude metal arch that stood about a foot high and a foot and a half wide, both thick feet planted firmly on the tabletop. Several of the pieces of equipment on the periphery spit out long strands of purple and green wire which snarled their way across the tabletop to the arch and then swarmed up the two metal legs like kudzu vines engulfing a building. A half-circle of small reddish lights studded the side of the arch at regular intervals. The lights blinked dimly and erratically. Between each light a different shape had been scratched in the metal with some sharp tool, all of them appearing to be a last-minute afterthought: “31”. “Edis”. “11”. Some kind of Chinese(?) symbol. “East”. A small fish-with-legs shape.

“Retire? I don’t want to retire. I quite like it down here, actually.”

She only half-heard his comment. Something was wrong with the arch. As she had said, it was ugly. Ugly and more than ugly. It almost seemed to physically grate at her eyeballs. Finally she realized what the problem was; the structure’s basic angles were displeasing. Like those old MC Escher prints which her dippy younger brother was so fond of plastering on his apartment walls, if you looked at just one part of it everything was fine, but if you looked at the whole...

She gave a little shudder and moved around the table another step or two. If anything, this made the vista before her worse, as if the arch was deliberately twisting itself around so it was always showing the viewer its worst, most sickening side. Even though its basic shape was that of a frown, Rita could swear the arch was somehow grinning at her, a pervert-in-a-raincoat grin.

She moved around the low table a little further and winced. The thing just kept getting more vomit-inducing. No longer an Escher scene, it now brought to mind a particularly fresh and grisly road accident, looming larger and larger in your windshield as you barreled towards it in your car. The closer you got, the more details you could pick out. Bits of glass scattered here, a severed appendage lying there...

Also much like a road accident, the twisted chunk of metal had a certain unhealthily compelling quality. No matter how much one part of your brain wanted to look away, another more primitive part insisted on staring, eyes wide and unblinking, eagerly drinking it all in so as to ferment it for a while in the black vats of the psyche and then cheerfully decant it and bubble it back up into later nightmares.

“That’s...” Rita had to swallow a couple of times before she could continue. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. “That’s the most... disgusting thing I’ve ever seen...”

“Really?” Bill if anything sounded pleased. He made another poke at the box he held. There was another click. “That’s interesting. Why don’t you come around here and see it from the best angle?”

“No!” Rita wrinkled her well-formed nose and had to fight off the urge to wretch. She tried to move away, but soles of her black shoes suddenly seemed stuck to the stained concrete floor of the workshop. A corner of her mind grumbled vaguely that it wouldn’t kill Bill to let the company janitors into the place once in a while...

“Oh, c’mon!” Bill suddenly bounded over to where she stood, trailing wires behind him, and took hold of her hand. There was no menace in his action; he was like a five-year old kid dragging his reluctant parent to look at something he had found mashed and dead on the sidewalk. Nevertheless startled, Rita stumbled after him, her feet ripping free, the folder spinning away and spewing its papery guts across creation.

And then Bill released her hand and they were standing at the front of the arch. (Rita immediately realized that this was most definitely the front of the thing...) All of the ugliness, all of the wrongness, were intensified a hundred-fold.

Along with all of the compulsion.

She stared for a long moment and both her hands slowly rose up to clutch at the front of her blouse. She realized that it wasn’t an arch at all on this side, but a hole, a hole tipped on edge. The tortured section of space framed by the bend of metal was moving, dropping away from them. It spun and ground and rumbled back and back and back, shrinking slowly away to a infinite microscopic pinpoint somewhere in the far cosmic distance.

The lights flared bright and steady, but she didn’t really see them.

She tried to pull her gaze back from that pinpoint and her vision jammed.

The hole was ringed with row after row of razor-sharp overlapping visual spikes, all pointing down towards the non-existent bottom. She couldn’t go back, only forward, down towards that tiny point of nothingness. She spoke in short, choked, bursts, her breasts heaving against the cotton of her bra. Her fingers clenched tighter.

“Bill. Help. I... I can’t look away.”

“Why should you want to look away?”

“It... it hurts. Please...”

“It hurts?” His voice sounded quite surprised. There was a pause, then... “You must be looking at it wrong. If you look at it in just the right way, I’m almost positive it will stop hurting.”

“I... I can’t...”

“Sure you can. Just try a little harder.” His voice was fading in an odd way; someone was turning down the volume on a radio... “Here, I’m probably distracting you. I’ll just be quiet. If you concentrate, I’ll bet you start looking at it the right way.”

“No!” she tried to scream the word, but it came out as a small soundless croak.

And then Bill’s voice was gone and she was alone with the hideous vista. Down. Down. Down.

Unable to do anything else, she stared and stared and stared. With a fresh wave of horror, she realized that the speck of nothingness down there at the end of forever was getting bigger. Crawling towards her like a tick homing in on a victim’s heat and blood. Slowly, ever so slowly, it moved from being a pinpoint to being a tiny circle and then...

It got bigger.

Bigger.

The size of a dime, the size of a quarter, the size of a saucer. A perfect circle of absolute nothingness, not even blackness, not even void or vacuum, at the center of her vision that stretched the surrounding reality towards it in long runny streaks. It grew fatter and fatter, feeding heartily on time and distance and memory. She had been staring at it for days now, for a year, for her entire life. She could feel vast rivers of her self pouring down into that icy burning maw, mindwater flowing down a gigantic drain. Soon there would be nothing left. Literally.

But then a stray thought whisped across her mind and somehow she scrabbled and hung onto it, pulled it back from the hole, wrapped her awareness around it as drowning man would cling to a life preserver suddenly landing next to him in frigid water.

Something that someone had told her, an endless eternity ago. Something about the way to look at the nothingness. There was a right way and there was a wrong way. She had to find the right way, and she had to find it now...

But how could she? There was no other way to look at it. She couldn’t back out. She could only...

She could only go forward. She could only let go and fall into that hole. Quit struggling and let it take her all the way down, all at once.

“Do it, Rita. Just let go.”

The voice was friendly and kind and she trusted it, but there was still one last moment of excruciating resistance before she did what it suggested.

She let go. The pit, the emptiness, the nothingness, swelled up around her in less than in instant, wrapping around and meeting itself again somewhere far, far in back of her head.

And in that same subatomic sliver of time it inverted itself, went from being a hole to being a

spike.

An Escher print both at once it all depended on how you looked at it.

An endless titanic mountain of a spike of diamond-tipped solidity

The polar opposite of nothing

a spike that came up and in forever and ever

a spike that stabbed itself

stabbed into her brain

stabbed without ever really withdrawing

again and again and again like a jackhammer

but faster oh so much faster

better so much better

deeper so much deeper

stabbed exactly into the middle of her brain

exactly where she liked to be stabbed

where she had been waiting for her whole life waiting for someone to touch

for someone to jam his shaft

the very core of her being

the pleasure the pleasure it was a pleasure was

a pleasure spike

again and again

faster and farther

deeper and bigger

every time again and againandagain

No no no not a spike

not a spike at all

not anymore too big too thick

too warm too delicious

it was a cock

fucking her brain her hot horny brain

making her brain wet and wide and open and eager

taking her brain directly to orgasm

filling her brain

filling it right to the brim filling it to overflowing

squishing her brain

pushing out the thoughts

steams and rivers and oceans of thoughts

all of the bad evil nasty tarry thoughts

thoughts that clotted up in vile clumps

that only got in the way of the cockspike kept it from going

deeper

and deeper and deeper and deeper

permanently shaping her hot horny brain in its own image

Someone was standing behind her now, undressing her, but it didn’t matter, gently but irresistibly pulling down her skirt and then her pantyhose. She shifted her supple hips, helping whoever it was, pushing her warm flesh into the callused hands. She stared wide-eyed at the glorious cock in her brain buried deep in her brain

and then he, yes, he was fucking her, sliding his hot thick presence into her ass, fucking both ends of her, both sides all sides of her mind and body all at once with the same penis again and again and again. She was spread out half-naked across a grimy table her rock-hard tits rubbing on the wood through her clothes her eyes staring at the shaft buried deep in her brain with her eager ass her dripping cunt up in the air so he could do a better job have a clear shot as both penises went deeper and deeper shaping and

molding mind and body coming closer now tips almost touching up from below down from above nothing in between now

nothing at all

no thoughts no resistance

just the pleasure

and his voice

his touch his everything

wrapped around the tips

imprinting deeply on her brain and her body and her everything

deep deeper

down at the very center

the center of not just her brain but everything

everythingeverythingeverth...

The tips touched.

“Ralphson? Hello?”

The blonde woman stepped into the room with distaste, her heels clicking on the concrete. She had to admit it did look a lot cleaner and more organized than the last time she’d been unable to avoid taking something down to the company’s resident tech-weirdo. Someone had even scrubbed and/or replaced the lights and applied a fresh coat of white paint to the walls. Still, after the next few days, this would hopefully be the absolute last time she ever had to come down here...

“Yes?” A second woman emerged from around a tall rack of computer equipment. She wore a perky gray jumpsuit, and her long black hair was pulled back in a neat braid. She held some disgusting-looking tool in her callused but shapely hand and there was a large stain of grease smeared across one of her high cheekbones, its color matching her hair.

“Oh. Hello, Rita.” One corner of Veronica’s mind got a definite thrill at seeing Little Miss Perfect banished down here to the (at least metaphorical) dirt and the filth of the basement, but another part found it genuinely creepy, especially after the stories she’d heard...

“Hello, Veronica.” The woman in the jumpsuit smiled. Yes, definitely creepy. There wasn’t the slightest hint of malice or spite in her former rival’s voice. “I’m sorry, Bill’s not here right now. Can I help you?”

“Yes. Here. Bill... Mr. Ralphson... said he needed to see these. The first reports about that new HTI product line.” She gingerly extended the pile of papers she was holding and Rita took them with her free hand.

“Oh, right! Thanks! I’ll be sure he gets them when he comes back. He just stepped out for a moment.” Rita turned and carefully placed the pile in a nearby paper tray, which was otherwise empty, its front neatly labeled with the large black word ‘IN’. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all. I’ll let you get back to... work.” Veronica turned to go. She paused. The little fool had let the bastards torpedo her career... what did it matter now? Especially now? She turned back, carefully forming her lips into a smile. “Rita? Actually, can I ask you something? A personal question?”

“If you want.” Rita’s returning smile continued to appear genuine.

“We both know that you and I were both on the same... career track?”

“Yes. Speaking of that, I hear that you’re already up for another promotion. Congratulations. Looks like you’ll finally crack the glass ceiling in this place.”

“I... uh... Thanks.” Veronica was thrown entirely off-balance for a moment, something that rarely happened. “Where did you hear that? I didn’t think anyone knew yet.”

“Bill hears all sorts of things, so naturally I hear them too. People tend to talk a lot more around someone they view as harmless.”

“Oh.” As she so often did, Veronica made an automatic mental note to later consider the possibilities and implications behind that little comment. She continued. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask you. I was talking to Martha the other day... Martha Zann? She works over in the shipping department?”

“Yes, of course I know her. Bill and I went to her and Paul’s wedding last month.”

“And she said that you actually volunteered to work down here?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Veronica stared.

“Why?”

Rita returned the slender blonde woman’s gaze for a moment, her head tilted thoughtfully to one side. Finally, she smiled again, more widely than before.

“You know, it would be easier if I just showed you then try to explain.” She hesitated. “And once Bill gets back, he can explain anything you still don’t understand. It probably won’t make quite as big an impression on you as it did on me. But... I think you’ll understand. And that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Veronica frowned cautiously, her brow crinkling above her blue eyes. Something about that smile... but still...

“Yes.”

Rita politely moved around her and closed the polished metal door to the workshop, clicking the well-oiled deadbolt home with a loud decisive snap.

“Right this way then.”

She led the puzzled and cautious Veronica around one of the large pieces of machinery that dominated the room.

On the other side of the metal hulk, there was a low battered wooden table.

Sitting in the middle of the table and grinning at her was a very, very deep hole.

And before Veronica quite realized what had happened, she had been pushed into it.

In the months and years that followed, as her quadrupled determination and drive pushed her ever further up the corporate ladder, Veronica was always very careful to make sure that Mr. Ralphson’s and Ms. Blakemore’s every slightest need and request were immediately and completely taken care of, that their slightest whim was catered to.

They were left strictly alone.

No one ever bothered them about inventory paperwork.

They got whatever they wanted, and they continued to make lots and lots of money for the company.

And if she had been especially diligent and clever in her duties, they’d even sometimes... sometimes... reward her by letting her remember who they truly were, who she truly was. They would grant their slave permission to make the holy pilgrimage to her Master and Mistress’ sumptuous palace and spend an entire glorious weekend groveling before them, feeling the bottomless spiralling pulse of their radiance and warmth rumble across her naked flesh in crashing all-consuming waves.

As she took care of their other, non-business needs.

And felt her Master’s cock thrusting inside her body, deep inside her body, and not just inside her brain, as it did every minute of every day.

The tips would touch.

At those moments, with the last biggest most mind-blowing orgasm about to break over her and once again explode her brain into smoking rubble, she able almost ... almost...to feel a stab of bitterness towards the dark-haired woman who stood always beside her master, towering over her, robed in purity and light and orgasms....

Why had that bitch been the one to be given the promotion?