The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

People were shocked when Christopher Bradshaw, owner of Bradshaw Chemicals, sold his company to the highest bidder. They were even more surprised when he moved to the city and opened a soup kitchen. People started to revise their opinion of him. Perhaps he had not sanctioned the animal testing his company was caught doing early in its career. Perhaps he had not realized how many people got laid off as a result when his company bought Allen Pharmaceuticals. Perhaps the lawsuits against him were mysteriously dropped for perfectly legitimate reasons.

Amy Salazaar was not so easily persuaded. She could feel that there was something wrong about the soup kitchen, and she was determined to figure out exactly what, even if it meant dressing like a homeless person. She just hoped the story would be good enough to get the attention of the local newspaper. Amy wanted nothing more than to be a newspaper reporter, but was always told she needed experience… which she could not get without a job.

Amy got her most ragged clothes and dragged them around in the dirt in her yard. She also put some on her face after she washed off her make-up. Once she was finally satisfied she looked like a hobo, she went to admire her handiwork in her full length mirror. She was impressed with her work. She looked… plain. Amy was not conceited, but she was realistic, and reality was that she was HOT. Even though it was almost October, her brunette hair was still slightly bleached from all the time at the beach. She had been told her entire life her eyes were the most beautiful and captivating brown imaginable. Her disguise made her pert C cup breasts almost unnoticeable, exactly as she had intended. Usually she wore something short to show off her spectacular legs, but her disguise covered them perfectly. With one last smudge of dirt on the back of her dainty, manicured hand, she went off the get the story of her life.

The evening was mostly uneventful. She showed up, waited in line, got her food, and sat down. The only difference between this kitchen and other ones she had volunteered at was the food quality. The food here was actually good. The only thing even remotely suspicious was the fact the Christopher Bradshaw was openly staring at the female homeless people. Unfortunately for Amy, there is no law against being creepy. Amy was just beginning to lose hope for her story when a voice came over the PA system no doubt paid for with the Bradshaw fortune.

“Hello everybody. It’s Chris again. It’s time to pick our nightly winner. As always, the winner will be provided with a complete cleanup, business attire, and an interview with a company we match you with. Today’s winner is… drum roll please… seat 42! You’re the lucky winner! Meet me at the counter to claim your prize!”

Amy turned around and saw that she was in seat 44. She felt a bit disappointed as she watched the winner leave her untouched food on the table and basically skip her way to the counter, and then into a back room. Amy knew in her gut that the “prize” was where her story was.

A few minutes later, Chris Bradshaw came back on the PA and said, “Hey everyone. It’s Chris again. The bad news is our previous winner declined our services and left with nothing but a full stomach.” At that Amy glanced at the full tray at seat 42 and started to feel uncomfortable. “The good news is that means we will be choosing a different winner! Our new winner is… seat 44! Meet me at the counter to claim your prize!”

For a few seconds Amy just sat there in shock. Finally, the urgings of the people around her brought her back to reality and she slowly walked up to the counter. Suddenly she did not feel like this was such a great idea. She was seriously considering running out of there as fast as possible.

“Congratulations! Again I’m Chris, and let me assure you, this is the ideal opportunity to get back on your feet. Follow me,” he said, and walked out from behind the counter and led her to a side door. As he led her down the hall he continued his obviously practiced monologue, “In the first stage, you will be asked to fill out a questionnaire that will help us determine what job suits you best. Then, while we arrange three or four interviews for you tomorrow, we will basically give you a make over: bath, manicure and pedicure, haircut, and of course, the free uniform for whatever job we match you to.”

He stopped in front of a door. “This is your first stop. Now I’ll warn you so it doesn’t surprise you: the test is entirely automated as we have found that people give more honest answers while alone. Just answer the questions aloud,” he said with a smile. The smile broadened. “And off the record, sorry if it starts to smell in there. A few weeks ago we had a rat problem. We took care of that and now we have a dead rat problem, if you get my drift. That’s the real reason the previous winner left. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Amy said. Already she had learned they had rat problems. Maybe she could get a story out of this after all.

“She speaks!” Chris said with a smile. “Yes, it should be worth it indeed.” His smile changed to something smile-shaped that was too menacing to be a smile.

“Umm… I’ll go take that test now.”

“Okay, see you once you’re done.”

With that he left and Amy entered the most utilitarian room she had ever seen. One chair, and one table. That was it. No windows, no paint. Just a single vent. As soon as she seated herself she heard a metallic voice. “Welcome. Please answer the following questions as honestly as possible. Some of the questions will be questions about your preferences. Some will be word problems to determine your ability in the different subject areas. For maximum accuracy, try to just relax and not think about the questions or answers. Let your subconscious do the work.”

The instructions seemed odd, but she had to go on with it if she was going to get her story. “What is your name?”

“Katie Frei,” she said, quickly improvising a pseudonym. She started to smell something rancid. It must be those dead rats. No, she had smelled dead rats before and this smelled more like-

The computer interrupted her train of thought. “What is you dream job?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a newspaper reporter,” she said. Now why did she reveal that? She must have answered truthfully because she was caught off guard daydreaming about that terrible smell of dead rats. But she had decided it was not rats, had she not? The smell was more akin to the smell her ex got after working hard; only much stronger. Just thinking about him made her pussy tingle.

“What was your favorite subject in school?” the metallic voice continued, oblivious to her internal monologue.

“Art,” she responded before she even thought about it. At first she thought maybe she should not answer quickly, but she was supposed to just relax and let her subconscious do all the work, right? Besides, that way she could concentrate on the overwhelming smell. The tingling in her pussy intensified.

“If two trains leave cities that are 120 miles apart, and they each travel at 60 miles per hour, when will they meet?”

“One hour from departure,” she said, and smiled. Math had always been her weak point, and she had figured that out pretty quickly. For some reason, telling the truth felt good, and she could not help but reach up and tweak her nipple.

She was so busy enjoying the smell she only noticed she had been asked the next question because she answered it. “60,” she said, and briefly wondered why she said that. She realized that if she could not remember the question she must have been letting her subconscious do the work, just like she was supposed to. That thought brought tingles of pleasure to her breast and pussy.

In another room, Chris was staring intently at a screen that showed a pretty, grubby woman sitting in a chair. Every time she answered a question he would ask a new one into the microphone in front of him and the computer would robotocize his voice and send it to his victim’s room. Even though he had been doing it for months, he never got tired of watching his “winner” slowly slide into submission. This one, however, he watched even more intently than most. Chris Bradshaw did not become one of the richest men in the world by being stupid or unobservant. As soon as this woman had entered his soup kitchen, he could tell she was different. First, she carried herself with confidence. She carried herself like someone with a purpose, not someone desperate. That was enough to get his attention. Next, she was staring at him with only a very poor attempt at subtlety. And the last, and probably most damning piece of evidence against her, was her hands. They were dirty, yes, but a dirty manicure is still a manicure, and homeless people tend to spend their money on food or drugs, not manicures.

While savoring her crumbling resistance, he could also hardly wait until it was over so he could find out who sent her. Was it the government?

That could be exciting. But then again, she was not very good. One would hope the government could do better than this bumbling waif. More likely, she was a reporter. He had gotten two or three of those already. Even the ones sent by major news sources were dealt with easy enough.

He watched as she slowly went deeper and deeper into her trance, and again congratulated himself on his discovery and decision to retire and abuse that discovery. With the formula for SSD-4 and the ability to make it out of household chemicals, he could have any woman he wanted while it was still in her system. Combine that with the subliminal commands he played in the background of the “interview” and the less subtle questions, and he could have any woman he wanted for the rest of her life.

After a few minutes of answering questions Amy could no longer detect the smell, so she started to come out of the trance she had put herself in.

“What was your favorite subject in school?” the metallic voice droned on. She briefly thought that with the Bradshaw fortune in they should be able to afford a sound system without the weird, rolling feedback she could hear in the background.

“Home Ec,” she responded. Where did that come from? Art was her favorite subject.

“Have you lied in this test so far?”

“No,” she said. Oh. Well if she had not lied, then Home Ec must have been her favorite subject.

“If a whore charges $15 for a blowjob, $30 for sex, and $40 anal, and is hired for a five man orgy, how much will she make if everyone uses all her holes except the two men who don’t like anal?”

As she pondered this, her hands slowly worked their way from her side back up to her erect nipples. “The money is the pimp’s job,” she finally answered. Right?

“And why is it the pimp’s job?”

“Because whores are too stupid to think numbers good,” she said. Why had she said that? These questions seemed irrelevant, and more importantly, inappropriate. But her answer was true enough. If whores were smart they would not be whores.

“What was your worst subject in school?” the machine asked.

“Math,” she said. She was glad the computer finally asked her a question she did not worry about afterward.

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know. I was never really good with numbers,” she said. Two easy ones in a row! She was so pleased with herself she let her right hand work its way down her stomach to her swollen, dripping snatch.

“So you are too stupid to think numbers good?” the metallic voice asked, throwing her own words back at her.

She suddenly stopped stimulating herself, as though she could tell something important was about to happen. She paused a moment and tried to figure out exactly what, but the answer was obvious. “Yes.”

“And whores are too stupid to think numbers good?”

Pause. “Yes.”

“Are you a whore?”

Another pause. The combination of the SSD-4, the subliminals, her own stimulating hands, and the convoluted questioning was getting to her, but not yet. “No,” she said firmly.

In a different room in the same building, Chris smiled to himself. The greater the initial resistance, the deeper the resulting slavery. He loved the irony of it. Had his little “Katie” (not that he believed that was her name) succumbed and agreed she was a whore, a whore is what she would have been. Sleeping with strangers for money. Once she had made that concession, he could have done nothing more to her, though he had tried on previous girls. As it was, he could take her deeper yet.

He leaned to the microphone and pressed the button to activate it. “Why are you not a whore?” he asked her.

It took her a moment to answer, and he could not tell if she was thinking or was simply lost to the sensation of the hand that was now plunging in and out of her pussy. “I don’t sell myself for money,” she finally answered.

“Do you like sex?” he asked.

She quickly answered, “No.”

“Why do you have three fingers in yourself?” he asked.

She stopped frigging herself. “I… I guess I do like sex,” she said.

Apparently this satisfied her because she slowly resumed her ministrations, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes.

“What is a woman who likes sex but doesn’t charge money?” he asked.

“A slut,” she said.

His questions no longer seemed to distress her and he hoped her remaining resistance did not crumble at his next question. “Are you a slut?”

For a full minute she did not respond, she just kept pummeling her sopping cunt and kneading her breasts. Finally she whispered, “No,” but did not stop pleasuring herself.

Chris released the button to the microphone and whooped with joy. Whores are fun, and sex-starved sluts have their appeal, but he was really hoping this one would be strong enough to mold into a true slave. Especially after the previous “winner” had crumbled so quickly.

“Why are you not a slut?” he asked.

“Sluts have sex as much as possible with different men. I’ve only had sex five times in my entire life, and only with two people,” she answered quickly since she had already reasoned it out.

“So you like sex, but you are not a whore or a slut?”

Chris frowned as she shook her head and sat up straighter. “What is that feedback? Can you do something about it?”

Chris reached over and tuned down the background subliminals. Close call. She had pulled herself out of her trance so he would have to switch his approach to avoid arousing (no pun intended) her suspicion.

“Oh, let’s give her a fun kink,” he said to himself, and leaned to the microphone. “Do you like to expose yourself in public?”

“No,” she said.

“Do you like to expose yourself in public places?”

“No,” she said.

“Are you in a public place?”

“…Yes,” she replied.

“Are you enjoying yourself?

“…Yes.”

“Do you like exposing yourself in public places?”

“Yes,” she said with a little more confidence.

“Have you ever exposed yourself in public?”

“No,” she said.

Chris paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. This is the risky part. How he handles this will make the difference between a devoted sex slave and a broken, drooling idiot.

“If you would enjoy it, why have you never exposed yourself in public?” he asked.

After a few moments she replied, “I don’t know.”

“Has anyone ever commanded you to expose yourself in public?” he asked over the microphone.

“No,” she replied.

“And never have, even though you would enjoy it,” he said.

“Right.”

“So you never exposed yourself even though you would enjoy it because no one commanded you to?”

He watched her for any signs of a serious internal struggle so he could try to break in and salvage what’s left of her to sell to a bimbo fetishist, but she sat there and calmly fingered herself and alternately tweaked her nipples. “Right,” she finally said.

Chris leaned back in his chair and smiled. “So you do things that bring you pleasure, but only if commanded to do so.”

“Yes.”

“What is a slave?”

“Someone who does whatever their master says,” she answered.

“Even if they must deprive themselves of pleasure to do so?”

“Yes.”

“Just like you have done by never exposing yourself in public.”

“Yes.”

“Are you a slave?”

“Yes.”

Chris smiled. She had not even hesitated before giving her answer. Now he would just verbalize the subliminals to bring them to her consciousness. “So your only priority is obeying your Master.”

“Yes.”

“Is your pleasure important?” he asked.

“No,” she replied.

At this point she was obviously nearing orgasm, so he skipped ahead a little. “When do slaves orgasm?”

“Only with Master’s permission.”

“What is obedience?”

“Bliss”

“What if Master’s desires are not the same as your desires?”

“Master’s desires ARE my desires.”

“When can Master fuck you in one of your holes?”

“Master can fuck me in any of my holes whenever he wants.”

“If you are horny, do you ask Master for sex?”

“No. If I am horny, I obey Master so he might reward my service with his seed.”

“What is your name?”

“Whatever Master wants to call me.”

Chris stood, satisfied that she was ready, and gave one more command. “Prepare to meet your Master, Slave Katie.” He chuckled to himself. From now on, the name she gave him would be her true name. He stepped out into the hall and walked to the room “Katie” was in.

He paused for a moment, willing his hard on down. This was always the hardest part for him. The enslavement always got him really horny, but he knew from experience that it was worth it to get them cleaned up before breaking them in. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Slave Katie, I am your Master.” The look of unquenchable love and lust in her eyes brought his hard on back in an instant. “The first rule is you are to never harm me or any of my acquaintances, or through inaction allow them to come to harm. The second rule is you are to obey any command I or anyone I have told you to obey gives unless it conflicts with the first rule. The fourth rule is that you are never to harm yourself, or through inaction allow harm to happen to you, unless it conflicts with the first or second rule.” Chris smiled to himself again. He never got over the irony of making his slaves conform to Asimov’s Laws of Robotics. “Also, if you ever have any thoughts of escape, run them by me first so I can tell you if it’s a solid plan or just the stupid ramblings of an unworthy slave,” he said. He loved those rare cases where a slave actually summoned the resistance to desire escape and brought him her plans seriously expecting constructive criticism. “Undress and follow me,” he said, and walked out the door. She did so.

“Are you ready for the next step of your rehabilitation, Katie?” he asked as they walked down the hall.

“Yes, Master.”

“Does it bother you to be naked in this hall where strangers might see you?

“Master commanded me to undress,” she said, as though the answer was obvious.

“Yes, but other than the command, does it bother you?” he said.

“I enjoy exposing myself in public,” she said.

“Excellent. Here is the make over room,” he said. He opened the door and walked inside. “Have a seat,” he commanded with a gesture to a modified dentist chair. The chair had straps, but he would not have to use them on Katie, as she was a full slave. This step is distinctly unenjoyable and sluts and whores tended to struggle a bit. The chair was on a conveyor belt that led through a door into another room.

“Yes, Master,” she replied. She sat in the chair and patiently waited for her next command.

“Please close your eyes and remain seated until I command otherwise regardless of what you feel,” he said. He had phrased it like a request, but her Master’s desires ARE her desires.

Chris pushed a button, the door opened and the conveyor belt began moving. The door closed, and he moved to a back hall so he could watch her through the glass. He loved the way pressurized water could make a woman’s flesh jiggle. They did not enjoy it quite as much, but it certainly kept him hard. Once she was clean, the conveyor belt started up and took her to the next room. Two suction cup-like things on hoses lowered onto her breasts, and one lowered to her pussy. They suctioned themselves on and began their work. Chris watched, enraptured. This was the part that some people struggled on, but he knew Katie would not. Pain was not his kink, but writhing women certainly turned him on. He could tell the moment the liquid hit her most private areas, as she suddenly stiffened and stared straight ahead. The process is painful, but every single person exposed to HSD-37 was thankful for it afterward. It is quite effective at making the exposed skin thousands of times more sensitive, but it was discontinued due to its extreme addictiveness. Luckily Chris snagged the formula before he sold his company. It was very useful on his victims. It’s difficult to run away when the simple act of putting on a shirt is enough to bring you almost to orgasm. Once she had been exposed long enough, the liquid was sucked back up into the tubes and the coverings were retracted. The conveyor belt took her into the final room. Chris did not make her wait.

He entered the room and paused for a moment to admire her figure. She was gorgeous. “How was that?” Chris asked.

“I enjoy obeying Master’s commands,” she said.

“But what did you think of it?” he asked.

She paused for a moment to consider. “It was unpleasant, Master.” Chris was impressed with how well this one was adapting to her new situation. She had to think about it to realize her own desires.

“So I’m told, but I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results,” as he spoke he walked over to where she was seated and when he finished his sentence he reached over and pinched both of her nipples. Like being tickled, arousal is always stronger when someone else does it, and this was already stronger than ever and unexpected as well, so she tensed up and clenched her teeth in the most powerful orgasm of her life. She was so carried away that all that escaped her throat was a low moaning. The increased sensitivity was not necessary in slaves, but an enthusiastic slave is so much more enjoyable that one that is merely willing.

After a full minute she finally stopped cumming and looked at Chris.

“Master, I love you,” she said in a quiet voice. Chris just stared in shock. He had produced over twenty slaves and over a hundred whores and sluts, but this was a first. He wanted to find out what brought it on, but the blood usually pumping through his brain was otherwise occupied.

“I must confess that I told you a bit of a fib when I told you that business attire would be the last phase. You see, you got your business attire before you even left the interview room. Go lay on the bed,” he said and pointed to the conveniently located bed in the corner of the room. She, of course, did so without hesitation and he quickly disrobed and followed her.

He liked it when his girls did some dirty talking, so when he got close to the bed he stopped. “Are you horny, Katie?” he asked, even though her thrusting hips and sopping cunt answered him clearer than any words could.

“Yes, Master,” she said breathily.

“Tell me what you want,” he said and waited.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, though she never stopped panting and thrusting. “Master, I want whatever you want,” she said.

He almost came on the spot. “Well aren’t you just full of firsts. How about this: talk dirty,” he said.

She smiled, her confusion abated. “Oh Master please fuck me. I need your cock in my cunt more than anything I’ve ever wanted. Just touch me Master; I want to feel you on my skin. I’m hornier than I’ve ever been before,” she panted.

“Who am I to deny a damsel in distress?” he said and positioned himself at her gates.

Katie stopped her dirty talk and looked into his eyes with a look of desperation and whispered, “Please…”

Chris slammed his entire length into her. She was no virgin and she was so wet it wasn’t a problem. He just held himself deep inside her, enjoying her contractions as she orgasmed from his entry.

He finally started very slowly thrusting in and out of her. Even with all the girls he had taken he never got tired of it. Every one seemed different. Katie kept eye contact with him the entire time she thrusted back and muttered things like “Oh… so good” and “Yessss”. At this point her brain was no doubt almost not functioning she was so overwhelmed with pleasure. He decided to push her the rest of the way over and started kneading her firm breasts. She began to orgasm again, and he picked up the pace. After a few moments she stopped orgasming and Chris picked up the pace yet again until he was almost violently thrusting in his newest slave. He could feel the tip of his cock touch her cervix on the especially hard thrusts, and a few moments of that sensation was enough to send him over the edge. Even though she had just cum, the moment the first jet hit her she started orgasming again, and it seemed to renew with each blast, and it seemed to both of them that there were hundreds of them.

Finally, Chris rolled off of her to bask in post-orgasmic bliss. Katie snuggled up to him and whispered in his ear, “I love you so much.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that…”