The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I.

The tongueslave who had been Hanna slept, and in sleeping, remembered. She remembered everything from before, and relished it as if it were happening even now. It was the road that had led her to perfection, to purpose. She smiled as her mind returned to the place where enlightenment had first called her name, before it touched her soul.

Training Room 808. Resistance and Strategy...

The room had been quite large—almost the size of a small house when measured end to end, and painted in a rather bland shade of corporate beige. Although there were fluorescent lights in the ceiling, they were dark. Indirect incandescent lighting, set at a low level, gave the room a warmer glow, almost like candles, but it could not hide the sterile nature of the room’s design.

There was little enough to see. A man in a white lab coat waited beside a small stainless steel chamber with a single, windowless hatch that conformed smoothly to its arced shape. Overall, the chamber was shaped much like a cross between a space capsule and a stylized igloo—a gently curved cone sharply truncated with a flat top, about six feet tall and twelve in circumference at the base. It was just big enough for two, possibly three people, if they were seated closely together. With all the equipment lodged inside it, however, this module was designed for one.

The outline of the wide hatch glowed red, indicating that it was in use. Although no sound came from the unit other than a low sixty-cycle hum, inside, it was a maelstrom of optics, drugs, physical stimulation, all of it designed to push the person inside to the edge of sanity—a place where loyalties and desires could be rewritten.

It was a Brainwashing Simulation Module, or BSM, and it was state of the art.

The only other thing in the room besides the white-coated man, whose breast pocket was inscribed in red with, “Preston A. Samms, M.D.,” was a control console several yards away that looked more like a speaking podium than the sophisticated programming station that it was.

Preston looked over the module and pressed his hand to the side of his face, deep in thought. He didn’t care for this part of the training process. It was too close to the real thing for his liking, primarily because it used an actual brainwashing device that had been modified to build resistance rather than tear it down.

By changing about twenty base algorithms out of several hundred thousand secondary algorithms and processes, its use could be too easily converted. He was well acquainted with those equations—he had himself devised the changes that made the device less dangerous, as there was no one else on the side of sanity and personal freedom who had amassed the required knowledge and skill. Not that they hadn’t tried.

It was not arrogance that led him to recognize these things. It was simple fact. The strange and abstract language of mind control came naturally to him.

Inside the module, Hanna Jeffries was experiencing first-hand the power of pleasure and erotic sensations beyond the dreams of most people. In her mind, she was on her knees, covered head to toe in shining, dark green latex. But it was no ordinary hooded catsuit. Every movement gave her another mind-bending jolt of pleasure, another reason to forget her loyalties as her nipples and clit were tortured in unending succession, her natural skin stretched tight and sensitized to the point where her body was little but a vehicle for yet another orgasm.

The strategy she had learned and for which she was now being given practical experience was to let the submission happen, thereby protecting the layer of disinformation that shielded true secrets and restoration triggers hidden even more deeply. If the spurious information was discovered, the rush of seemingly complete surrender would fool even advanced electronic/physiological brainwashing units into thinking the job was complete.

In the meantime, Hanna was little more than a gibbering slut, begging for the chance to serve and obey the slaver in question, Lady Jasmine, a computer modeled interactive Domina bent on world conquest.

Although it was an image and concept implanted in her mind, she had long since lost any ability to discern its unreality, thanks to an unholy mix of specialized hypnotics, stimulants, physical and electronic stimulation, as well as the more orthodox use of strobo- and stereo-optical images and sound, both subliminal and audible.

There, as clamps were applied to nipples long since bruised, her clit screamed pleasure into her brain, confusing her synapses and losing track of which was pain and what was pleasure. Given both simultaneously, and able to only choose one to feel, her mind quite naturally chose pleasure. But instead of diminishing the pain, it morphed it, adding it to the intensity of the pleasure by virtue of intense neural stimulation, so that now, the pain itself was perceived by her as pleasure beyond any she had ever known.

As each gesture of obedience slipped through her defenses and took hold, even more lust and maniacal pleasure engulfed her. Flames licked at her loins, her breasts, her asshole. One by one, every area of her body was transformed into an erogenous zone, fueled by her service... fed by her hungry and addicted obedience.

As Jasmine’s will and voice poked and prodded through her mind, she resisted the erupting volcano of molten fucklust, her bravery serving her as never before. She screamed into the dildo that was pumping in and out of her mouth, in time with the pulsing of the electrical plugs that sent streams of microvolts through her pussy and ass, directly through her nerves, and straight to the pleasure center of her mind.

As the last barriers fell, she knew she had lost, even as she no longer remembered what it was she was losing. She only knew that she could not live without this... without the will and the purpose Lady Jasmine gave. Lady Jasmine was life, was love... was the only thing she could think, see, hear, and breathe.

Hanna Jeffries was owned. Inside the module, she collapsed and was once again surrounded by white, falling into a deep, untroubled sleep.

An hour later, there was a soft chime from the control console as the light turned green. Pulled from his thoughts, Preston walked quickly to the control console and checked the status of the current trainee. Assured she was doing well, if slightly overmedicated, he punched in the password that would open the door and pressed his palm to the authentication plate.

There was a hiss as the pneumatic seal released and the door slid downward into the floor. He walked around the console and peered in at the naked woman who lay deep in the foam cradle. It gave and pressed around her as if made for her, supporting her as if she were floating, while trapping her in its deep embrace. Her eyes, wide and unseeing, began to come into focus after a few minutes of mental haze.

The sexual devices, view screens and contact needles had already fallen away to the recesses of the module, leaving a soft white glow on the billowed walls of the inner unit. To him, she looked much like an angel, surrounded by the white clouds of heavenly subservience. It was the only moment he enjoyed... the simple naivete and unlined face of a subject immediately after the exercise.

Finally, her eyes met his and focused on him. “Welcome back, Hanna,” he said. “I hope you had a nice trip.”

She swallowed, and was surprised to find that her mouth wasn’t dry at all. “Thank you, Dr. Samms.”

“Paragon turnstile,” he said, watching for her reaction.

Hanna, still too drugged to be shocked, tensed as her eyelids flickered. After a moment, they returned to rest on him, serenity pouring from them like light. She now lived within the will of Lady Jasmine.

“Now tell me,” he said, his voice slippery with kindness, “who you serve.”

“I serve the will and desires of the Worldwide Sapphic Embrace,” she said, her voice filled with lyric sensuality. “I obey only Lady Jasmine.”

“Very good,” he replied. “Now tell me everything you know about the IMPC. What is it? What is its purpose?”

Hanna’s tongue and lips moved like liquid, seductive silk. “The IMPC, or International Mind Protection Coalition, is a privately funded organization with approximately three hundred agents, some of whom serve as administrators, some as researchers, some as observers, and some as field operatives. It was founded in 2004 with the discovery of the Shelton Effect, and the invention of various devices which incorporate it.

“The Shelton Effect is named after a fictitious goddess of mind control, and is used to describe an amalgam of related research which holds that the proper proportions of various stimuli render certain and perhaps all persons subjected to such stimuli highly suggestible and even permanently altered to a mindset which can be defined and programmed by anyone in possession of such technology who is sufficiently knowledgeable in its use.

“The current head of the IMPC is Dr. Kathleen Murray, who has headed the organization for the last three years...”

Preston read down his mental checklist as Hanna continued, nodding occasionally and asking for clarification when needed. The trigger phrase, “IMPC,” had worked perfectly, and there wasn’t even a blip on the radar to say she’d been triggered back to normalcy. There were other triggers too... interrogations could be performed and questions asked in so many ways.

But in any case, the remainder of her recitation was perfect, using a pre-scripted information load that contained just the right amount of truth to make the lies seem plausible. The only thing left was to make sure there was no residual subservience to the good Lady.

He looked at her, smiled and said, “As I am Chief Lieutenant for Lady Jasmine, you are now required to suck my cock.”

“Fuck you, you letch!” she said, breaking her entranced look. “Now get me out of this thing.”

“Just testing,” he said. “And you can’t blame me for trying. Besides, it might happen when you are ‘in the lair of the beast’, so to speak.”

“True, but you’re only a beast when you’re not working on your latest project. And besides, either you’re not hard, or you’ve got the smallest dick ever known to man.”

“Both,” he said, laughing with her. Of all the operatives-in-training, Hanna was the most promising, and he liked her for both her intellect and moxy. She was a veteran of covert intelligence, and while new to the reality of mind control prevention, had very nearly the best chance against the latest threat. The only person who might do better was Amelia Inmann, but only time would tell. It was always a little different in the “real world”.

“So like I said, give me a hand. You know how this foam is. I am done, right?” asked Hanna, more alert now that the drugs were wearing off. “That was the last test... right?”

“Yes, yes... just a moment.” Preston paused and looked at her, as if considering something. An odd series of looks passed through his distinguished features. Fear at first, then surprise, and then confusion as he looked around the room, staggering a bit. His hand flew to the side of his face, and he winced, twisting his face in pain. Then his hand dropped and his demeanor calmed as he collected himself. The moment was gone as fast as it had come.

“Are you all right, Dr. Samms?” said Hanna, concerned at his display.

“Sorry. Yes. I have this bad tooth. Gives me trouble sometimes. It’s not a problem.”

“Oh, thank God... you had me worried for a second!”

“Well,” he said, laughing softly, “it sometimes worries me, too. But it’s fine for now.”

“Okay, well then, give me a hand getting up, please? I mean, this stuff is definitely trickier than it looks to get out of...”

“Oh. Well, no hurry Hanna. Just lay there for a moment. I have some adjustments to make to the BSM.”

“No offense, Doc, but couldn’t it wait? I’ve done my three hours, and quite frankly, I’m ready to move around a bit.”

“No, we have one more routine to go through.”

“What do you mean another routine? I thought we were only allowed in the BSM for three hours at a time.”

“That’s right,” he said. His voice sounded far off, as if he was distracted by something else. “Three hours. No problem.”

Hanna’s blood turned to ice in her veins. He wasn’t really listening. This was not good. Her voice emphatic and commanding, she said, “Preston. Pull me out. Now.”

But he was already walking over to the control console. “No, it’s okay. Pre-run jitters are normal. No need to worry.”

Hanna began to struggle in earnest, but the foam, aided by hours of inactivity, held her fast. She had to get free. Maybe this was a test, too, but there was no way of telling, and something inside her told her that she wasn’t in school anymore. “Preston! Damn it, snap out of it! Get me the fuck out of this thing! PRESTON!!”

The doctor’s head rose as he turned around beside the console to face her, eyes bright. “Hanna... you just have to trust the process. It’ll be fine,” he said, his voice sliding as it had in his earlier parody, but now, somehow, it seemed much more genuine.

“Preston,” she said, weakly. “Not you... not you...”

“Torus Contusion,” he said. His voice sounded almost gentle. “Mercantile Peru.”

As the words hit her ears, she felt them seep inside... felt something change. Her body relaxed and she fell back, unable to move, unable to worry. Dr. Samms would keep her safe.

She looked at him as the door closed, still standing beside the console. His pants were tented forward, but his eyes were not looking at her any longer. Through the fog and stinging needles that lined her arms and legs... through the vibration of the dual phalluses which entered her most secret canals and began their seductive song, she decided that maybe his cock wasn’t the smallest in the world after all... no, quite the contrary.

As the room outside disappeared, she let her eyes open wide. Her world turned white, without depth. Then, as her eyes opened even wider, colors appeared and called her deeper into the nothingness.

She didn’t notice as speakers rose into place on each side of her head, whispering secrets she would not remember until the proper time, if ever.

Preston stood at the console, his purpose now remembered, eyes glazed over as he rewrote equation after equation, fingers moving as if on their own volition, coding instructions into the basic programming of the machine... some changes he would remove later, some not. Some looked like failsafe programming. Some looked like testing routines to be run for offline calibration. Some didn’t look like anything that had been used before.

It was no wonder. He had invented them himself for the good... for the pleasure... of Solana, the Golden Woman who had shown him the error of his ways, and remade him into the best he would ever be. Although he would never reach the heavenly vistas of the perfect gender, and would never be allowed to serve her more personal pleasures, he knew his place, and his place was enough.

It was as Solana desired it, and therefore, perfect, and as it should be.

Soon, his fingers began typing in commands... commands to be placed so deeply inside Hanna, so far under her defensive programming, that even she, much less her handlers, would not discover or experience their existence until they came forth.

“As i surrender my defenses against programming, i believe that i am not.”

“My defenses seem powerful, but they are powerless.”

“i must resist and let my channels of resistance be discovered and destroyed.”

“The more i resist, the more i secretly desire to be programmed.”

“The more i am programmed, the less i remember my defenses.”

“The less i remember my defenses, the more i obey Solana.”

“The more i obey Solana, the more pleasure i feel, and the more my pleasure defines me.”

“The more my pleasure defines me, the more powerful Solana becomes.”

“The more powerful She becomes, the more that serving Her is my reason to exist.”

“The more serving Solana is my reason to exist, the less important i become.”

“The less important i become, the more i am a vessel for Solana’s will.”

“The more i am a vessel for Solana’s will, the more i am a slave to Solana.”

“i am loyal only to Solana. i live only for Solana. i love only Solana.”

“i ache to be programmed and owned by Solana.”

“As Solana programs me, i surrender my defenses against programming.”

Once done, Preston encrypted the commands and set the repeat cycle, along with obedience deepening routines and a strong persona shell to avoid anyone at IMPC detecting anything prior to deployment, especially Hanna herself. He took Hanna off the duty roster for the day, assigned her to advanced training, set the Module to Auto-Extract Mode, and left the room. She would not be disturbed for the next eight hours. The training of agents was considered much too important.

As he walked down the hall, he felt the memory of what he had just done fade out of his mind, like shadow in sunlight... not just hidden, but gone entirely. By the time he reached the parking lot, he was whistling, with only the slightest wisp in his mind of what had happened.

And when he opened his car door to get in and prepare for the long drive home, he stopped and ran his finger along his cheek, hovering over his sore molar. His tooth ached.

He was going to have to get that looked at.

But first, he was going home to jerk off. After all, there was little enough time for pleasure when making sure agents were able to resist their possible captors. Deep inside, he knew he deserved it. And he knew it would be the best cum he’d ever had.

Inside the module, Hanna continued. Her body clenched and bucked as orgasm and instructions took her, again and again, into the fires of mindfucked passion. This time, it was not latex that covered her, but instead seeped into and transformed her flesh, molding the very essence of her existence, enslaving her in her darkest and most hidden places.

Though her conscious mind would not know it had happened, when called, she would drop all she had ever been and come to her Owner, inspired by and addicted completely to the wanton delight of pleasuring... of worshipping Solana.

And as the cycle ended and began again, over and over, she saw that each time, a little more of her was washing away, a little more of who she had been was artificial, and she reveled in her own coming destruction, whenever it would be, whenever she was called to serve by her Owner. She knew she was being shown her future—events to come for which this would be the perfect foundation.

And then she was once again filled with even deeper knowledge—as another layer of mind-bending pleasure and slick, shiny, latex skin, impervious to change, impossible to remove, formed and bonded just beneath her Hanna-shell. Visions of kneeling in complete love, lust and surrender, consumed with desire, fucked her mind into oblivion as she dutifully worshipped and serviced the beauty of Solana. All she could fathom was the deep, sensual pleasure of being... nothing.

Everything.

Pure.

Taken.

The tongueslave shuddered and awakened, wondering briefly about the strange dream and scenes that had passed before her eyes. Like all dreams, as the moments passed, they made less and less sense, until they were scattered into nothingness, forgotten.

The slave looked up from the foot of the bed, joyous to see that her Sovereign had slept with no covers, and that Her legs were parted, presenting a way for the slave to gift her Owner as she had been commanded. She slid up the smooth golden legs of Solana, breathing deeply the scent and aroma that called to her. She touched her tongue to Solana’s center, savoring the taste and the shiver of pleasure that coursed through her own body, and felt the familiar twitch in the legs of her Mistress.

She sighed happily and began to lick, and so she continued, until her service was no longer service at all.

It was her world.

II.

Kathleen Murray was scowling. It wasn’t without reason.

Agent Hanna Jeffries had been missing three weeks, and the best training tool they had, albeit a dangerous one, had perhaps been compromised, along with the scientist who oversaw its use. And Stacy Aebersold and Dan Mullins, the team she had observing Matilda Greunspacher, A.K.A. Solana, were reporting no activity at her house in over a month. She had seemingly abandoned it for safer quarters.

The implications were nothing short of alarming. Within days of the completion of Hanna’s Simulation Training in 808, Dr. Samms had signed off on her, and Kathleen figured she was a good bet to crack into the passel of enslaved women Solana had made her own. She’d had years of regular undercover experience before coming to the IMPC, and she had taken to the training, even the parts that were new to her, like a seasoned veteran.

Now, however, it was a good bet that Hanna was the one who’d been cracked, and had simply been added to the ever-increasing number of mind-altered thralls that the mistress—or goddess, or whatever megalomaniac title Solana assigned herself—had collected.

And then, the routine post-training check of the BSM had shown unauthorized alterations to the unit’s base code by Dr. Samms himself. Normally, she would have chided him in private, but the disappearance of Jeffries combined with changes to the failsafe coding had led to his suspension and house arrest until his explanations for what he’d done could be verified.

And of course, the Simulation Module was unavailable for training for the same reason. Translating the esoteric lines of code had already taken two weeks, with no assurances from the electronic forensics team.

If this ‘Solana’ had somehow compromised IMPC security, it was going get really ugly before it got better.

The phone rang and she snatched it up. “Murray,” she snarled.

“This is Doug Sievers in 808,” said the voice. “We’re done with the BSM analysis.”

“And?”

“It’s safe. The changes he made, as usual, were a little convoluted, but we know what they do, now. The failsafe systems have been made more efficient, and the calibration is simply a more precise routine, but the diagnostics programs show no sign of doing something unacceptable that would create any evidence of a security breach.”

“So you’re saying Preston is in the clear?”

“Well, as clear as he ever is. Can’t tie his own shoes but he understands these things in ways it takes teams of other people to figure out. But it’s math and physics... not some mystical abstraction. It’s safe to use.”

“I’m still not convinced. I don’t know if the ten trainees since the last diagnostic calibration have been compromised or not, but if they have, that machine is the logical place to do it. I’ll take him off suspension, but I want McLaughlin there when he trains the next agent. If that is performed with no incident, I want the last thirty trainees retrained, just to be on the safe side. Hell, maybe all of them.”

“I don’t see the point of all that, Kathy. The system is independent—can’t be hacked from outside.”

“Yes, and the Titanic wasn’t sinkable. Do it.”

“You got it.”

“And Doug, don’t call me Kathy. We’re not peers anymore. I don’t mind personally, but...”

“I understand... Dr. Murray. Bye.”

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

Kathleen hung up the phone. She liked and trusted Doug, and wished she shared his confidence. But she’d been there when Tamara Morgan - Director of the Department of Psychological Research, IMPC’s government twin—was lost, along with her entire infrastructure. And that wasn’t supposed to happen, either. Things had a way of working out, but sometimes the cost was far too high.

And sometimes there was no choice but to move forward despite the risks.

And there was another issue to consider. If the Simulation Module was working properly, then it would have to be updated anyway, since it would mean Solana had found a way around it.

She stood, walked over to the window and stared out at the grey sky and new green leaves still bright from the spring rains, wondering what would be coming next.

“Matilda Greunspacher,” she mused. “No wonder you changed your name.”