The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Troy spotted her at the Tall Ships Festival, a platinum blonde shell, empty and completely fucked over. Normally, he wouldn’t spare her a second glance. Like Keith, he didn’t like picking up another man’s sloppy seconds, but beneath the slut’s emptiness, there was a glimmer of...something.

And Keith had him on a tight leash. Troy wasn’t in a position to be picky. Why not explore that glimmer, see if he could stretch his leash a bit, see if the slut could be remade into something Keith would appreciate?

So when Keith was suitably distracted by a mock battle, Troy sauntered up to her. She looked slightly stunned, like she wasn’t sure where she was. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, dipping gently into her mind.

She turned and pouted a bit, glossy pink lips parted just so. “I’m lost.”

Yes, yes she was. She didn’t know it, of course, but she’d been dumped. Troy recognized the signature in her mind. The asshole was local, and someday, his littering habit would get him in trouble. Hell, Keith could even be the agent who busted him.

Troy smiled. “What’s the matter? Get separated from your daddy?”

She giggled, clasped her hands behind her back, and sing-songed, “Maybe. You gonna offer me candy?”

“My daddy says it’s wrong to offer candy to strangers.”

She fell back into her pout. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not very nice.”

No, no it wasn’t, but Troy didn’t feel bad. She wasn’t really a person anymore, just a living doll programmed to try the ditzy slut routine, and if that didn’t work, the brazen minx routine, then the cum-hungry whore. Not much creativity there. No wonder the asshole got bored and wandered off in search of a new toy.

“Where’s your date, sweetheart?”

She licked her lips. “Why? You wanna be my date?”

“Depends. How many times have you been around the block?”

She scrunched her face up, and Troy could tell she was trying to decide if he was being mean or determining if she had enough experience to be worth his time. She decided on the latter and flashed him an eager, hungry smile. “Enough to show you something new.”

“I doubt it, sweetheart.” He could feel Keith watching him and risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Yep. Keith was giving him one of his patented glares. “You might want to head on home before you get in trouble.” He pushed the slut’s mind a bit, made it feel like a good idea.

“Sure.” She giggled again, and Troy was able to swipe her address from her mind with no effort.

Keith was still glaring at him when he got back. Troy grinned. “Sent her home. Figured I’d do my part to keep our parks clean.”

“Dawson would say you’re a pig.”

Dawson. Keith’s superior, and a crafty, crafty bitch given the way Keith acted whenever she handled him. Troy had only met her once, and drugged up and mindrolled, he hadn’t been in a position to remember much about her except for the cold, precise feel of her in his mind. It hadn’t been pleasant.

Keith’s expression hardened. “She’s holding me responsible for your actions. Don’t fuck up. It won’t be pretty.”

Troy knew how vast their power differential was, how easily Keith could crush him. Keith was the only reason Colleen Dawson let him mingle with the lesser (“normal” in Dawson’s lexicon) folks.

“Things are ugly enough as-is.” He flashed Keith a quick smirk and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Grab the past few minutes. You’ll see I was doing my civic duty.”

“Right. And I’m sure you’re about to ask me to call a reintegration team for the girl.”

“Nah. It’s your day off.”

“True.” Keith turned back to the mock battle. “Don’t wander off again.”

Patience wasn’t one of Troy’s virtues, but he’d developed a pretty good approximation of it under Keith’s control. It was two weeks before Troy could make use of the slut’s address. She lived near the Farmers’ Market, and because Keith was working a tricky case (and because Troy bribed him with the promise of homemade pasta sauce), he let Troy go to the market alone.

Keith would know he strayed off the path, but it was a nice day. Troy used it as an excuse to get off the bus three stops early and walk the rest of the way. How fortunate that the route took him right past the slut’s apartment building.

Fortune or luck or karma was on his side, because the slut was sitting at the top of the stoop. “Hey, sweetheart,” Troy said.

She blinked up at him, looking slightly stunned, then disappointed. “Hey yourself.”

“Waiting for someone?”

“Yeah.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. Troy dipped into her mind. She was waiting for the asshole, only she didn’t know who he was, why she was waiting, or what she should do if he never comes. Shit. Even after two weeks? The asshole really needed to learn how to clean up after himself.

Keith would ream him for what he was about to do, but hey, he’d leave the slut a little better off than how he found her. And he wouldn’t fuck her. That was Keith’s hard-line—no unauthorized sexual contact. As long as Troy followed that rule, Keith would be reasonable.

“You like strawberries, sweetheart?”

She perked up. “It’s my favorite flavor! That and banana.”

Of course. They always liked banana. Just like they always had blonde hair, huge tits, and cocksucker lips. Troy gave her a bland smile. Some people had no creativity. “Farmers’ Market’s going on. Come on. I’ll buy you a pint.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay!” She jumped off the stoop, tugged down her skirt, and hooked her arm through his. “What else are you going to do?”

“I’m going to buy tomatoes and basil and oregano, and if Kurlson’s has any of their ricotta, I’m going to snag some of that. Then I’m going to go home and cook dinner. Stuffed pasta shells. Homemade sauce.”

She leaned into him, her breast brushing against his arm. “Sounds yummy, but also like no fun. You should come home with me.”

He laughed. “Not going to happen, sweetheart.” Only because of Keith’s rules. Troy could smell her, and fuck if knowing how bad she wanted it didn’t make him a little hard.

“I give really good head.”

“Plenty of people do. Most of them give better conversation afterwards.”

“Awwww. You’re being mean.”

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong.”

“Hmmmph.” She backed off a bit. “What’s the point of conversation anyway?”

He fed her Keith’s flip answer. “It’s something to do during the refractory period.” Keith had a list of serious answers, but Troy thought half of them were bullshit, and the slut wasn’t ready to hear the other half.

He steered her away from the fruit vendors when they got to the market. Tomatoes first, then the herbs and cheese. He talked her through his recipe for pasta sauce, and she tried not to look too bored.

“It’s fun piecing things together in the kitchen.” They were at his favorite fruit vendor now. The Olsons grew the sweetest strawberries, tart blueberries, and perfect cherries. Troy selected some of each. “Take the berries. Tasty enough on their own, but if you pit the cherries, mix up a Champaign sauce, and toss them together with the strawberries and blueberries, you get an impressive fruit salad.” He pushed the slut’s mind a bit. “Top it with some fresh whipped cream, and it’s sure to win you a man.”

“Oh?” She tried to look coy as he handed her the berries. “Even you?”

He grinned. “Almost any man. See you around, sweetheart.”

The pasta was a hit. Troy’s little detour to play with the slut was not exactly a hit, but Keith was suspiciously mellow about it. All he did was frown and say, “Mind your manners.”

“That’s it?”

Keith shrugged. “What can I do? You knew how far you could push and didn’t toe past the line.” He leaned back and stretched out his legs under the table, a tiny smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “It would set back your rehabilitation if I changed the rules without informing you.”

“My rehabilitation. Right.”

“Dawson thinks you’re salvageable. That’s the only reason you’re allowed any unsupervised time.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard that. Usually about the time I decide it’s a very good idea to drop to my knees and suck your cock to express my gratitude.”

Keith’s smirk widened. “I wouldn’t object if you crawled under the table.”

Troy thought about it. Really thought about it, and it felt like a luxury. How long had it been since he’d been certain his thoughts were his own, not the product of Keith’s subtle manipulations? Even now, he wasn’t absolutely certain. Would Keith nudge him to slide down under the table? Or would he discourage that impulse to mess with his head?

Yeah, Keith would mess with him. But it still felt damn good to make a decision Keith wouldn’t like. “I think I’ll pass,” Troy said.

“A shame.” Keith shifted and rose, gathering up the plates. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you change your mind.”

“Yeah.” Troy glared at Keith’s back. “I bet you’d like that. A little action while you dry the dishes.”

“I wouldn’t object,” Keith said without turning. Troy could hear the smug smirk in the bastard’s tone.

Troy expected a wave of temptation to wash over him. That was how Keith worked. His normal way of pushing was to make what he wanted seem like something his target also desired. Oh, he could also make it very clear he was pushing, very clear that he could take such complete control, his target wouldn’t even be able to breathe without his approval, but Keith liked it when his targets wondered if their actions were their own or subtly orchestrated by Keith.

And Dawson thought Troy was the dangerous one.

All right. So yeah, he wasn’t nice. Hell, two encounters, and he hadn’t bothered learning the slut’s name. Something like that was easy enough to pluck from someone’s mind. Troy slouched in his seat. He was pretty sure Keith would have grabbed the slut’s name.

“Which brings up an interesting question,” Keith yelled over the running water. “Why haven’t you bothered with her name?”

Bastard was listening in on his thoughts. So he’d fucking think his answer. Troy glared at a knot on the table, a dark swirl in the light oak.

As she was, the slut didn’t really have a name. If she was still going by her pre-slut name, she wasn’t the same person. Hell, she wasn’t really a person now, just a collection of commands.

And if the asshole who made her a slut gave her a new name...well, given the asshole’s uncreative nature, the “new” name was based on the slut’s real name. Like taking Susan and making her Suzi. Why bother with Suzi? She wasn’t real.

Until he found what was real—until he found the Susan—there was no need to bother with names.

Keith didn’t respond right away. Troy listed to the clink of dishes in the sink but didn’t look up from the oh-so-fascinating knot in the table. From what he knew of Dawson, she wouldn’t approve—bothering with names was a sign of respect or something in her little world—and maybe he should be concerned he wasn’t adopting her way of thinking as a part of his rehabilitation, but Keith was his keeper, not that bitch.

“Well, you have gotten one thing right for Dawson’s way of thinking,” Keith said, leaning against the archway into the kitchen and drying his hands on a dish towel. “That girl isn’t the same person she was before she was made into that parody.”

“Fuck off.”

Keith chuckled. “I still wouldn’t object if you helped me with that.”

Troy didn’t plan his next meeting with the slut. He and Keith had a weekly excursion to Mallory’s, a cozy independent bookstore that somehow managed to thrive despite the Borders three miles away on Harlow and Alaska and the Barnes and Noble five miles away on Sixth. Troy wasn’t sure if he liked the store voluntarily, or if he liked it because Keith pushed him to. Either way, Mallory’s had an impressive selection of cookbooks.

And that’s where he found the slut. Troy drew up short. She was still wearing the same outfit from the Tall Ships Festival, and it actually looked like a costume now that she was holding a book in one hand and frowning down at it, her thumb pressed against her lower lip in concentration.

Troy recovered. “Hey, sweetheart. This is a surprise.”

She jumped and dropped the book. Troy knelt to retrieve it for her, getting a nice glimpse of her long, tone legs, tanned thighs. “Betty Crocker. A staple.”

“Do men really like that?” She took the book back and flipped it to one of the pictures in the back of a smiling 50’s housewife setting a platter on the table. “Women like that, I mean.”

The woman was hot. And the getup was...well, more to Keith’s taste than Troy’s, but Troy could get behind it if it meant getting some cunt.

So Troy almost said, “Fuck yeah,” but something in the slut’s expression stopped him.

Thoughtful. The slut looked thoughtful. Which meant she was starting to stretch herself beyond the asshole’s commands.

And that meant she deserved a little more than a flip answer. Troy shrugged. “Depends on the man. That,” he nodded down at the photograph, “is an ideal. Kind of like your current state.”

She frowned at him, clearly puzzled.

“You’re a walking wet dream. Porn star version. That woman? She’s the housewife version.”

“And...you like the housewife version?”

Keith, of course, chose that moment to saunter down the aisle. “Time to go.”

The slut looked from Troy to Keith. Comprehension blossomed across her face, and damn, that look suited her. Troy knew he wouldn’t like her realization, but still.

“That’s why you won’t come home with me! You’re gay!”

Troy rolled his eyes. Nope. He didn’t like her conclusion.

Keith smirked. “Close, but I’m sorry to say he won’t come home with you because you’re not my type.”

“Your type?”

All right. Puzzled was also a good look on the slut. She was trying to understand, really trying, instead of following a bad script.

“I’m possessive.” Keith slung an arm around Troy’s shoulders. “If I can’t play, neither can he.”

“Oh, but you’re hot. I’d totally do you. We could have a threesome!”

“Poor phrasing there, daddy,” Troy said, unable to restrain his smirk.

“You’re right, son. I should have said if I won’t play.”

The slut’s expression fell into a pout. “You’re making fun of me.”

“It’s too easy, sweetheart,” Troy said.

Her pout deepened. “That’s not nice.”

Keith removed his arm from around Troy’s shoulders. “Tell you what. Show me you’re capable of showing some initiative, and I’ll apologize for making fun.”

She licked her lips. “Initiative, huh?”

Keith flashed her a quick, patient smile. “Not that kind. The kind that required thought.”

She frowned and bit her lower lip. “I don’t...what do you...what should I do?”

“You? Think.” Keith pulled out his wallet and withdrew one of his personal cards, one that only had his first name and a throwaway email address. “And then let me know.”

“O...okay.” She took the card.

Uncertainty was a good look on the slut, too. Troy wanted her. Well, he wanted to peel away the slut and take the woman beneath.

Troy figured he wouldn’t see the slut again. Keith was picky about his playmates, and he hadn’t seemed too impressed by the slut. Too bad. She was starting to show some promise.

So he was surprised when Keith said, “Your little project is coming over to cook us dinner tonight.”

“What?”

“Your little project—you call her slut—showed some initiative and offered to cook us dinner. She’s angling to get fucked afterwards, I’m sure.”

Troy blinked at Keith. “What’s on the dinner menu?”

“The recipe is called Chinese Five Spice Chicken.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Should be.” Keith’s expression gave nothing away.

“So...if she’s angling to get fucked...”

“You’ll mind your manners like a good little boy.”

“Oh, of course, daddy.”

Keith smirked. “Keep talking like that. It makes me hard.”

“Anything to get you in the mood.”

“In that case, go slip into something pretty to greet our guest.”

Keith’s suggestion ended up being good advice. The slut was...well, she had certainly changed. She’d dyed her hair auburn—her natural color, perhaps?—had it pulled back in a twist, and her dress! She was keeping to a theme there—tight and black with a scarlet dragon pattern, Mandarin collar, thigh-high slit in the right leg. Black stockings, red, fuck-me heels.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Troy stepped aside to let her in. “That’s not a bad look for you.”

The teasing look she gave him had just a hint of coldness. “Think it will impress your daddy?”

“If it doesn’t, he’s not human. I hear you’ll be cooking for us tonight.”

“Well, there is a saying the way to a man’s cock is through his stomach.” She breezed past him and headed towards the kitchen.

“That’s his heart, sweetheart!” Troy called out after her.

“I don’t think she thinks there’s a difference,” Keith said, startling Troy.

“Sneaking up isn’t nice.”

Keith shrugged. “You’d have heard me if you hadn’t been so busy ogling her.” He leaned against the door and looked towards the kitchen. The slut was already busy setting everything out on the counter. “Go keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t undercook the chicken and poison us.”

“And keep my hands to myself?”

“Fondle the chicken if you want, but your little project is still off-limits.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Troy flipped him a sloppy salute and sauntered into the kitchen.

The slut looked up. “Here to supervise?”

“Yeah.”

She pouted. “You don’t think I can work the oven?”

“Not entirely sure you can chop the onions, sweetheart. They might make you cry, and the your mascara will run. Face may get all splotchy, too.”

“Whereas you will just get the splotchy face.”

Troy grinned. “Didn’t have time to put on my face before you came.” He propped his elbows on the counter. “Show me the recipe, sweetheart. Don’t think it’s one I’ve come across yet.”

The slut cooked a surprisingly good chicken. Troy could tell Keith was impressed. He even started flirting back at the slut. That should have made Troy happy, but instead, he felt nervous.

So nervous that he didn’t shoot back a smart-ass comment when Keith ordered “sonny” to do the dishes. So nervous that he didn’t try to eavesdrop on Keith’s after-dinner conversation with the slut, though her laughter—actual laughter, not a high-pitched giggle—cut over the running water.

Troy emerged from the kitchen to see the slut straddling Keith on the couch. Her hair was loose, Keith’s hands were twined in it, and the kiss they were sharing...damn, it was hot watching someone top Keith.

She broke the kiss. “Going to join us?”

“Haven’t been given permission yet, sweetheart.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a hungry, predatory smile slicing across her face. “Get over here.”

“You’re not my boss. Have to wait for permission from daddy.” Then Troy got a good look at Keith and sucked in a sharp breath.

The slut had mindrolled him. Gotten in and wiped him blank. Troy was a bit surprised it made him angry. Keith was a bastard, but he wasn’t a prick about keeping Troy in line.

And really, if anyone was going to fuck with Keith’s mind, it was going to be him. Troy snarled. “Get off him, you little cunt.”

“Oh, I’m a cunt now.” The slut laughed and rose from Keith’s lap, swinging her leg so Troy got a mouth-watering glimpse of her thigh, pale and perfect above the lacy top of her stockings.

“And here,” she said, stalking towards him, “I thought I was just a slut.”

She slid into his mind, cold and precise, a signature Troy recognized instantly. “Dawson.”

Her smile widened. “You remember.”

“Keith’s your boy. Why mess with him?”

“Oh, he’s fine.” She snapped her fingers, and Keith’s eyes came back into focus. “Your little sonny boy was worried about you.”

Keith shook his head, his expression still a bit dazed. “He was worried he’d lost his chance to roll me. Still,” he rose, a little unsteady, “that was a nasty trick.”

“You lowered your guard,” Dawson said. “Consider it a combat lesson.”

Troy curled his hands into fists. “And what should I consider this?”

Dawson turned her attention back to him. “An exam. You passed.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes, that is the reward for passing.” She fingered the buttons at her collar. “It is what you want, isn’t it?”

Troy spoke through clenched teeth. “Does it matter?”

“In general, yes. In this specific instance, no.” She pushed him backwards, forcing him to sit on the loveseat.

Then she was straddling him, grinding against him. The friction made him hard. Her fingers in his mind made him dizzy, made him reach up and unfasten the buttons of her dress. Then he was nuzzling her breasts, tender, reverent, and he knew that was Dawson’s influence because he tended to take a hands-only approach with breasts.

Keith came up behind her, reached around and cupped Dawson’s breasts, teased her nipples. Troy found himself licking Keith’s fingers, too.

Dawson made a pleased little purr. “Such attentive boys.”

Keith pressed her forward. “It’s better if you don’t talk.”

“Just fuck?” She laughed and arched back. “Not my style.” She reached down and squeezed Troy through his jeans. “How long has it been since you’ve been allowed to get this in a woman?”

“Maybe,” Troy breathed, “I’ve been saving myself for you, bitch.”

“It makes a girl all tingly.” She rose momentarily to shuck off her dress, then resumed her position, her fingers working Troy’s zipper.

He moaned when she took him in hand. It had been too long since he’d had a woman, and watching Keith lean down to kiss the back of her neck was...well, Troy could understand the appeal of threesomes.

Dawson positioned herself, teasing him with the promise of her cunt, letting his cock’s head slide between her lips, so slick and wet. Troy leaned back, let her run with her desires, and really, it wasn’t so bad. He’d probably be angry afterwards, but for now...

Now there was the feel of her, hot and tight at wet, milking his cock. Dawson leaned forward, fisted her hands in his hair and tugged his head back to nip at his neck. And then she gasped, clenched tight around him, relaxed, and Troy felt Keith’s cock slide against his.

Double penetration? He wouldn’t have figured Dawson would go for that, but fuck, Troy wasn’t complaining.

Dawson bit down on his collarbone. Troy yelped, jerked his hips, slid in deeper, and Keith’s cock slid against his. Dawson gasped, came, and it pushed Troy over the edge.

He didn’t remember Dawson tucking him back in his pants, her getting dressed, her leaving. When he came back to himself, Dawson was gone, and Keith was sitting on the couch, his expression blank and guarded.

“Damn,” Troy said. He still felt rubbery, and he couldn’t tell if it was in his body or his mind.

“I’m allowed to take you out on some assignments. Low-level stuff. Investigation mostly. No clean-ups or takedowns yet. You’ll need to pass more exams before Dawson will allow you to roll someone.”

“Anyone ever bother giving Dawson an ethics exam?”

Keith gave him a small smile. “She just targets people like us, leaves the innocents alone. It gives her the moral high ground.”

“According to her.”

“She’s also king of the hill. Her word is law as far as we’re concerned.” Keith rose. “Keep minding your manners. She may not personally administer the next test, but that doesn’t mean she won’t have intimate knowledge of the details.”

“You knew I’d notice her at the Tall Ships Festival.”

Keith paused in the doorway. “Yes.”

“Did you make me fall for her slut routine?”

“No. One of her talents is mimicking people. She modeled herself after the last girl you rolled.”

Well, in Dawson’s mind, there was a certain justice in that. Troy barked out a quick, bitter laugh. It made Keith look back at him, quizzical.

“I figured you’d be the agent who took down the asshole who created the slut. Turns out I was right.”

Keith smiled at that. “And now you’re a reformed asshole. It would make such a touching Hollywood story.”

“Only if I get the girl in the end.” Troy leaned back and closed his eyes. He’d take Keith’s advice and mind his manners. Mind his manners and bide his time until he had Dawson and Keith completely and totally fooled. He was weaker than them, but no so weak that a surprise attack would definitely fail. He smiled. He’d take Dawson down.