The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We keep what we know to ourselves, by mutual agreement. It doesn’t change anything even a bit, but it makes reality a little easier to face. No, that’s not true. It hides the reality and makes things more comfortable. There are few comforts here, and small, so we take what we can get.

It’s easy enough to figure out, of course. He does the same things to Ashley and Kayla, with a few variations, and I guess he does them to me too. The soreness tells me as much, and the taste. But why dwell on it? I’m powerless whenever he decides he wants me to be.

The new arrival is different. I don’t know why. It scares me.

He dabbed at his inner lip with a tissue, wincing and taking away a spot of blood. He grinned, but his teeth against the cut quickly stung and made him think better of it. All just as well. This one was different from the others, perfect for the new method. He got hard just thinking about it.

She was sedated now, which made it easier to move her, but she still resisted. Two orderlies had to keep her in a strong and safe grip. She frequently tried to lash out, but she was clearly fog-headed and unable to balance or exert herself too much. It was fun in its own way to have the girl semi-conscious, but a turn-off compared to what he had in mind. He wondered in passing what the other young ladies would think of it all.

When the party of four arrived in the main bloc—the orderlies, the girl and the Director—one orderly unlocked a barred cell while the other roughly tossed the girl in. The door slammed, and the men turned to leave. The girl lay her side, head on the floor, too dizzy to climb up on the cot provided for her.

“Sleep it off, bitch,” she heard behind her. The Director’s voice. She defied, keeping her eyes open until he lost patience and left. Then she passed out.

It’s confusing. This new girl doesn’t fit his type at all. The rest of us are rather tall and voluptuous, but she’s small and very slender, almost bony, but with an athletic air. She’s also angry. Ever since the drugs wore off she’s been yelling at us, trying to get us to rebel. Has he put her under yet? Doesn’t she understand we can’t? There’s no way. I’m unconscious when I leave this cell, and I don’t regain consciousness until I come back and the door is locked behind me.

They’ve dressed her differently, too. Kayla, Ashley and I are always clothed in comfortable sweats when we’re not in service. The underwear is unusual, made up by winding swaths of soft cloth around our breasts and pelvises. Kayla’s clothes are white, which sets off her black skin very nicely, I think. Ashley’s are black, which just makes her look paler, but I guess that’s what he wants. Mine are charcoal grey, so maybe he likes grey against Korean skin. But the clothes are the same, aside from color. The new girl is also white, with loads of freckles and bright red hair, and she’s wearing what looks like a prisoner’s orange jumpsuit. It’s usually cold in the cell bloc, and when she stands up I can see the shape of her nipples pressing through the jumpsuit, so I guess she’s not wearing a bra. Just strange.

We’ve tried to explain to her that there’s no point in fighting. We don’t like being here either but we know what our limits are. He has all the power. She won’t accept this.

The bloc was full now. Four cells arranged at the four corners of a room, with each occupant able to see the other three. No privacy, that was part of the system. The Director smiled an almost invisible smile.

The old model had been effective enough on the first three. They had already been docile types, and he was happy to fuck their brains out without their being aware of it. Take the girl out, do what you will, send her back and let the drugs wear off. The others would let her know, when she truly woke up. She had complied with every request, a blank stare accompanying many a happy memory for him. The other two knew they had done the same dozens of times, and would do it again. But he was a man of varied tastes.

After all, with mindless fuckdolls the only intellectual pleasure for him was their helplessness after the drugs, in their cells. He liked that they knew what he did, and that they were helpless to stop it. Something about their decision not even to try was sexy, but something was also flat. Hence Jillian. The new spice in his life, though she scarcely knew it yet. The other three would exlain to her, he was sure, just how things worked there. She would hate it passionately—far more so than they ever could, their brains too softened by too many sessions—but would take some solace in the idea that she would never experience the offenses, that she would be in a walking trance, unaware. Nicole, that holdover from his short lived Asian fettish, was still articulate despite the cumulative effects of the drug, and she would explain this all to Jillian.

She would be wrong. Sweetly wrong.

I don’t understand why it’s so different with her. So very different.

The Director came in today without orderlies. That meant it was time for a session. We all wondered if the new girl, Jillian, would be the one. It would be better for her to do it sooner, so she could understand for herself that there’s no pain. No feeling at all. Sure enough, he walked up to her cell.

With the three of us he always goes through the same routine. He pushes a button that dispenses a cup of water on the inside, with the drug in it. We all tried to resist at first, but we would receive no food or drink other than the cup, and soon there was no choice but to drink it or die of thirst. Then the world would go grey, and we would wake up back in the cell. I’m not sure I even remember what it’s like to be outside, though I know my body has been out many times.

This time there was no water. Perhaps he expected her to die rather than drink. Maybe she would. Instead he pulled out what looked like a small gun. He kept his distance from the bars. I think he’s afraid of her.

“I think it’s time we got properly acquainted” he said, calmly, flatly. s “Does it matter that I won’t be awake, you necrophile piece of shit?” She said it equally calmly. Perhaps she didn’t want to show fear.

He frowned. “That’s hardly fair, dear. A necrophile seeks sexual congress with the dead.” He turned his head to the girl in grey, but kept talking to the one in the jumpsuit. “Nicole has performed any number of fascinating sexual acts of which a corpse would be quite incapable, haven’t you, Nicole?” The grey girl blushed.

“But dead behind the eyes. That’s what they tell me, maggot. You like dead puppets to do as you say. You want a body with strings attached. Real women aren’t good enough? Or maybe you’re just afraid of eyes that look back at you.”

He closed his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. We’ll have none of that. You will be quite awake.”

“Then I’ll bite that sorry dick right off.”

He shrugged nachalantly, then shot what looked like a tiny dart at her, right through the jumpsuit. Her eyes kept darting, and she kept frowning. Had it not worked?

“Stand up straight with your hands behind your back, dear. That’s good.” He opened the door and stepped in.

She got a broad, terrifying smile. “Come closer. You think you can take me in a fair fight? Is your stupid little drug working?” She looked positively triumphant.

The Director walked straight up to her as she continued to taunt. After another few seconds he interrupted. “If you were planning to attack me, why haven’t you done so?” he asked. A look of confusion began to creep onto her face. “I asked you a question, dear. Why are you still standing with your hands behind your back? Do you know? I thought not. Come, follow me if you please. Keep your hands where they are, and immobile.” She walked out after him, looking more and more confused.

“Stand that way no matter what I do. Oh, and do not speak, dear.” He turned around to face her and immediately reached his left hand down between her legs. There he grabbed, and started to rub her vigorously through the jumpsuit. Her face showed undisguised horror, but she made no sound and stood her place.

He leaned forward, and muttered just loud enough for the others to hear. “You enjoy this.” She started to emit a quiet moaning sound as he continued to rub, and not long after the color of the fabric at her crotch began to darken with moisture. He continued, gradually increasing his speed and pressure until it looked like her knees would buckle despite the order to stand up straight. Then he stopped abruptly.

“Come back into your cell with me. Quietly, please.” Without a word she followed him back into the cell, he groin still wet from the stimulation. “Now, what was it you were saying to me? I think it had to do with my penis. Tell me what it was,” he said, the final words in a harsh, commanding tone.

Her voice in response was almost perfectly flat, but it trembled slightly. “I said I would bite it off, you piece of shit.”

He looked her square in the eyes, and whispered so that it echoed throughout the bloc. “As you can plainly see, I do like it very much when they look back at me.” His voice was still steady, but I could tell he was getting excited. “It gives me a, well, a different sort of pleasure. We really ought to relieve that, shouldn’t we? Don’t answer that,” he added, seemingly uninterested in her answer. “Lie down on your back and let your hands lie flat at your sides. Good.”

He unzipped his trousers, leaving the button and belt in place, and with some difficulty pulled out his erect penis. He knelt over her chest, pulling up her head with one hand into an uncomfortable position. “Take this into your mouth,” he commanded. “But no biting please,” came a smiling afterthought. “I know you’ve done this before, and you know how. Make it last, make it good, and enjoy every second of it.”

The other girls gaped as Jillian, still wearing her jumpsuit soaked at the crotch, fellated the Director for almost ten minutes, stopping now and again when it seemed he was on the edge of orgasm. He soon put his second hand on her head rocked it back and forth, seeming to use her compliant mouth as a sex toy as he moved it up and down his shaft. Thus kept from controling the act and unable to prolong it, she simply kept her mouth in place and her teeth away as he finally came, shouting with release and falling over sideways as his legs weakened. He had released most of his semen before falling off, but there was a thin streak on her left cheak, brushed by her red hair.

He got up, procured a piece of bathroom tissue from the cell’s latrine, and tidied himself up. Then he tucked away his now flacid penis and zipped up. He sauntered out of the cell, locking the door behind him.

“This will take about a minute to take full effect” he said, and shot her with a second dart. He walked out of the room.

She lay on the ground for that minute, unable to take any action since she had received orders to stay there and had yet to hear any new countermanding orders. Then, suddenly, she sat up and screamed. She screamed again and again, semen dripping out of her mouth as she shrieked in rage and sadness. After what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes, she became too tired and her throat too sore. She lay down on her side as she had when first brought in, and wept quietly. She had been awake the whole time.