The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Armand Meinred walked to the Doctor’s lounge with a frown showing his frustration. As he pushed the door open he stopped and turned, letting it close behind him as he walked back to the Nurses Station located in the center of the ring of rooms.

“Helen,” he asked, “have we even found out who the woman in 220 West is yet?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, Doctor. Her name is Susan Witte. Her sister called in a little bit ago after calling hospitals all over the city. We all got lucky on that one.”

“Yes. Anything else on her?” He allowed himself a little smile. At least they had some information to go on, now.

“She’s allergic to penicillin, bee stings and tree pollen. No known history of drug abuse or trouble, other than how and where the police found her.”

“That’s enough trouble for anyone, I think. Page me overhead if anything comes up. I’m going down to the library.”

“Of course. Oh, and Dr. Meinred?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck with her.”

“We’re all going to need that, Helen. A lot of it.”

Once he got to the library, he sat down and turned to the Internet. While he waited for his search engine to come up, he thought back over the cases that were beginning to leave him shaken at a professional level. He’d never been one for conspiracy theories and rumors that were half-innuendo, but over the last year he’d been faced with several cases of apparent cult-worship that seemed to border on complete loss of reality.

He typed in some keywords. The only articles he cold find were the typical “I was a teenage sex slave” stories amid obvious fantasies presented as “true” stories. It would have been entertaining reading had he not met these young women—women seemingly oblivious to their surroundings and who would only respond to female voices with the words “Yes, Mistress, I obey,” and “No Mistress, I obey always.”

That interspersed with their adventures into self-pleasure were enough to have them sent in for mental observation. But they were just the start of a growing list of women—a list that had become quite long over the last year.

It wasn’t a case of individual delusion anymore. So far, nothing had worked for those brought in, and all of them now lived in their own little worlds, obedient to some inner calling. One by one they had been declared incurable, and all that could be done was to make them comfortable, hoping for a spontaneous recovery.

Yet with each new arrival Dr. Meinred was sure that he was closer to one of them pulling out of it—each new woman was another chance at breaking the spell and perhaps helping all those who had come before. It was becoming an obsession to him. He laughed under his breath. An obsession over an obsession of possession.

Even so, this was more profound than the clinical brainwashing he’d read about over the years. This was wholesale reorientation, complete absorption of the individual mind into the slave/Owner concept. It was more than a role. It was who these women were.

He barely noticed that someone had come in and sat down; it was a common place for research, after all.

“Wild stuff, eh, Doc?”

He turned in surprise at the voice of the woman who had spoken. She was quite stone-faced, with a dark blue suit and neatly set hair.

“Excuse me?” he answered.

“Wild stuff. Brainwashing. Mind control.”

“Young lady, it’s rude to read over someone’s shoulder,” he huffed, perturbed at the continuing interruption.

“Yes it is. And I wasn’t. I was assuming, Dr. Meinred.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but you have me at a disadvantage...”

“Sorry. Habit. Constance Hankins, Special Agent for the Department of Psychological Research.”

“Ah. Well, Ms. Hankins, according to the Internet, your agency has quite the nasty reputation.”

“Call me Connie. Well, I’m sure it’s deserved. If we went around debunking your theories, you wouldn’t have much use for us, either.”

“Well said. And Dr. Meinred will have to do for now, if you don’t mind. I assume you were looking for me.”

“Well, yes, Doctor. We are not just in the business of being skeptics. We are in the business of investigating possible instances of real mind control.”

“Really.” Under other circumstances, Connie’s help might have been a relief, but one thing he didn’t need was some low-level government lackey screwing around with his patients. He’d run into this before with other well-meaning but totally ineffectual and damaging prosecutors of the mentally distressed.

“I’m not some flunky with a badge, Doctor,” she said, answering the question that rested just behind his lips. “I’m an MD with a specialization in the physiological manifestations and alterations of psychological conditioning. Having looked over your cases, your patients fit the profile. I’m not interested in arresting your patients. I’m interested in making sure you don’t have more.”

“You looked through my files?” he whispered, his voice harsh enough that he would have been screaming outside the confines of the Medical Library.

“Would you have just shown them to me?” she asked. There was no emotion in her voice, except perhaps understanding laced with a pinch of implied apology. “If you thought you could help someone as strongly as I do, you would probably do the same.”

“Perhaps, but you could have asked first. There’s always a chance...”

“...that you would have hidden everything away. Really, would you have let me see everything? Anything?”

“No,” he said, deciding he had nothing to lose by telling the truth.

“I’ve been dealing with this cult for nearly two years, Doctor. I know the damage they can do. They operate in cells. We get rid of one group and a new one pops up, complete with Mistress. These Dominas have quite a network built up. No one seems to ever get free, even with assistance. In truth, one of your patients is an agent we sent in to infiltrate this group. She’s as lost as the rest of them. I have a vested interest in getting her back to normal... both for information and because she’s my friend.

“I’m not interested in prosecuting anyone in your care. I’m interested in saving these women, and in ending the scourge that has made them victims. Can you help me? Can I help you?

“I’d rather you volunteer,” Connie added. Her expression hadn’t change, but her veiled threat didn’t go unnoticed.

“I see. I suppose I have no choice,” he grumbled.

“You do, Doctor. Just not the ones you’d like,” she said.

Dr. Meinred sat back in his chair and considered. He seemed to be painted into a corner.

“I’ll need your credentials and verification, and I will have to be the lead on this, and I’ll be the one to make any changes in patient care. Everything concerning the welfare of my patients will go through me,” he said. “Anything less and you’ll just have to take them away.”

“Agreed. I’m glad. We’d hate to lose your experience and expertise,” said Connie, smiling for the first time.

Something about her smile made Dr. Meinred a bit more uneasy about it. Behind the facade of cordiality, he felt like he was looking into the face of someone standing at the lever of a guillotine.

“Look here, here, and here. Almost no activity. That’s the problem. All reasoning has been either blocked out or assigned to other areas of the brain. Wow! Look at the increase of electro-magnetic activity in the pleasure centers, Armand.”

Despite his initial reservations, Connie had turned out to be not only professional, but brilliant. As she showed him her latest findings, he had to admit to himself that he might never have taken this direction with his research.

“Who are we looking at?” he asked.

“Jennifer Taylor. College student. Very bright, when her brain isn’t half shut down.”

“Uh huh,” he said. He was wondering what other bright futures had been cut short by whoever it was that was doing this.

“And here’s your latest, Susan Witte. I think we may have gotten lucky. Notice that the activity is diminished, but not completely absent. There is a possibility we could resurrect her normal thought processes without too much relative difficulty.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But what about the other women?”

“I’m an optimist. I’m hoping that if we can ‘cure’ Susan, we can perhaps learn enough about the process to find effective treatment for the others.”

It was optimistic, Armand knew. But it was good to have an upbeat way of thinking around. In addition, their combined progress was staggering, at least when compared to his progress up to a few weeks ago, when Connie had entered the picture. It was hard not to be optimistic. She really was an expert on these phenomena.

“Give me a few days and I’ll have some equipment brought in, with your approval, of course. I’d like to begin the process of cerebral stimulation as soon as possible.”

“Hmm. Let’s go to my office and look over what you plan to do. It would be good to make some progress, though, so I don’t have any initial objection.”

“Great. I’m ready to get away from charts and photos anyway,” said Connie. “I’ll be along as soon as I get a cup of coffee.”

“Okay. If it’s not to burned, you might bring me a cup, too,” he said.

“Fine. Oh, and one last thing. What sayeth the Good Doctor?”

Armand straightened and turned to face Connie. “The Good Doctor is an obedient Doctor,” he answered, his voice now void of emotion.

“Good boy. Begin your obedience exercises. Recite your mission.”

Armand slowly unbuckled and dropped his pants. His cock sprang forward, obedient to the words of his Controller. He grabbed it in his fist and began to stroke it, his left hand pulling down hard on his balls as his mouth began to speak.

“I had no idea how empty my life was. Then came Constance Hankins. She has shown me purpose and enlightenment. I owe her everything.”

“Yes, you do, Armand. Continue.”

“My own research ideas are pitiful and lazy. I pretend to defend them, but I always give into her Superior Female intellect. When I do, I get a jolt of pleasure so strong that it only makes me less and less able to disobey. The less I disobey the more pleasure I feel. The more I obey the happier I am. The happier I am, the less I am able to disobey. I follow this spiral without thinking. It is my life.”

“Oh, you have learned so well, you old fart. And what else?”

“Once my work for her is done I am resigning. I am satisfied. I have no more work to do. Constance will fade from memory within a week of my resignation. I will never think of her again. But while I am able to remember, I am her toy, puppet, slave, amusement. It is the most fulfilling career I could have ever dreamed.”

“Yes, and what are you, really?”

“I am a cock that thinks. I am a penis. I am constantly erect for Constance because she wishes it. I have no life of my own. My cock-life is as the cock of Constance.”

“And when you are awake?”

“All of this applies, though my conscious mind cannot possibly remember any of it. It believes it is in control.”

“Good little cock-boy. Cum, cock. Seal and close.”

With those words, Armand let out a large howl and let go of his aching balls, catching his cum in his hand as his right hand pistoned with impossible speed.. With a look of complete bliss he brought it to his mouth and cleaned his hand off with his tongue, savoring every drop of his cum.

He pulled his pants back on, sipped and buttoned them, buckled his belt, and said, “Yes? What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You said you had one last thing,” he said, sounding a bit impatient.

“Oh, nothing,” she said.

In truth, he had already answered.

Connie looked at the angelic face of Susan Witte. It was more than just a description of her innate beauty—the Cerebral Stimulator had induced a yellow-white glow around the young woman’s head. So far, there had been no change, but it was still early in the procedure.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress. I obey.” answered Susan, as she always answered.

“Good,” The irony that there was no other possible answer was not lost on her. It didn’t matter. She had a duty to perform. She had a sister Agent to save.

She turned up the intensity by another 20%.

“Still with me?”

Susan’s eyelids fluttered. “Yes... Mistress. I—I obey...”

Connie perked up as she noticed a change. “No, Susan, I’m Constance. Constance. Do you hear me at all?”

Susan began to sweat, the beads visible on her forehead as the machine stimulated her brain, forcing atrophied connections closed. Her lips twitched, and then her entire body seemed to relax. She almost looked as if she was smiling. “Yes, Mistress Constance. I obey.”

Connie laughed. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She began to turn up the intensity again when a rather nasty thought occurred to her.

“Who do you obey?” she asked.

“Mistress Constance,” said Susan.

“Who would you do anything for?”

“Mistress Constance.”

“And who exactly is Mistress Constance?”

Susan’s eyes closed and then opened, looking directly into Connie’s own. “You, Mistress,” she said. It was a voice without question.

It made Connie wet—wetter than she had been in some time. And despite her desire to move forward, a little entertainment didn’t seem to be such a bad idea, all of a sudden. In fact, it seemed to be a very good idea. Her libido shifted into high gear.

Susan was sitting in a reclining chair designed to place her in any position needed. Connie grabbed the controls, hands trembling. She lay the nymphet back and lowered the chair. She turned off the stimulator and walked behind the chair and above Susan’s head and lifted her leg over as she pulled up her dress, the illicit thrill making her almost cum on the spot. She was glad she’d decided not to wear panties today.

“Pleasure your Mistress,” she said, her voice earthy and low.

She squealed as Susan’s tongue dove deep into her, pressing relentlessly and dancing her lips into further wetness. She began to grind her hips into the woman’s mouth, turned on even more by the power she now held.

“Thaaaat’s it,” she rasped out in a whisper. “Harder. Tongue Mistressss hard—harde—harder.” The pleasure was shooting through her now, causing little lights to blast away at the edges of her vision. She’d always been a little kinky, but this was so much more powerful than she’d ever imagined... having a controlled woman that she hadn’t programmed herself. It gave the sparks of pleasure a spontaneity that she couldn’t resist.

“YESSS! UNGH! UNGH! UNNNNGH! UNNNNNNNNGH FUCK ME YES CUNT YES!” she shouted, not caring if anyone heard. Her legs buckled and the full weight of her came down on Susan’s head, and still the nubile tongue kept on, the upper lip rubbing her clit as it rubbed away the last vestiges of her sanity.

She fell forward, her face landing on Susan’s belly and she began to lick like a true bitch in heat. Susan would not and could not stop without a command, and Connie, was beyond the ability to speak as her body convulsed over and over, climax after climax building and spreading through her.

Both women finally collapsed, and Connie managed to whisper, “Stop...” before falling asleep.

When she awoke, she discovered that she’d only been out for a few minutes. She straightened her clothes and hair and turned off the machinery before leaving the clinical room. There would be time for more treatments tomorrow. For now, Susan was too worn out for more.

So was Connie.

As she walked by the Nurses Station, she asked Helen to bring Susan back to her room. She wondered if the amused smile on Helen’s face was from something she imagined, or something she saw. It didn’t matter, either way. But she would have to make sure she had assured Helen’s cooperation along with Armand’s before too long.

Anything less was much too risky.