The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’ve heard more than once someone ask, “Billy, how is it you have so much money, and so many beautiful women around you?” That is a story. This story involves breaking and entering, a dead man, and brainwashing women to be obedient slaves. You can believe it or not, but this is what happened.

As an ex-con I was determined not to go back to prison. Nothing like putting the worst of the worst into a box and expecting them not to get harder. So, when I got out, I was determined not to go back. That’s why I cut off all my friends, and most of my family, to make sure their influence didn’t send me back there. I got a job working at an auto parts and repair shop during the day and a 24-hour gym at night.

Nothing like sleeping in the afternoon, getting up at ten at night to get to the gym by eleven at night, working at the gym until seven in the morning, and then working at Auto Parts and Fix until three in the afternoon, and then going to sleep. That was my day. I worked, slept, and on my days off get laundry washed and food prepped. I was taking online classes to learn electrical engineering, mostly for cars, and at night at the gym when there were only three or four people, nurses and truck drivers, working out, I would study and do homework after doing my duties.

I was doing the night shift at the gym, there was one other guy there at eleven-thirty at night, and in walked the first of the zombie cheerleaders. That was the nick name I gave them. I say them because in total there were eighteen women between the ages of eighteen and twenty, and every one of them looked good enough to be cheerleaders. It was odd at first that there was one good looking woman coming into the gym, but then another, and then another. Like I said in total there were eighteen girls, I say girls because I’m in my thirties and they were over a decade younger than me. They’d come in, smile a fake smile, scan their badges, hang up their keys, and then get to lifting weights with blank expressions on their faces. They didn’t leave until four-thirty in the morning.

On the surface the zombie cheerleaders were normal. It was when I paid attention that things seemed off. The first thing I noticed was that none of the zombie cheerleaders had cell phones or were listening to earbuds. Everyone at the gym listens to what they want, and the music playing is mostly to keep me awake. Then I noticed they didn’t talk at all. Not to each other, not to me, and not to the truck drivers that would try and hit on them. They also didn’t drink any water while exercising. This was all very strange.

The zombie cheerleaders came back the next night, and the next, and the next. I kept track. Six of the girls would do upper body and arms, six of the girls would do core and back, and six of the girls would do legs and butt. The next day they would rotate working muscle groups. I watched them pushing their bodies until they were sweating and grunting, but giving no outward sign that they were anything but focused on their workout. Six days working out, and then one day off, and then back to the rotation.

The zombie cheerleaders were at it for about two months when I heard just a little snippet on the local TV news. Professor Scott Hamilton from PNU was missing. That was it. A little blurb at the end of more important news of a man from a local university that was gone. The only reason I remembered it, barely, was I was trying to remember where I’d heard the name Scott Hamilton before. I couldn’t place the name, and since I’d never been to PNU, it didn’t really matter too much to me.

Three months into the zombie cheerleaders coming to my gym and getting ripped, three of them didn’t show up. I knew their names. I knew all their names by that time. The first three that didn’t show up were Irene Lamb, Diane Crittenden, and Lucy Autrey Wilson. I tried to ask the other zombie cheerleaders about them, but all I got were polite smiles. A week later these three showed back up, but then Ann Skinner, Carroll Ballard, and Roxanne Jones didn’t show up. Of course, when Irene, Diane, and Lucy did come back, they’d gotten huge breast implants.

This was when the weirdness factor really kicked in for me. Yes, these women were acting like zombies, yes, they didn’t drink any water, and yes, they were working their bodies to the point they had to be almost doing damage to their insides, but breast implants. These weren’t just normal, ‘I want to look like a woman again’ implants. These zombie cheerleaders had dropped what body fat they had to a percentage that could have been counted on one hand. Yes, their bodies had buffed up to muscles bulging while working out. Still when you see three women coming through the door, tits first, was off putting. When these slim, young, and pretty women come in sporting breasts that were between triple-E and triple-F round silicone implants, and I being a normal guy, well I couldn’t move from behind the desk for a while.

It took a few weeks, but every one of the zombie cheerleaders got implants. After that they all started dressing provocatively. I first noticed it with Karen Sharp, Donna Tracy, Vicky Witt, and Lorne Peterson. These women were practically working out in bikinis. Before the implants the girls would wear what, normal people would wear to the gym, tee-shirts, and shorts. If it was a warm day maybe, they would have the shirt tied up and I’d see a naval in front and the small of their backs. If it was cold maybe a few would be wearing skintight outfits. After the women had their breasts enhanced, every time I saw them there was cleavage, bare shoulders, midriffs, and shorts so short if they were wearing underwear it had to be a thong.

Let me explain that these zombie cheerleaders were sexy beyond sexy. There were about ten guys that would work out at the gym, at night, just to watch these girls. They were wearing tight minimal clothing. Their muscles gave every part of their bodies a healthy toned definition. Their firm large breasts let everyone know they were women. Even if they barely acknowledged your existence, they were nice to look at. I was actually glad that I wasn’t the only one enjoying looking at the girls.

The zombie cheerleaders had been working out for about six months when things happened that I was not expecting. Starting with, despite still being in the electrical engineering program, I was offered a full-time job designing some of the electrical systems of battery powered cars. I was training a new guy for the night shift at the gym. Also, my lease was up on my apartment. I could quit the gym and Auto Parts and Fix to go for the full-time job, and also afford a newer and bigger place. The gym wouldn’t be shorthanded at night. The downside would be, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy watching the nearly naked ripped Barbie Dolls.

It was the new guy I was training that suggested that we look into who they are, and maybe talk to them outside of the gym. That’s an invasion of privacy. I was all for it. It wasn’t hard to find proof that they all, or at least sixteen out of the eighteen, went to PNU. There was proof that twelve of them were in the psychology program. Nine of the girls had all shared one class with Professor Scott Hamilton. The name rang a bell. Looking things up we found Scott Hamilton’s class list, and six months before all eighteen of the zombie cheerleaders had been in his ’experimental psychology’ class.

The new guy, I really can’t remember his name, apparently tried to hit on Connie McCrum and Pamela Malouf from the group at PNU. The way he said it, things did not go well. Connie and Palmela both claimed they had no idea who he was and hadn’t been to the gym in ages. He saw some of the zombie cheerleaders on campus, and in his words, they showed less skin than a woman in full combat uniform. They hid their large breasts well. The women were also hiding how muscular their bodies were.

As odd as that was, I was more interested in Professor Scott Hamilton. He moved around after getting his PhD and finally found PNU, an out of the way place with significantly more women than men on campus. Most of his published works went over my head. Reading the titles was giving me headaches. After reading, ‘Influencing Self Preservation Cognitive Behavioral Aspirations to Reduce Benefits of the Individual in Order to Enhance Gains of a Third Party,” I was done. It was Hamilton’s last grant proposal, buried online, that made me wonder what was going on.

Hamilton asked for one hundred grand to, “Test Mental Suppression of Individual’s Cognitive Processes while Inputting Artificial Predominate Belief Systems.” I was putting together the words when I saw a comment from someone saying, “This sounds like brainwashing.” The money would have paid for headphones, OLED screens, and a computer program. The program seemed to be the cheapest because it was already written. It took me a lot longer than I want to admit, to understand that Scott Hamilton had brainwashed the zombie cheerleaders!

I had to know how Professor Scott Hamilton had brainwashed the women. The guy was still missing. The police called it an active case. The professor’s house near campus was still locked up. I never wanted to use my breaking and entering skills to enter a place again, but I had to know.

It was one of my rare nights off from the gym that I took my lock pick kit to Professor Scott Hamilton’s house. It was one of those houses where it could be argued that it was two stories, if one story was partly underground. The sliding glass doors under the back deck were easiest to get into. The alarm went off, but I was expecting that, so I popped the cover, put a jumper between the red and green terminals, and held the reset button until it chirped. I then input my own code and disabled the alarm.

I’m not sure what first struck me as odd. The place was impossibly uncluttered. There weren’t any books, or take out wrappers, or even wrinkled blankets on the living room couch. That doesn’t mean it was clean. There were dead flies everywhere. There were dead flies mostly near the windows, but these large black mature flies covered most of the surfaces. There were also living flies trying to get out, and when I opened the door, this happened in a wave of flying filth. Then there was the smell of something dead.

It didn’t take long to track the living flies and the smell to the spare bedroom. Then the wall on the other side of the bed. With a push in, a click, and then release, a hidden door swung out. There were more flies inside, and so was a dead body.

I could handle the flies. I could handle the smell. The sight of this guy with blond hair and glasses sitting in a computer chair, dead, covered in maggots, was when I almost lost my lunch. I was marginally successful in composing myself. In retrospect I find I have no taste for looking at dead bodies. The bullet hole in what was left of his skull, was enough for me. Seeing his pants around his ankles, and his boxers open, didn’t help anything. I’m pretty sure the guy was shot while getting a blow job, but I wouldn’t swear to it.

The hidden room was next to the bathroom if the pipes for a shower were a clue. There were books and binders all around on makeshift shelves between studs. A desk with a laptop on it, and small notebooks all around. This is why I was glad I was wearing gloves as I wiped the flies off the laptop, and the binders, and the notebooks, and just took everything. I cleared the memory of the alarm and left quickly.

At my place I disinfected everything, and started going through the books, binders, and notebooks. I quickly found out that the smart professor was as dumb as the rest of us. One of his notebooks had the title on the front ‘Passwords’ in pen, and it was filled with whatever the ID or Username was of whatever, and the password. He even had his TV remote control’s password in the book. It also had the laptop’s password.

I made a makeshift faraday cage to open the laptop in, to make sure it didn’t connect and people realize someone was using Hamilton’s laptop. I was able to put the laptop in airplane mode and then take it out of the cage. The password was in his notebook, and I was in.

It was morning when I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. The short version of the story is Professor Hamilton had decided not to wait for his grant to go through, and started experimenting on his coworkers and students. Since a lot of people have OLED phones, and the screens are relatively inexpensive, and then you just have earbuds, you can brainwash anyone any way you want with a program that lets you input commands into people’s minds that they can’t resist. I’m not sure if Hamilton’s plan was smart or not, but each person that was brainwashed had a command in their minds that, when spoken, puts them into a different personality where they are unquestioningly obedient. The brainwashing for just the zombie cheerleaders also compelled them to slip into the “fugue” state and exercise for five hours, constantly increasing their workout to build muscle. There were unconscious commands too about how to dress conservatively, eat only what was needed, get huge breast implants but never show them off. There was also the command that they would not find anyone sexually interesting. Of course, with Hamilton’s command and control phrase he could made them interested in him.

In the computer there was the program used, not complicated, and very home made with blocks and inputs that would connect with people’s phones as needed. Each phone had a different name and phone number of a zombie cheerleader and a command phrase.

• Dina Berg — intensify, slow, horseshoe
• Cindy Isman — picture, widen, lounge
• Connie McCrum — murder, recycle, gregarious
• Pamela Malouf — reconcile, likely, slime
• Eleanor Porter — oven, smoke, news
• Patricia Rose Duignan — left, tiger, mouse
• Carrie Cushing — grave, attract, care
• Irene Lamb — gold, wander, delicate
• Diane Crittenden — shed, tread, function
• Lucy Autrey Wilson — chalk freckle, other
• Ann Skinner — ambiguity, salvation, spit
• Carroll Ballard — graze, presence, tablet
• Roxanne Jones — kneel, toss, art
• Karen Sharp — trouser, loan, trance
• Donna Tracy — even, long, possible
• Vicky Witt — split, choice, subway
• Lorne Peterson — last, herd, suppress
• Lyn Gerry — distort, technology, habitat

I memorized them all. Simply telling the person to ‘be normal’ would take them out of the control state, and anything left in would be an irresistible command. I still remember the dream I had that night of all eighteen of the sexy zombie cheerleaders doing a provocative dance naked with blank looks on their faces. Then in my dream we had a wild orgy. It was the first wed dream I’d had since I was a teenager.

It was my last day at Auto Parts and Fix, and for some reason it was quite busy. I was hoping one of the zombie cheerleaders would come in, but didn’t. I was also wondering who else Professor Hamilton had brainwashed, and kept looking to see if any of the women that came in had huge breast implants. None did.

I took my laptop, and homework, to the gym that night. I saw my boss, Angie Leaper, waiting for me, and she looked pissed. The new guy got fired! He tried to make a move on a patron of the gym, and was too aggressive, and was fired for it. Angie was pissed that she now had to work the night shift until someone else got hired, so on my last day at the gym she was going to relearn everything. Inwardly, I was cursing at above and below.

Then I realized I had the brainwashing program on the laptop under my arm. We made small talk as we logged onto the computers and I looked Angie over. She was in her early forties, but looked like early thirties. Being owner of the gym meant she kept in great shape. She didn’t have much in the way of breasts, but her body was tight and toned. Her brown hair was ugly with the sides shaved and long on top. She had eyebrow rings, nose rings, lip rings, and a dozen studs in each ear. She looked like a punk rocker that got old. It didn’t come as a surprise to me that months ago she let slip she discovered she was a lesbian, after two children.

I opened up professor Hamilton’s laptop and told Angie I was sending her something I wanted her to listen to with headphones or ear buds. She trusted me, and I felt bad about tricking her, but the zombie cheerleaders were going to be there in about ten minutes, so I had to do something. She got the download and went over to a chair in the corner to see what I had sent her. I heard her give a sigh/grunt as her face was lit up with multi-colored lights. She barely blinked as her brain was melted.

The zombie cheerleaders came in, and did the smile, hang up their keys, and start pumping iron routine. No one took notice of the older woman in the corner with lights flashing in her face and grunts coming from her slack jaw. I kept well away from the flashing lights of Angie’s phone, but I loved seeing her slack face and wide eyes take in everything. According to professor Hamilton’s notes the program really only took about ten minutes to open a person’s mind to suggestions, another ten to input those suggestions, and then the rest of the time was to plug any gaps so the subject would accept all commands without resistance.

Finally, Angie let the phone lower, and she blinked a few times. She closed down her phone and took out her ear buds before coming up to me. “That was weird,” She said confused. “What just happened?”

“Oh, it was,” I checked out the automatic word generator for her command phrase, “apathy, flag, dream.”

“What can I do for you?” Angie asked with a half-smile on her face.

“Just let me do whatever I want to, since it is my last day, and don’t care about what I do,” I said not thinking that far ahead.

“Of course,” Angie said and turned to the computer so she could set things up for the next person to come.

“One other thing,” I said looking at her and knowing it was my last day. Angie turned to me with that half-smile that I learned was almost a trademark of being controlled. “You would be a lot more attractive if you got rid of all that metal on your face, let your hair grow out long, and dye it blond. You would also look much better with large breast implants, and if you dressed more, provocatively.”

“Of course,” Angie said with a smile. She proceeded to start to remove her lip rings and all the other metal on her face.

“You could also give guys another chance,” I said, “you know be bi-sexual.”

“Of course,” Angie said turning and smiling at me.

“Also, you will think these are your own thoughts, you came to these conclusions yourself, and you want to do these things,” I said.

“Of course,” Angie said. Her face looked almost plane without the metal, but far more natural. She proceeded to tie up her work shirt to show off her midriff, and the small of her back. She had tattoos of thorny roses in both places.

“Be normal,” I said and watched Angie. She didn’t seem to react as she continued to work on the computer, checking out supplies on our inventory log.

I gave her ass a pat, and she did nothing. I gave her butt a sharp smack, and she didn’t react. I was behind her and slid my hand down the front of her shorts. She didn’t even move. I felt a clit ring, and gave it a little tug. She gave a sharp gasp, but that was all. I stroked her slit a bit, and felt her warm up. Then I left her.

My target was Eleanor Porter. She was tall, almost six feet, and her large breasts almost looked proportional on her, almost. Her hair was a natural fire-engine red. Her face was long, and her eyes were a brilliant green. She was wearing a light blue outfit that barely held her breasts in check, and shorts that could have gotten her arrested in some parts of the country. She was sexy with her strong arms and shoulders, and firm abs. What did it for me were her long legs. I like long legs on a woman.

I tapped Elenor on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me.”

She turned to me, gave me a smile, and was about to go back to her three-hundred-pound squats when I said, “oven, smoke, news.”

Elenor froze, and then stood up to face me. She was doing the half-smile thing as she said, “What can I do for you?” Her voice was deeper than I had expected.

“Follow me,” I said starting to sweat. I was so nervous. I had a sexy red head following me and would obey without question.

I barely registered hearing Elenor saying, “Of course.”

We ended up in the massage room. No one was there this late at night, so we had the room and the three black leather benches all to ourselves. I stood there, leaning against a bench. Elenor stood there, her half-smile, and arms slack, and her body shining with sweat from the workout I took her away from. She just stood there, waiting. I had opened her mind to me, and now she was waiting for me to put something in, or take something out. This power was beyond intoxicating.

“Just for tonight I want you to call me, Master,” I said with my voice squeaking for the first time in decades.

“Of course, Master,” Elenor said with her smile.

“Elenor,” I said trying to take it slow, “I want you to think, is there anything you won’t, or can’t, or are prevented from doing?”

This seemed to stump Elenor. For nearly a minute she stood there with her eyes shifted top left, and then back and forth. “I will obey you in all things, Master,” Elenor said sounding almost happy.

“I want you to do a sexy strip tease for me,” I said feeling my cock hard and pressing up on my shorts without any help from my hands.

“Of course, Master,” Elenor said and started swaying her body. With her fingers touching her body in a sexy fashion she was swaying her hips, rocking her middle, and juddering her shoulders. She used her nimble fingers to pull down on the zipper on the back of her blue top, and rock her body as she held her top on just for a second before letting it fall.

I nearly came in my pants seeing her huge breasts uncovered, and her pink nipples exposed to my eyes. She was still dancing, still undulating her body, as she wiggled her ass at me, at the same time sliding her shorts over her muscular rear. Her panties were a blue thong that went so fart between her but cheeks that the fabric twanged like a musical string when it came from between her crack. When Elenor turned around again, I could see her shaved pussy, pink folds and small clit.

“Damn girl, you are sexy,” I said in shock. I pulled down my shorts and boxers to let my hard cock be free. I’ve heard that I’m large for a man. I would have no idea. I just know my head is the size of a large walnut, the shaft is as thick as an apple, and my long shaft has blue veins meandering down it’s length. I was so hard watching Elenor dance that I almost wished I had a ruler, since I was sure I was beyond my typical ten inches.

Elenor barely looked at my cock. Then I realized why. She was programmed to not find anything sexually interesting, until her controller said so. “Elenor you are aroused,” I said to the red head.

She gasped, “Of course.”

I saw her nipples harden and her pussy become redder. “I mean highly aroused,” I said. “You are horny beyond anything you’ve ever felt before. Your body is screaming for sex, with me.”

Elenor was gasping for breath. “Of,” she had to breathe, “course.” I swear she was ready to cum right there, same as me.

I didn’t want to wait. “Stop dancing, and bend over that bench,” I ordered.

“Of course,” the slave said as she draped her sweaty body over the fake leather.

I touched her between her legs. She was dripping. I’m not exaggerating. Her body was making that clear fluid of extreme arousal that usually is reserved for the internet. It was running down her legs. I was more than ready, and guided my man-meat into her body. It’d been so long since I had sex. Before I went to prison, I had sex with a hooker. That was with a condom. Now, I was doing it raw, and with a woman that was wet and willing. Maybe not willing, exactly, but welcoming. I slid into her body and felt her flesh surround my dick, and that was the feeling that I’d missed all those years.

I was stroking into and out of her, and loving every minute of it. The feel of her hot body and our flesh slapping together. The heat from her bowels that suffused into my cock. The very flesh that was her insides as it gripped my dick was one of those feelings that nothing compares to.

I ran my hands along her legs, and smacked her ass. “Cum for me,” I ordered.

“Of course,” she gasped as her body clenched and shook for half a second. It might have been good for her, but not for me. That was not what I wanted from my women.

“Girl your orgasms have to be much stronger than that,” I said. “From now on your orgasms will be full body events. When you cum, it will be a hundred times, no, a thousand times more powerful than what you just had. Your pussy will squirt like a fire hose. You’ll lose control over your arms and legs. Your eyes will roll back into your head. You’ll nearly black-out as you cum. It will be wonderful. You’ll also orgasm five times as easy as normal so you’ll easily have an orgasm.”

“Of course,” Elenor said this as my cock was still stroking her insides.

Then she climaxed again. Her body clenched as I felt her pussy flood the floor. Then her head started to bob as her mouth hung open. That’s when her whole body started to shake like a paint mixer. She pulled off my cock as her body went wild. Arms and legs were flopping about. Her back and ass were shaking like they were getting massive electric shocks. She was crushing her breasts onto the bench as her body shuddered with the maximum of sexual echelons. That thesaurus day-calendar is really helpful.

I was about to cum when I said forcefully, “Suck my cock, now!”

Elenor fell to her knees on the wet floor as if drunk. She grabbed my dick and shoved it into her mouth. She sucked me in as I let loose my load. Her mouth was almost as good as her pussy. Wet, and warm, and needy, I shot my load into her mouth as she sucked it down into her belly. As horny as I was, as much as I loved sex, and as much as I wanted to do it again, this was really just a test. Elenor was still sucking my cock head when I finished. I told Elenor to stop, and get dressed. I wiped her mind of our sexual tryst, and sent her out to finish her exercising. All told only half an hour had passed.

I left the massage room and found Angie running the vacuum. “Hey,” I said not sure if she would notice me unless I gave her a direct command.

“Hey,” Angie said looking up. She’d taken scissors to her pants to turn them into shorts, and also cut a ‘V’ in her shirt’s collar to show off what little cleavage she had.

“You need to take a mop to the massage room,” I said to my boss.

“Excuse me?” She said with a little sass. She was going to make a fantastic blonde. “Don’t you work here too, for the next six hours or so?”

“Right, apathy, flag, dream,” I said to her face.

The half-smile returned. “What can I do for you?” Angie asked pleasantly.

“Mop the massage room,” I commanded.

“Of course,” Angie said putting the vacuum sweeper to the side and heading for the supply closet. I left Angie triggered for the rest of the night.

So, what do you do when you can do anything? You do everything, which is exactly what I did. I used the program to enslave a realtor to me, and get a really good deal on a nice two-story house near where my new job was. I had over a dozen muscular women help me move out of my apartment and into my new place. I met my future boss, and after some small talk I enslaved him. I plan on doing my work, but I want to avoid any awkward conversations about prison, or breaking and entering, or my trial, or how I was able to attract so many sexy single women. Doubling my promised pay, and having a “fund” in my name from the company helped my bank account immensely.

Professor Scott Hamilton was finally found two weeks after I was there. They went back to check his place again, since he was still a missing person, and found the flies and the body. It also didn’t take long to find out who shot Hamilton. Hamilton apparently took a fancy to some female cleaner at PNU named Leigh Brackett, and enslaved her. She was married to a less than pleasant person named Norman Brackett. Norman was suspicious of Leigh helping a friend clean his house, that friend was Hamilton. He came in and found Leigh giving Hamilton a blow-job, while naked. Norman shot Hamilton in the head. Norman was shot and killed in a standoff with police. This was after they tracked his truck, from Hamilton’s, using ring doorbell cameras, amateur. Leigh was found, tied to a chair, and desperate to give blow jobs, still, after six months. I was eventually able to get someone to put a phone next to her head at the hospital and say to her, “be normal.”

As for me, things are going great. I got my degree in electrical engineering and am on my way to getting a master’s degree. I love my job designing electrical car dashboard interfaces. I have over fifty women that with one phone call will come over and do whatever I want, from cooking to cleaning to bending over. I’ve even improved on Hamilton’s program to make slaves accepting commands smoother.

The only thing that people seemed to talk about however was the fact I’m not married. So, that’s where you come in. I saw you at the gym, and am smitten by your looks and attitude. You’re a little closer to me in age than the zombie cheerleaders. In the looks department, you’re better than I deserve, but not overly so. Did I mention I have a thing for long legs? I wasn’t sure how to get you, but your friend Liz was easy enough to enslave, and she tricked you into, well, this. The program should be finished here shortly, and we can start making you into my obedient and faithful wife. We’ll have a very open marriage, at least on my side. You’ll love getting bigger breasts for me, and working out to build muscles for me. I’ll turn you into my perfect bi-sexual wife. You’ll love fucking me, and your friend Liz, and anyone else I tell you. Really you haven’t lived until you’ve had an orgy with eighteen zombie cheerleaders.

The End