The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The gymnasium was a windowless room, recently repainted in lively colours. Motivational posters were plastered across three walls. The fourth wall was mirrored, to compensate for the lack of a view.

Though it was the middle of the morning, the gym was busy. A half dozen of DeeDee’s co-workers, most of them young, were taking advantage of Institute policy that encouraged physical activity among its personnel. Several women were doing aerobics in time with loud dance music from a high-end sound system. The rest were working on various exercise machines. All the women were dressed in stretch-fit athletic attire, some of it even skimpier than DeeDee’s new orange set. There were no men in the room.

A chorus of salutations greeted DeeDee when she stepped into the room. She smiled. It was nice to be popular. Everybody at the Institute loved her—and her ice-cream-for-the-brain Chair. She stepped onto a treadmill and began an invigorating run. DeeDee liked to work out every day, sometimes more than once. It was tricky finding the time, with all the research she had going. Travis was so competent at managing her experiments she let him handle things while she got her daily fitness break.

It was funny, but until recently the gym had been rarely used. DeeDee herself was embarrassed by how far she had let herself slip. Staying in shape was important! She was maybe over-compensating a little now. When it became clear that a groundswell of interest in using the gym was building among the staff, the Director had been prevailed upon to install some new equipment. The weights were removed to make room. Pretty much everyone preferred exercises that improved their curves.

Something about this didn’t sit right. DeeDee found herself frowning again. She usually enjoyed admiring her own reflection, and those of the other girls, in the wall mirrors as she ran. Nagging doubts she couldn’t put a finger on kept creeping back into her mind. She turned up the speed on the treadmill to drive them out.

A good while later, an extra-long run behind her, DeeDee stepped out of the shower. She was wrapped in a towel, with a second towel around her hair. She returned to her locker for her clothes. She took her time getting dressed; it was important to get everything just so. She blew dry her hair, combed and shaped it thoroughly, then re-applied her Bold Coral Pink lipstick using one of the full-length mirrors on the walls.

As she was adjusting her long hair again, she heard sounds. They were coming from the shower stalls. Curious, she crept back toward the showers. Women were coming and going from the changing room, so someone in the shower was no surprise. These sounds were different. DeeDee could see shadows in the last shower stall as she approached. She tip-toed to silence her heels.

The door to the shower stall was open a few inches. Inside DeeDee could see not one woman showering, but two. Getting clean didn’t seem to be their first priority. DeeDee recognized them as the technician and laboratory manager she had passed the time of day with earlier. One of the women, the lab manager, had her younger assistant pressed against the wall of the shower. She was kissing and tonguing her bare breasts, while one hand danced in her wet pussy. The tech held the other woman’s head against her chest with both hands, while she moaned and cried in pleasure. Hot spray cascaded over both of them.

DeeDee drew in her breath in shock. They were having sex, right there in the shower! In the middle of the day! She watched them, wide-eyed. She couldn’t look away. The frenzy of lust that had overtaken the women must have siezed them quickly, because the lab manager was still wearing her purple spandex tights and shiny white shoes. Other items of clothing lay scattered on the floor, or soaking in the shower.

DeeDee felt her own temperature rising. She had a very short fuse, always had (as far back as she could remember, anyway). The vision of sexual abandon in the shower was going straight to her pussy. She licked her lips as the lab manager’s tongue lapped and adored her young companion’s darling tits. DeeDee groaned to herself. She found one hand fondling her own breast through her thin blouse. She didn’t try to discourage it.

The women in the shower were kissing now. Their heads turned back and forth as they necked and tongued. They pressed their stiff-nippled breasts together. The hand in the pussy never stopped. Now the younger girl was moaning loudly, head thrown back and eyes half-closed. “Can’t stand it!” she shouted, “can’t—oh sweet baby more, more, can’t stand it, I’m—ohhhhh!” DeeDee knew she was cumming then. She watched in awe as the lucky girl rocked and rolled through her climax as the shower steamed around her. The lab manager held her, fingered her, tortured her with exquisite pleasure.

DeeDee turned suddenly and fairly trotted out of the room. That was a bit of a trick in the heels she was wearing. If she didn’t get control of herself she would end up joining the girls in the shower. She took a deep breath, letting the cool air of the corridor calm her nerves. She could feel the distracting tingle of her own nipples pressing against the lacy cups of her bra. She headed back for the elevator.

Unfortunately for her equilibrium, there were more distractions on the route back to DeeDee’s laboratory. She passed by the employee lounge. It had recently been remodelled. A cute young thing in a short denim skirt was shooting pool at one of the new tables. A few other girls were drinking beer on the sofa and watching daytime dramas on the wide-screen plasma television. The Director had spared no expense; his memos of late emphasized the importance of maintaining a pleasant and convivial workplace.

There were several other employees in the lounge at that moment. Most of them were young, female, and pretty. All the girls were in miniskirts, save for one rebel in a pair of low-rise pants that might as well have been sprayed on. The couple playing one of the video games along the wall were laughing and stumbling and racking up pathetically bad scores. DeeDee suspected both had been over-indulging the free beer the Institute provided. DeeDee knew from experience that balancing in spike heels like those on the lovely boots the redhead was wearing was hard enough sober.

There was nothing unusual about lab technicians and interns hanging about the lounge, goofing off and getting drunk in the middle of the day. It wasn’t their fault if they had no work to do. Until recently, the Insitute had been planning a major expansion of the biochemical wing to take advantage of advances in molecular genetics. The prospects were exciting. The matter had been much debated among the staff. It had taken several years to arrange the funding.

Abruptly, the Director decided to scrap the biotech labs and spend the money on renovations and hiring staff. The new employees were almost entirely technicians and support staff. The Director had decided to take issue with the male bias among Institute staff, which wasn’t that bad to begin with, by hiring almost exclusively young women. His memo said that hiring less experienced prospects saved money on salaries, while providing stimulating research experience early in their careers. It was probably coincidence that all the newbies were gorgeous. Some of them seemed to have no other apparent qualifications.

Unfortunately, because the new genetics laboratories hadn’t been built, there wasn’t enough work around to keep all the cuties occupied. They tended to take long lunch breaks. They spent many afternoons at the gym, in the lounge, or just decorating the laboratories.

There had been consternation among the staff about this quirky decision by the Director. The male scientists had been swiftly mollified when micro-minis and tanktops became popular among the nubile new recruits. DeeDee understood that many of the girls had put out an extra effort to prove themselves and keep their scientist bosses satisfied.

DeeDee herself liked having the young girls around. They lent a cheerful youthfulness to the Institute’s solemn corridors. Besides, they were always on top of the latest hip fashions. DeeDee had picked up some great shopping tips from conversations in the lunch room.

All the new hires quickly became subjects for the Chair. Travis’s appetite for volunteers was insatiable.

DeeDee watched the cutie in the denim skirt try to play pool. She was apparently just learning. Her technique wasn’t very steady. She had to lean far over to make a shot. Perhaps it would have been better to try another approach. Bending over, her little skirt slipped up to the top of her thighs. Her decorative pantyhose had seams stitched up the back to look like stockings. DeeDee rather expected a glimpse of knickers to come into view. Evidently so did her partner, a young man, who had moved around behind her to watch her shoot. His attention didn’t seem to be entirely on the game.

After a moment the girl became frustrated. She wasn’t overly tall. She lifted one knee half onto the table to reach farther. She was wearing cute white ankle boots with metal spike heels. Sexy high heels were the fashion of the moment around the Institute. It was clear now that the girl interpreted pantyhose in the original sense, to be worn in place of knickers, not over them. The fellow behind her noticed her fashion statement as well. He clearly agreed with it.

“Wow, she has a nice ass,” DeeDee thought idly. “No wonder she’s showing off.” DeeDee’s persuasion did not run to girls. Lately though, she had found herself appreciating the erotic artistry of the female form. In the past while it seemed that almost anything remotely sexual turned her on. She thought about the toy in her purse.

The girl turned to look at her companion over her shoulder. She threw back her long tawny hair. “I don’t know how to make this shot,” she said imploringly. “Won’t you help me?”

He was moving instantly. “Of course, of course. Here, let me show you . . . the right position.” He stepped up close behind her. He laid his hands over hers. The girl was still leaning over with one knee raised, her delightful behind thrusting backward. The boy chatted with her quietly. He moved the pool cue forward and back, forward and back, helping her line up the shot. Below the table, their bodies were playing another kind of game entirely. DeeDee bit her lip.

“Oh, mmmmm, I like, totally get it now,” the girl murmured, still undulating gently. “It’s all in the way you handle your stick.”

Eventually she made her shot. She missed completely. Neither she nor her helpful opponent seemed to care very much.

DeeDee decided she needed to move along. If she didn’t get away from all this . . . stimulation, she was definitely going to need a time out. Maybe she would nip into the lunch room for a cup of coffee. The lunch room, a sort of miniature cafeteria, was adjacent to the lounge. One could usually rely on a good coffee there, and more recently, a selection of coffee liqueurs to go in it.

She stuck her head into the lunch room. It was empty except for a couple of shapely young secretaries. They worked for the Director. Fortunately they were both leaving by the far door. DeeDee listened to the tinkle of their heels as they ambled away. She stepped into the room. There was no one behind the front counter. DeeDee looked around, puzzled. There were noises coming from the kitchen.

She stepped around the end of the counter. She peered into the immaculate kitchen behind. “Hello!” she called out, “Could I get a cup of . . .” Oh no.

Even here there was sex going on. A burly cook in a white shirt and baker’s cap was vigorously hiding his salami in a redhaired cashier about half his age. The girl was wearing the top half of the caterer’s tunic-and-tights uniform (no one wore pants anymore). She was sitting on the edge of a countertop with the cook between her legs. His white pants were around his ankles. Her ankles, decorated with extravagent white platform sandals, were locked behind his back. Both partners were rocking and thrusting energetically.

And noisily.

The counter was shaking with every thrust of the corking cook, setting stacks of dishes to clattering. The stacked dish being stuffed with sausage sported a half dozen heavy white bangles on each arm that clanked along with the plates. A couple of fresh apples shaken loose from a tray tumbled to the floor, to join the other fruit and pastry and silverware already there. The whole kitchen was as steamy as a pressure-cooker.

The cook was almost shouting at his partner while he fucked her. “You tramp!” he cried, “Trash! Think you can (huh!) parade around here (huh!) like a titty-tart treat, looking for trouble and not (unggh!) doing as you’re told? Hey? Well, I know what you need (huh, huh!), you little tease. And you’re getting it now too, aren’t you, you little teeny-trick. Hey? Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yesss,” the impaled server moaned in reply. She wrapped both hands around his neck. “Give it to me! Give it to me hard and harder and harder! Fuck your little tarty teen trash. Fuck me with that big cock and teach me to OBEY!” Abruptly she pulled his head down and kissed him hungrily.

The sight was all too much for poor DeeDee. She moaned out loud as she watched the happy debauchery in the kitchen. She felt her panties creaming and her nipples stiffening, barely confined by her lacey underwear. In another few seconds she was bound to lose control utterly and start frigging herself right there in the doorway. Instead she turned on her high heels and tottered out of the room as quickly as she could. She turned her hands out a little for balance as she made her way unsteadily down the corridor, white purse swinging. Her destination was the ladies’ room.

She pushed open the door. Luckily, there was no one inside. The washrooms had been reworked in the last round of renovations, making them bigger and more comfortable. She noticed her flushed reflection in the big mirrors over the sinks as she hastened to a toilet stall. The stalls were decorated in different colours. DeeDee chose the aquamarine one, with floral patterned walls.

She latched the door. She lifted her miniskirt and hooked two thumbs under her panties, pulling them down. Her shimmering, sexy hose left essential areas free. She freed one foot from her fallen panties, sat down on the indigo seat and flipped open her purse. She fished around among the cosmetics and chargecards until she found her secret friend. She pulled it out. It was rubbery, white, and missile-shaped. The batteries were fresh. Without hesitation she twisted the knob at the base to its highest setting. The gizmo whirred excitingly as she lowered it to her awaiting pussy. She was thoroughly lubricated. She touched the rounded end to her pink folds and began to slide it in.

Ah, sweet relief! The busy, buzzing vibrator felt exquisite as she worked it deep inside her. “Oh sweet earth and sky I am so fucking horny today,” she moaned to herself. She threw her head back, closing her eyes. She didn’t know how she ever got through the day without the gadget in her purse. She never left home without it. She liked to pretend it was a real cock, attached to some strong, masterful man who could fuck a horny woman like her into orgasmic submission. Her loud moans echoed around the well-appointed washroom as she worked her electric wand in and out.

She let her mind slip into one of her favourite fantasies. She was a student at some mythical girl’s school, making her way toward the Principal’s office. She could feel the kilt of her school uniform swishing back and forth over her bubble butt as she sashayed along. It would be ridiculously short, of course, barely covering her ass. Her white blouse stopped about six inches above her bare navel. It had a little red bow in the middle of her cleavage. The bow matched the big red bows tying her pigtails and the little ones gartering her shiny white, over-the-knee socks. The cherry red platform sandals on her dainty feet were not part of the uniform. Maybe that was why she had been sent to the Principal. She licked her all-day sucker contentedly as she made her way to the school office.

The Principal was not pleased, though. He was a stern man. She imagined he looked a lot like Travis. Firm. Commanding. Accustomed to being obeyed. DeeDee saw herself standing beside his big desk, hands at her side, eyes lowered. She tried not to wobble in her towering platform heels. She had worn them to impress Mr. Peaches. It worked. How else was she supposed to pass arithmetic?

The Principal scolded her. He told her she was a bad girl, a hussy. He lectured her until her face burned. He told her how girls like her distracted the boys in class so they didn’t learn anything. How she tried to use her developing young body to charm the teachers and tease the boys. How only an oversexed, boy-crazy tartlet with no modesty or shame would come to class dressed to advertise her curves and assets like she did.

Then he spanked her. He told her to lean over and hold the side of the desk. The position hiked her indecent skirt right up over her ass, revealing her cherry-red bikini panties. She found herself looking down at her outlandish red shoes.

The Principal spanked her firmly with his open hand. He called her names. He made her ass as red as her little panties. She jumped and cried out with each stroke. He told her to count them, and thank him. “Seven!” she cried in her little girl voice, “thank you Sir, may I please have another?” When the count was the same as her age she ventured a glance backward. The Principal had a hard-on like a crowbar.

Back in the restroom, DeeDee cried out, “Fifteen! Th-thank you Sir may I please . . . oh! oh fuck YESSS!” The orgasm was a jolt of pure, wicked delight. It left her limp and panting.

Naturally, it took a while before DeeDee was ready to go back to work. For one thing, she needed a second climax to fully take the edge off. She was feeling particularly horny today. Her second peak was even louder than her first. When she finally calmed down, took a deep breath, and dropped the carefully dried toy back in her purse, she still had to fix herself up to look presentable.

She spent a long time in front of the lighted mirrors, re-applying blusher and eyeliner and lipstick. About halfway through she was joined by a couple of other women, one a scientist like herself, the other one of the giggly young interns. They chatted amiably and traded shopping tips. Both women volunteered for more sessions on the Chair. “I just like, want to help, you know?” the cute intern said. Her glitter eye shadow caught the light when she blinked.

DeeDee glanced at her watch as she ambled back into the corridor. Travis should be well finished his session with Becky by now. She decided to stop by the front office on the way back, to pick up that package Becky had mentioned. Her path took her around the large square that formed the main building of the Institute. She admired the sunlight filtering through the trees in the central quadrangle.

Something was still bothering her. The Chair was a major breakthrough in clinical psychology, at least. DeeDee was already recognized as a heavyweight around the Institute, despite her age. Soon, when she published the first data from Travis’s trials with the Chair, she would be famous.

She had achieved success beyond her dreams. This was her finest hour; she should have felt elated, on top of the world. Instead she was nagged by uncertainty. Something wasn’t quite right. She could never figure out exactly what, yet the feeling of unease never entirely left her. When she tried to think about it, ideas and conclusions slipped about in her mind, always barely eluding her grasp, like a lathery bar of soap dropped on the shower floor.

She wished she had a better understanding of the data Travis was collecting. These new settings, especially that high beta frequency, had her worried. Travis had promised to go over all the data with her, a couple of times, but something always came up. Like last week, when the planned meeting conflicted with getting her nails done.

Sometimes DeeDee felt like she wasn’t in control of her own laboratory. Travis took care of everything. That was his job, wasn’t it? Still, she was finding it harder and harder to give him direction, even to disagree with him. He seemed so . . . commanding in his airy self-confidence.

Not that Travis’s credentials were flawless, by any measure. He was unquestionably conpetent. In his younger days he had been a serious computer hacker, until the law caught up with him. Fortunately, the abilities to master complex computer networks and manipulate software that served him so well in his own version of on-line banking was exactly the skill set DeeDee needed to help her with the Chair.

She was certain Travis had put his wayward ways behind him.