The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“How stupid can you fucking be?”

I’m not normally this immediately abusive to people who work for me, but I had a world-class headache, had spent the weekend fighting with my girlfriend, and the bambi in front of me was incredibly stupid.

I have no idea what her name is. We hire a “type” that I call Bambi’s. They’re young, cute, well-groomed, well-dressed, polite, moderately well educated, and they do all the 1990’s office grunt work, talk with our obnoxious customers, and look pretty representing the company in public.

And they come and go so much that I never seem to remember their names. It’s not my job. I have three direct reports, all VPs, and they do their jobs well. Part of their jobs include keeping Bambi’s out of my way.

So, I’m standing over the sink, trying desperately to get coffee and open a bottle of aspirin, when this hot young Bambi comes up to me. I don’t remember her name, but I do know what I’ve heard. This one never follows directions, never gets her work done, is often late, and tends to prefer to tease the male staffers than talk to our customers. Figuring that she’d heard me swearing over the pill-bottle, I assumed she came over to make me coffee or open the damned bottle.

But no. Stupid Bambi wants to talk in private. I tell her to get lost and see her boss. Finally, I get the bloody bottle open and down five of the little nasty white pills. I gulp disgusting black java down my gullet and start to stagger back to the office.

She’s still there. “I thought I told you to go see your boss.”

“But I want to talk to you.”

“Look, this is a bad time. Go away.”

I turned away and walked back into my office, plunked down hard in the chair, and who should be sitting across the desk but stupid herself. And before I could tell her, again, to get lost, she asks me for, I shit you not, a raise!

Hence: “How stupid can you fucking be?”

I just don’t have the patience for this. I’m cranky and as the blinkety-blink Chairman of the firm, I shouldn’t have to deal with her.

I pick up the intercom and dial my AA. No answer. I dial VP1. No answer. Ditto for VP2 and VP3. Apparently it’s lunch time. Fine. Edict for the day. No lunch times ever again for anyone.

Bambi is still sitting there. Damn, but she’s cute. She’s got on this short skirt, nice black nylons (they don’t look like panty-hose, they look like real nylons), a soft sky-blue sweater, and shimmering curly red hair that falls in ringlets around her face. Plus, as the kicker, shes got on these little, I think they’re called “Mary Janes”, little girl shoes. White. Hot.

“Why are you still here?”

“I want a raise.”

“You don’t deserve one. Get out. I’m not even your boss, you twit.”

“Please don’t call me a twit. I work hard.” Pouting, she’s even cuter. My headache starts going away, but another part of me starts to ache.

“Look, whatever the hell your name is, I’ve had reports about you. You are a royal pain in the ass, your work generally sucks, and you’re always late.”

“My name is Sandi. And I’m not always late. Just sometimes. It takes a while to get ready and it’s hard to get up.”

“Why am I having this conversation with you? Get out. I’m busy.”

“But I want a raise.”

So help me, I snapped. Honest. It wasn’t really my fault. Maybe it was the fight with the girlfriend. Maybe it was the caffeine/aspirin mixture, maybe it was the fact that she was such a babe, but I snapped. I activated her, then I slammed her.

Within seconds, she was cowering in the corner, in absolute terror.

We do corporate motivational training here. We use techniques called “augmented neuro-associations”. It’s the area I got my doctorate in and basically, it’s a form of verbal stimulous that triggers the very lowest levels of the mind. Certain word forms and images, especially on properly conditioned subjects, trigger intense emotions: excitement, loyalty, hard work, anxiety, arrousal, fear, and so on.

Apparently Bambi (or Sandi or whatever) had been one of our training helpers, meaning she attends the training courses we give to companies, hands our brochures, coffee, etc. This means that she’s probably gone through basic and advanced conditioning twenty or more times. Use an ANA trigger on her, and she’s activated.

And I was so annoyed that I activated her, then sent her my intense anger.This translated into fear on her end. She was pushed back against the corner of the room, shaking, nearly catatonic. So help me if this didn’t turn me on.

OK, I’ll admit that I’ve occassionally used a bit of the technique to tweak a response in a chick I’ve liked. But I’ve never used it for pleasure against someone strongly conditioned, and certainly never against an employee. Until now.

As I got turned on, my anger dissipated. In it’s place was an intense interest on what I could do with her. Consider it an experiment. Could I turn her into something useful?

I used another trigger image (I’m not mentioning them here or thousands of people on the internet would turn into my personal slaves, if they could only find me) and she calmed down. She was still afraid, but not like she was going to have a heart attack.

I tried a somnetic trigger. Her eyes fluttered shut. Hmm. Let’s see what we shall see. “Sandi, stand up.” She did. Nice.

First I wanted to fix the naming problem. “Sandi, what’s your full name?”

“Sandi Henshaw.” Mumbled, but reasonably clear.

“Sandi, from now on your name is no longer Sandi Henshaw. If you ever hear that name, you’ll know it’s someone else, someone you’ve never met. Your name, the one you know you’ve had all your life, is Bambi Slave. Say it.”

“Bambi Slave.”

Now this was getting cool. But it wouldn’t stick. Somnetic triggers put the subject into a hypnosis-like state. But like with hypnosis, suggestions don’t remain forever. But core triggers do. Core triggers are dangerous, because they change something fundamental in the brain chemistry. If I used a core trigger to change Sandi’s name, it would change. For real. Permanently. I core triggered her. She was now Bambi.

“Bambi, you are my slave. You respond solely to me, unless you’re carrying out a task on my behalf. But you will accept no commands or instructions from anyone else. Ever. When you are not in my presence, you will appear to function as a member of society, but you are my property. Do you remember the fear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. If you fail to follow any instruction, you will feel the fear at the intensity you felt earlier. If you continue to fail, the fear will intensify, the pain will intensify, to a level hundreds of times worse than you felt before. But you will not pass out. You will endure the pain and the fear until you obey me. At which time, I may make you feel better.”

I core triggered her. This was part of her brain chemistry. Poor kid.

“Tomorrow, you will be in on time. That is a command. Failure to do so will cause you intense pain. Tonight, you will go shopping. You will find yourself black ankle boots. You will get an all-black, body hugging, cat-suit. Spandex. I want to be able to see every curve. You will buy a wide, gold belt. You will buy a golden collar and you will wear it at all time as a symbol of your fealty to me. You will always be dressed in an intensely sexy way, but this will be your uniform in the office. Finally, you will buy an engraved pendant to hang from your neck. It will say, simply, Bambi 001. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Leave now.”

She left. At least now she’d listen to me. I was turned on, but I felt guilty. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time for guilt because the troops were back in the office and we had a problem with an important customer. By the time I went home that night, I forgot all about Bambi.

The next morning, my assistant comes in. “Uh, boss, we have a problem.”

“Like that’s news.”

“No, this is different. It’s Sandi Henshaw. She’s behaving real strangely. She’s dressed really weird and she won’t even respond to her name.”

Oh fuck. I forgot. The troops aren’t going to like this.

“I know about her. Bring her to me. But you’ll need to call her Bambi.”

My assistant looked curiously at me. He was silent for a minute. “Oh boss, tell me you didn’t?”

“I did.”

“Shit. This could be trouble.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Bring her in.”

My god, was she hot. When she walked in, my temperature went up 30 degrees. My assistant looked like he could barely breath. She walked into the office, dressed in the uniform I had defined, and got down on her knees.

“May I worship thee?” Her voice had turned throaty, sexy, like she’d watched all the right movies.

“Of course.”

She started licking my feet. Then kissing my ears, my neck. She slowly removed my shirt, kissed her way down my chest, and unbuttoned my fly. She gave me the most incredible head I’ve ever had. She rubbed all against me and licked and sucked every body part. When she (well, I) was done, she knelt at my side, behind my desk, looking at me with absolute adoration in her eyes.

Meanwhile, the eyes of my assistant had bugged out. He started giving me a lecture about what was right and wrong.

So help me. I couldn’t help myself. I slammed him.

My former assistant (previously holding the title executive VP), now wears nothing but a diaper. He has a brass tag hung from his neck that says simply “Subject 2”. He’s now our doorman. We trot him out for customers from time to time to show them how far our training can go.

Since Bambi goes everywhere with me now (she has also been conditioned and trained to be my bodyguard) we show her off as well. We’ve sold over a hundred Bambi’s to other rich executives, each fetching more revenue than we used to make in an entire fiscal quarter.

Oh, and Bambi did get her raise. I gave her the salary my former VP used to make. After all, Bambi needs it to afford everything I require for her to be a proper personal slave. But she deserves it. She now shows up on time every single day.