The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Good morning, Dr. Keller,” a familiar, reedy voice said in greeting.

“Morning, Dr. Jaeckel,” came a listless reply.

Martin Jaeckel was not one of Jacqueline Keller’s favorite people. Short and thin, with a prematurely receding hairline and a beaky nose on which thick, round glasses perched precariously, Jaeckel was nobody’s idea of a ladies’ man—nobody’s except his own, unfortunately. He kept coming on to her, no matter what she did to put him off. It had gotten so that even a routine polite hello in the morning felt like the prelude to another inept pass.

It wasn’t even, she thought, as if she were all that attractive. Oh, she wasn’t ugly; she had slightly wavy light-brown hair (at least it was wavy when she didn’t have it tied up in a tight bun, as she did now), regular features dominated by large green eyes behind cat’s-eye glasses, and a trim figure. But she was hardly a sex bomb, and in any case she dressed to play down her looks. Being a woman in science was hard enough without having to deal with sexual games in the workplace.

Then again—she quirked her mouth at the thought—it wasn’t as if Jaeckel was any prize himself. She was probably the prettiest woman who’d let him get anywhere near her, for any reason.

Still, he was supposed to be brilliant—top of his class at Harvard Medical School, Johns Hopkins, Albert Einstein Medical Center, and so on. Like her, he was working on new medications for treating various mental disorders. She was concentrating on schizophrenia; Jaeckel was on a team looking into drugs for so-called dissociative disorders, a class of conditions covering everything from amnesia to fugue to multiple personality. Exactly what Jaeckel himself was doing, she didn’t know and didn’t especially care.

Dr. Martin Jaeckel glanced over his shoulder at Jacqueline Keller as he headed for his work area on the other side of the cavernous laboratory. She was glowering at him again. Stuck-up bitch, he thought resentfully. Thinks I’m dirt.

Well, all that was about to change.

There was, he reflected, an up side to having no social life to speak of. He had the spare money and time to equip a lab of his own at home and perform his own private experiments. That personal work was about to bear fruit.

He took two small bottles out of his jacket pocket and hid them in his desk for later, along with a pair of sterile hypodermics wrapped in plastic. Then, satisfied, he turned his attention to his assigned project: a new drug, based on studies of the brain chemistry of multiple-personality patients, which was supposed to help them re-form a single stable identity.

It wouldn’t work. He already knew that. Still, it was a paycheck, and when, inevitably, the project failed, no one would be hurt too badly. Most new drugs failed; it was part of the business. The work went on.

Of course, it wouldn’t do to let on in advance that he knew the stuff was a dead end. Even if he were believed, that would just invite questions as to how he’d known—and that might bring up matters he and generations of his family had worked very hard to keep quiet.

Setting his mouth in a tight line, Dr. Jaeckel bent his head to the task at hand.

The sun was setting when Dr. Keller emerged from the Drexel Pharmaceuticals lab complex, headed for her car in its reserved space in the company parking lot. As usual, she seemed to be one of the last to leave; at any rate, she didn’t see anyone else around.

Suddenly, a voice behind her asked, “Dr. Keller? May I speak with you for a moment?”

It was Jaeckel. Damn it! Without turning around, she responded petulantly, “Can’t it wait till morning?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jaeckel’s voice said. He sounded as though he were right behind her now. Dr. Keller was about to turn around and tell him where to go and what to do when he got there, when suddenly she felt a prickling sensation in her right arm. She looked down to see a hypodermic needle being withdrawn from her bicep.

“What . . . the . . .!” she got out before falling silent. She’d been about to do something, hadn’t she, she thought vaguely. The world faded into pastels around her. Pretty. Pret-ty. . . .

Jaeckel walked around the unmoving form of Dr. Jacqueline Keller to examine her from the front. Yes, the drug had taken hold. Her eyes were open, she was still conscious, but her brain no longer formulated thoughts of its own. A vapid smile transformed her normally serious features.

“Come with me,” Jaeckel said, taking her hand and towing her along.

“Come with me,” Jacqueline Keller echoed in a chirping voice. She giggled.

Jaeckel led Keller to her car—the parking spaces were neatly laid out in alphabetical order, complete with little signs. Reflexively, she took her car keys out of her purse, opened the driver’s side door and got in.

That wouldn’t do, of course, not with her in this condition. Jaeckel followed her in, easing her unresisting body over to the passenger side. Then he took the car keys, still held loosely in her hand, and started the engine.

Turning to his drugged colleague, he said, “You can rest now, Dr. Keller. Go to sleep.” In answer, she sighed and leaned back, resting her head on the back of the seat, and closed her eyes. In a moment, she began to snore, mouth open.

So far, so good. The drug he’d used suppressed conscious thought; with her mind turned off, the snooty Jacqueline Keller had been easy to lead away. If he wanted, he could do anything with her now, and she’d cooperate. He fantasized briefly about dressing her up in some fetish outfit and having her pose and wriggle in front of a video camera, then mailing the tape to corporate headquarters. That’d show her, all right—but no. He had bigger plans for her.

Presently they arrived at Jaeckel’s place, a one-story house in one of the bedroom communities serving the city where Drexel Pharmaceuticals was based. It was a modest home, but at least it was all his—no landlord to ask prying questions or drop by unannounced at an inconvenient moment. It was dark now, and the tree-lined driveway helped conceal the fact that the car driving into Jaeckel’s garage was not his.

Parking the vehicle, Jaeckel turned to his passenger. Gently shaking her, he said, “Wake up, Dr. Keller, we’re home.”

Her eyes opened, wide and blank. “Wake up Dr. Kel-ler we’re ho-ome,” she sang, then giggled again.

Jaeckel got the doped-up doctor out of the car and into the house, then sat her on the couch in his living room.

It was time for the second hypo, the important one. Gingerly, he opened the bottle containing the drug he’d concocted in his private lab. He inserted the tip of the second hypodermic and drew up a precisely measured amount of its contents, then set the hypo down, resealed the bottle and put it carefully into a drawer. Then he injected Dr. Keller.

The first effects were just as he’d expected. The new drug was racing her metabolism; she flushed, and her eyes cleared, the remnants of the first shot burning off at an accelerated rate. She surged to her feet angrily.

“You bastard!” she screamed. “You sick bastard! You drugged me! I’m calling the cops! They’ll fucking throw away the key!” She looked around wildly for the nearest phone.

But only for a moment. Then, suddenly, she screamed in agony.

She doubled over, then straightened up, writhing, hands grabbing at her head—and began to change!

Her hair picked up reddish highlights, then reddened completely. Clawing at it, Dr. Keller undid the bun it was tied into, and it cascaded down her back, growing as he watched until it reached her hips. Her lips reddened and thickened into a pout; the bones of her face shifted subtly. Her body changed, too, legs and torso lengthening, breasts and hips swelling, waist narrowing, belly going taut, smooth muscle lining her arms. Even her skin altered, darkening from the doctor’s pale shade to something nearly Mediterranean. Only her eyes remained the same, large and green behind her glasses.

Or—not quite the same. As the shuddering of her body eased, the altered Dr. Keller fumbled at her glasses and removed them, blinking. “There,” she said. “That’s better.” She didn’t need the glasses anymore, it seemed.

“It worked!” Martin Jaeckel was beside himself. “It worked!”

Keller turned her attention to him. “You did this, honey?” she asked in a throaty voice, gesturing at her new body. It didn’t register with her that she’d just called the despised Jaeckel “honey.”

“Yes, I did,” Jaeckel responded, watching her carefully. If he were right, really right, the final stage ought to be kicking in about now.

Yes! Keller’s eyes locked on him, and her breathing changed again, going deeper, faster. She was imprinting on him, the first man she’d seen since her transformation. Sexually imprinting, so that she’d find him irresistibly attractive. Cognitively imprinting, so that she’d do anything he said.

“Oh, thank you,” she crooned. She began to sway teasingly toward him, peeling away her clothes in an impromptu strip act. Off came her blouse—a deep breath, and her new bosom popped several buttons, after which the rest was easy. Off with the skirt, which she twirled above her head for a moment before dropping it. Her bra was a ruin anyway, torn to shreds in her transformation; her panties fell in a moment. Lastly, she kicked aside her shoes and languorously pulled off her nylon stockings. Martin had watched all this in awe. Her performance had him panting, and so hard it hurt. And she knew it, too.

“Come to mama,” she cooed, undulating over to him and gathering him in. Her strong hands pressed against the back of his head, nails digging into his scalp, forcing his face deep into her cleavage. By reflex alone, he reached to unfasten his belt and pants. Sensing what he was doing, she freed one hand from his hair and playfully unbuttoned his shirt, counting the buttons as she did it. “One . . . and two . . . and three. . . .”

When they were finally both naked, they sank to the floor together. Martin Jaeckel was no longer gloating over the success of his experiment, or over what he’d done to the standoffish Dr. Keller. He was no longer thinking at all, merely bucking and pumping, controlled by the motion of Jacqueline’s powerful hips, his arms clasped around her and his hands buried in that incredible hair. Every so often he’d pull his face free to take a breath—and then Jacqueline would fasten her lips on his, or her fantastic new boobs would brush his face, and he’d forget everything again.

At last, Jacqueline fell asleep, her head resting on Martin’s shoulder. Martin wouldn’t have minded dozing off too—but, he reminded himself, he had work to do. With some effort—Jacqueline weighed more than he did—he levered his sleeping beauty onto the couch. Then he dressed and went down into his home lab in the basement and filled a fresh syringe with another dose of the transformative serum. Paradoxically, the same substance which had changed Dr. Keller into the carnal creature asleep in his living room would also change her back.

Dr. Jaeckel sighed. He wished he didn’t have to change her back at all. But it was too soon—left to herself, after only one dose, she’d eventually revert anyhow. And a second dose would tighten the drug’s grip on her. Soon enough, she’d be so hooked she’d take it willingly, beg for it—and after a while, that red-headed firecracker would become the dominant personality and Jacqueline would remain in that identity even without additional treatments.

He headed back upstairs.

Jacqueline was still asleep. Gently, he shook her to a semblance of wakefulness. Her eyes focused—half-focused, really—on him.

“Wha’s up, Mart’n honey?” she slurred.

Now was the time to be very careful. The transformative had made her very vulnerable to suggestions coming from him; the trick was to use the right ones.

“Listen carefully,” Martin instructed Jacqueline.

“Yes Martin,” she said.

He held up the filled syringe. “I’m going to put this in your purse,” he said, and did so. Jacqueline watched silently. “In a little while, I’ll take you home. When I get there, you will go inside. When you are inside, you will inject yourself, and then immediately get rid of the hypo where you’ll never see it again. It will change you back to your regular self, and when it does, you will forget everything that happened this evening. You will remember only that you came straight home, alone, and had a boring evening. You will go to bed, sleep all night and awaken relaxed and refreshed. Do you understand me, Jacqueline? Repeat my instructions if you understand.”

“Yes Martin,” she said softly. “I under . . . stand.” She repeated his commands.

Perfect, he gloated. Her imprinting on him enabled him to command her as if she were in a trance. It wouldn’t work on her “normal” self, though.

“Thank you, Jacqueline,” Jaeckel said. “Now come with me.”

The drive back to Dr. Keller’s place passed in a blur for both scientists. Dr. Keller, of course, remained under the influence of Jaeckel’s drug, while Jaeckel himself was deep in thought. He had plans for his sexy guinea pig, plans which would remove her forever as a professional competitor while keeping her available as his personal toy. One step at a time, one step at a time. . . .

At last they arrived. As soon as Jaeckel parked the car in front of Jacqueline’s apartment building, the transformed female researcher got out and, obeying her programming, went inside. She had a ground-floor apartment, and for a moment, Jaeckel was tempted to peek through her window to see what would happen next. Common sense prevailed, however. He didn’t want to risk being seen by building security—or, for that matter, by Dr. Keller herself, once she’d changed back. If she saw him then, she might remember it, and that would raise the wrong sort of questions.

He got out of the car and shut the door, realizing that he’d have to get a cab home—not an attractive option at this time of night. His own car was still parked in the Drexel parking lot. All this planning, he thought, annoyed at himself, and I forgot to arrange my own transportation home.

Fortunately, he had his cell phone, and knew the number of a 24-hour car service he’d used occasionally when his car had been in the shop. After walking a block or so from Jacqueline’s apartment building, he pulled out his phone and made the call.

The cab took its time showing up, but eventually, Jaeckel had his ride. When he finally got home, he had barely enough energy to take a shower before collapsing into bed.

Dr. Keller felt relaxed and refreshed when she awoke the next morning. When she got up, though, she confronted a mystery: her clothes were all rumpled, and her blouse was missing some buttons. She couldn’t seem to find her bra at all. After searching for it for a few minutes, she gave up, tossed last night’s outfit into the laundry hamper and put on fresh clothes. Then she fixed herself a big breakfast. For some reason, she was ravenously hungry.

At work, she felt increasingly distracted. She wanted something, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. The formless urge grew worse and worse. Finally, around four P.M., she couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to get out; she couldn’t focus on her work.

As she stepped out of the lab building, hoping that a bit of fresh air would clear her head, Martin Jaeckel appeared.

“Is something wrong, Dr. Keller?” he asked solicitously.

“Go away, Jaeckel,” she groaned. “I’m not in the mood for you right now.”

Dr. Jaeckel stepped closer. “But I can help you,” he said. “I’ve got just what you need.”

“What are you talking about?” Jacqueline gasped.

“This,” Jaeckel replied. He was now close enough to plunge the hypo hidden in his hand into her arm.

As the needle pierced her, Jacqueline gasped. “What the hell—!”

She never finished the sentence. A jolt of incredible sensation ripped through her. There was pain, tearing pain—but there was pleasure, too. She felt her body melting, flowing—and as it did, her mind shifted as well.

A minute or so later, she stood straight, smiling down at the diminutive Martin Jaeckel. Once more, she was the copper-tressed goddess she had been the night before. “Wow,” she said, fondling her bountiful boobs with her long-nailed hands, “that’s really something, Martin honey. What the fuck is that stuff anyway?”

Martin, instinctively eager to impress such a gorgeous creature, began to answer in technical terms. Jacqueline waved him silent. “Never mind,” she said. “I don’t wanna hear about all that egghead stuff. Let’s go somewhere and party!”

Martin regarded the altered Jacqueline Keller with a mixture of lust and speculation. God, she was terrific! And apparently, the psychological side of her change included a loss, or at least a suppression, of the high intelligence and advanced knowledge she had in her “normal” state. She was a whole different person, in mind as well as body.

And what a person! Martin smirked. So she wanted to party? Well, then, why not?

The Golden Cockatoo was a bar and strip joint Jaeckel occasionally patronized. Normally, he was careful not to let his co-workers know he went there; not only was he afraid they’d make fun of him, he also worried that his bosses might consider it “unprofessional” and make trouble for him. But Jacqueline wouldn’t mind, in her present state—and it was all part of the plan.

They came in around quarter of five, and got a table with a good view of the stage. A dancer by the name of Delilah Duos was twirling around one of the poles as they sat down. Martin noted approvingly how Jacqueline’s eyes followed the performer’s gyrations.

“I bet you’d like to get up there and dance,” he suggested. “I bet you’d be good at it, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jacqueline responded, smiling wickedly. “Oh, YEAH.” Then she said, “What do I need the stage for, though? This table’ll do just fine!”

Eagerly, she slithered up onto the flat surface of the small round dining table at which they were sitting. She undulated to her feet, and then, guided by the same music Delilah was dancing to, stripped seductively.

It only took a moment for the other patrons to realize what was happening. When they did, they howled approval. Their cheers drove Jacqueline on; she peeled down until she was wearing nothing but her high heels, then lay down on the table and writhed, muscular legs spread and kicking, arms pumping away.

When the music ended, she climbed down, bowed to her wildly applauding audience and put her clothes back on. The only person displeased with her act was Delilah, who looked daggers at her before gathering up her own costume and heading backstage.

Martin had to struggle to regain his composure. Like plenty of the other guys watching Jacqueline prance and wriggle on the table, he’d come, groaning in helpless ecstasy. He wanted nothing more than to take her someplace private and screw her till he passed out. But he had to keep the big head in charge, not the little head—at least if he wanted his plans for Dr. Keller to work out all the way.

So, with an effort, he pulled himself together. Once Jacqueline was stuffed back into her clothes, the two of them left the club together and Martin drove back to Drexel, where Jacqueline’s car still sat in the parking lot. It was nearly seven when they arrived, but the gate opened freely after he passed Dr. Keller’s ID in front of its scanner. Getting Jacqueline to let him do that had been a good idea. Let Drexel security think she’d come back on her own. When he left again, it would appear he’d been at the lab all this time.

He stopped the car, leaving the engine idling. “Jacqueline, listen carefully.”

“Yes, Martin honey?” The woman’s voice was warm, inviting. Martin had to fight not to let it lure him into staring at her deep cleavage.

Martin pulled a plastic-wrapped hypo of transformative out of the glove compartment. “Take this,” he instructed his gorgeous guinea pig. “Go to your car, get in, and then inject yourself. It will change you back to your other self, as it did last night.

“When that happens, you will go home immediately. You will go about your normal evening routine until you go to sleep. When you awaken in the morning, you will remember your transformation and what happened while you were transformed. You will remember it as an exciting dream, a dream you want to have again. But you will tell no one about this dream. Do you understand me, Jacqueline? Repeat my instructions if you understand me.”

“Yeah,” Jacqueline said, nodding. “I understand.” And as commanded, she repeated Dr. Jaeckel’s orders. Then, suddenly: “But I don’t wanna change back!”

Jaeckel was torn between glee and dismay. On the one hand, it seemed her mind was embracing the new personality created by his serum. On the other, this was the first real sign of rebellion she’d shown under the drug. He’d have to watch her carefully; it wouldn’t go well for him if she started developing a tolerance or something. “You have to, Jacqueline,” he insisted. “You must do as I say.” Then, a flash of inspiration: “If you do as I say, soon you may get to stay like this all the time. But if you don’t, I won’t be able to give you the shots anymore.”

Jacqueline’s eyes widened. She reached out and took the hypo from Jaeckel, then got out of his car and headed across the parking lot toward her own. Martin got out and followed her, watching until she’d gotten into her car and shut the door. Then he got back into his own vehicle and drove off.

The next morning, Jacqueline Keller woke up horny and flushed from the wildest dream she could remember ever having. In it, creepy little Martin Jaeckel had shot her up with something and she’d . . . changed, into a big-titted, dim-witted bimbo who’d stripped in a club. Remembering the stares and cheers of the men who’d watched her dancing on a table made her breathe hard. God! What a fantasy!

Embarrassed, she realized that just thinking about the dream was getting her wet. With an effort, she forced herself to concentrate on getting dressed and making breakfast. The fantasy continued to run in the back of her mind, however, a low-level distraction. She was halfway out the door when she realized she’d forgotten to put on a bra.

The hell with it, she decided after a moment’s chagrin. She was late, and with her lab coat on, nobody was likely to notice anyway.

At work, she had to fight to keep her mind on the experiment she was performing. It was a struggle to understand the neat, careful notes she’d made of her earlier tests. She had to have something to help her concentrate. Coffee didn’t seem to work, though; after her sixth cup, she was jittery, but still felt that nagging need.

She managed to get through the day, but only barely. And as she was leaving, she ran into Dr. Jaeckel. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for her.

“Is something the matter?” he asked. Vaguely, Jacqueline remembered him asking the same question the previous day, when she’d left early.

“N-nothing,” she stammered.

“Are you sure?” Jaeckel’s voice seemed to hold just a hint of mockery. From an inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a small hypodermic.

“Jesus,” Jacqueline wheezed. “What the hell . . . is that for?”

Jaeckel smiled, the mockery very evident now. “Let’s just say . . . the stuff that dreams are made of.”

“Uhhhhh!” The craving she’d been fighting all day was suddenly agony. “God, I’m sick,” Jacqueline panted, doubling over. “Go away, just go away!”

Instead of leaving, Jaeckel approached her. Hunched in misery, she was powerless to stop him from plunging the needle into her arm.

The pain was less intense this time, the pleasure stronger, as her body flowed like liquid into its alternate form. Within seconds she was standing upright, smiling, rich red hair spilling down her back.

A grinning Dr. Jaeckel inspected her. Yes . . . just as he’d hoped, the transformation was even more extreme this time, her body even more luscious than before. Each change brought her closer to her ultimate potential—and closer to the day when the serum’s effects became permanent.

Contemplating the future, Jaeckel smiled an evil smile. Ah, yes, he thought; better living through chemistry.

He put his arm around the beautiful redhead and guided her to his car.