The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Troy Davis examined the black plastic device with suspicion, turning it over in his hands. It looked, more than anything else, like a bicycle headlamp. If he hadn’t ordered it himself, that’s what he probably would have guessed it was. Even at this moment, he wasn’t entirely certain he’d gotten his one hundred eighty dollars’ worth.

Troy picked up the piece of paper that had slipped out of the box along with the device. The paper was glossy, proclaiming “The brain is the most powerful sexual organ!” in the kind of misproportioned typeface that often accompanies products shipped directly from Asia. He read the explanatory copy, at least the parts that made sense to him: “Bypasses conscious thought and stimulates the limbic system directly . . . breaks down fears and inhibitions . . . achieves intense sexual arousal.” As far as Troy understood, the idea was that if you flashed the thing in someone’s eyes, you could send suggestions into some more primitive part of the brain, suggestions that conscious thought processes couldn’t override. You could turn the most stuck-up ice princess into a nymphomaniac, ready to fuck like a cavewoman. You could make her follow orders that she wouldn’t even remember having received.

Troy knew just who he’d use it on, too. Kayla Henry was a marketing major who’d been in many of Troy’s classes freshman and sophomore year, not just business classes but also a couple of others, including Western Civ. This semester, they had a management class together. She was a platinum blonde, about five-four, pretty in a moon-faced, Jenna Bush kind of way, with eye-popping curves, although she’d seen her freshman fifteen and raised it another ten. Whatever she’d come to Centerville University for, it wasn’t the intellectual stimulation. From what Troy had seen, she spent most of her class time staring at the instructor with a look of sullen boredom punctuated by occasional eye-rolls, never taking notes; she held down a steady C-minus average by means unknown. She never missed a party, but for all the times she’d gotten drunk and goofy with her sorority sisters, as far as Troy knew, she’d never put out. Around him and everyone he talked to, she was bitchy and moody, always complaining about something. Why the rest of the Zetas seemed to like her so much was a mystery.

There were certainly women on campus who were just as attractive, in better shape or more pleasant to be around, but Kayla had hit the reject button on Troy at a party the previous month, and it still pissed him off. Troy was was reasonably tall, reasonably good-looking and, most of all, confident. In high school, when cool was measured by how well you hid the insecurities that surged through your bloodstream along with the new and funky hormones, Troy had a directness and an unquestioning sense of self-importance that amused teachers, impressed friends and enraptured girls. He’d dated many and fucked more than a few. But after the first few months of college, he’d started wondering whether he’d lost something. Girls had swooned for him, but women didn’t seem to be impressed. By September of his junior year, it had been a whole eight months since he’d gotten laid, and that, to him, was unacceptable. So when a drunk Troy encountered a drunker Kayla at the Zetas’ welcome-back party, he thought he had a good shot at ending his dry spell without having to lower his standards too far. He’d hardly begun talking to her, though, when she turned on him and began yelling insults—well-aimed ones, too, accusing him of acting like a big shot, like the world revolved around him, like he was the king of fucking everything, like he already had the million bucks he always said he was going to make.

Truthfully, it was the smartest thing he’d ever heard her say, but it was also thoroughly humiliating. A whole room of partygoers saw and heard, and not only did Troy not get laid that night, his subsequent attempts for the next month and a half had been turned aside with amused condescension. Kayla’s unexpected outburst had turned him into a joke. Pathetically surfing the Internet for porn one solitary Saturday night (even his history-nerd roommate Justin was out doing something fun), Troy had stumbled on a page advertising the VM-Stim, this gizmo that was supposed to stimulate the limbic something-or-other and break down sexual inhibitions, and in his wounded and inebriated state, he’d ordered the thing, only to regret it the next morning when he saw the purchase confirmation in his inbox.

Now he had it. The possibility that it might work seemed, frankly, stupid. But he’d been wishing for a way to get back at Kayla ever since the incident, and if it did work . . . in brains and looks, she was already a bimbo. But a bimbo with an out-of-control sex drive and no inhibitions, who he could control, dominate, call his—that would be the kind of Kayla that Troy wouldn’t mind.

“What is that?”

Troy had been so wrapped up in his revenge fantasy, he hadn’t heard Justin enter the apartment. Troy and Justin were roommates of convenience: they knew each other from a couple of freshman-year classes, and last year Troy had leaned on Justin, the history major, to help him toward a better grade in U.S. History to 1865. Neither had wanted to live in one of the big university-owned apartments or rental houses this year—Justin disliked the party scene, while Troy just wanted more privacy—and they had found a better apartment close to campus. Occasionally they went out with a group for burgers and beers, and on these occasions Justin displayed a sly sense of humor that had the others, including Troy, in hysterics, while Justin appreciated the way Troy said whatever was on his mind. But for the most part, they stayed out of each other’s way; neither cared much about the other’s subject, interests, or personal life. Still, every once in a while, it seemed to Troy, Justin just had to judge him about something.

“What, this?”

“Yeah. Is that a bike headlight? You don’t have a bike. I can’t even picture you on a bike.”

“This is . . . ” Troy’s imagination failed him. He could and routinely did exaggerate, but he’d never been good at outright fabrication.

Meanwhile, Justin had reached for the paper insert. “‘VM-Stim’? Where did you get this thing?” He scanned the sheet, made a face, and handed it back, shaking his head.

“What?”

“This is multiple levels of wrong,” Justin said. “A sex ray. You bought a sex ray. Did you pay money for this? I thought you were in college to learn to make good investments. Was there a special? Did they throw in some free X-ray Specs?”

“Hey, fuck you, all right? I was drunk. I don’t even remember why I bought it. You could have a little fucking sympathy. I haven’t had any in months.”

“So you’re planning on getting it by using some gizmo to hit women’s reset buttons? Nice. Real nice. You know, if this thing were real, I’m pretty sure that would constitute rape. I don’t think you can give consent if some jackass uses a ray gun to shut off your brain.”

“What the fuck’s got into you, asshole? This is none of your fucking business. I bought the thing, I don’t know why, but fuck it, I’m gonna see what it does. And maybe it’ll help some tight-ass bitch get rid of some inhibitions, like it says there. Maybe I’ll be doing her a favor.”

“Oh, jeez. You’re thinking of using this thing on Kayla Henry, aren’t you? Unbelievable. Listen, you think she made a fool of you before— how do you think she’s going to react when you shine a bike light in her face and say, ‘Oh, sorry, I was trying to brainwash you, my bad’?”

“Hey, if you’re going to be a fucking critic, just shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Go read about Thomas fucking Jefferson’s second-favorite horse.”

Troy still wasn’t a hundred percent certain that the VM-Stim was for real, but Justin’s badgering had made him that much more determined to try it. On Friday, as they left Organizational Behavior, Troy shadowed Kayla, hoping to overhear her plans for the weekend. He smiled as he heard them mention a large house party going on Saturday night. Kayla said she intended to be there.

So, Troy decided, would he.

For most of the night, Troy hung around talking with other guys. There was no point in chitchatting with women; his target was Kayla, and he wasn’t going to risk getting publicly shot down again and calling attention to himself. He waited until 11:30 or so, when everyone was starting to get good and drunk, then maneuvered himself to a position where he could keep an eye on the stairs. Like many campus-owned houses, this one had two bathrooms, one downstairs, one upstairs. The downstairs bathroom had the longer line; Troy bet that Kayla would choose to use the upstairs bathroom instead.

Shortly after midnight, his patience paid off: Kayla, after making a huffy comment about the length of the downstairs line, trudged upstairs to use the bathroom. Troy waited about thirty seconds, then followed. At the top of the stairs, he peered around the corner to see whether there was another line. He saw Kayla waiting by the closed bathroom door and ducked back. No one had been behind her. He watched the stairs, his heart beating faster, and prayed that no one else would come up. A moment later, he heard the door open behind him, then close. “Excuse me,” slurred a dark-haired woman who sidled past him and walked slowly down the stairs, gripping the railing like a threatened belief.

Troy moved quietly down the empty hallway, positioned himself in front of the bathroom door, slipped the VM-Stim out of his pocket, held it poised just above waist level, aimed upward . . . and waited.

The door opened and Kayla stepped out. Her face had just begun to contort with displeasure when Troy raised the device and pressed the button.

A bright, blue-white light strobed irregularly in Kayla’s face for about twelve seconds. The time seemed to drag on forever to Troy; for the first time, it occurred to him to worry. He felt a panicky urge to check whether anyone was coming, yet couldn’t tear his gaze away from Kayla’s face, illuminated by the flashing light. When it stopped, Kayla stood dazed, breathing slowly and deeply, as if she were asleep, but with her eyes wide open, focused somewhere far away. A flush crept into her cheeks.

“Kayla.”

No response.

“Kayla, if you can hear me, nod your head.”

In slow motion, like a zombie, Kayla nodded.

“Come with me.”

Troy took Kayla by the elbow and led her down the hall to an empty bedroom, closing the door behind them and locking it. He fumbled around until he found a bedside lamp and turned it on. In the dim incandescent light, Kayla still held the same dazed expression. Her face seemed even more flushed, and her breathing, still slow and deep, had become slightly ragged.

“Kayla, how do you feel?”

Kayla’s mouth opened slowly, but no words came out of it. No kidding, thought Troy, this thing really does bypass the conscious mind. Briefly, he pondered what to say next.

“Kayla, you’ve disrespected me in the past. You’ve been rude for no reason.”

If Kayla heard, she didn’t respond. This isn’t going to work without some feedback, Troy thought.

“Kayla, repeat after me: You respect me. You won’t be rude to me anymore.”

Kayla’s voice came in a hesitant, ragged mumble. “I . . . respect you . . . won’t be rude.”

“You’ll do what I say, because I’m in control.”

Kayla stood still, silently.

“Say it.”

“In . . . control.”

“You’ll do what I say. Say it.”

“I’ll do . . . what you say.”

“Tell me how you feel right now, Kayla.”

“I . . . feel . . . ” A look of confusion, bordering on distress, crossed her face. She began to tremble. Troy worried that the effects of the VM-Stim were wearing off, but after a couple of moments, she still hadn’t moved, said anything, even blinked.

Troy decided to take a chance. “Kayla, take off your sweatshirt.”

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—Kayla grasped the collar of her sweatshirt and began to lift it up over her head. When it dropped to the floor, her breathing was even more ragged, her face showing even more strongly its combination of lust and anxiety. Troy looked down at her breasts, spectacularly round, and saw her nipples pushing urgently against her white blouse.

“Your shirt. Take it off too.” Slightly more quickly, fingers clumsy, she unbuttoned it and let it fall. Troy felt a thrill as he took in the sight of her standing in her bra, but he also felt that it was probably a good idea to pick up the pace.

“Take off the rest of your clothes, Kayla. Do it now.” She unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and stepped out of them, unhooked her bra and slipped it off (Jesus, what fantastic tits—Troy sucked in his breath when he saw them), pushed her panties down over her ass and let them fall around her ankles, and stood before him, breathing heavily. Troy could smell her pussy juices, strong and inviting. He also thought he saw her eyes starting to come back into focus. He reached out and pressed his hand against her heavy breast, the nipple drilling into the center of his palm. He slid his hand around the side, feeling its weight, its firmness, running his thumb over the nipple. Her breath caught, and she let out a whimper. Soft, uneven moans escaped her throat as he massaged the swollen orb. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh.

Sensing that there was no time to lose, Troy hastily stripped off his own clothes, took Kayla around the waist with one arm, and slid his other hand down her stomach to her pussy. It was sopping wet and slick. She shuddered and began to moan as he slid his middle finger across her labia, and her eyes drifted closed.

Troy pulled her over to the bed, where, to his astonishment, she crawled on hands and knees to the center, then waited, back arched, ass sticking up in the air, wet pussy lips pouting. Oh, fuck, he thought, this is even better than advertised. He clumsily pulled a condom packet out of his jeans, tore it open, rolled the rubber onto his straining, ecstatic hard-on, flung the packet aside, aimed himself at Kayla’s pussy and slid in.

Kayla’s cunt was slick and hot. As Troy pushed in, Kayla pushed back and moaned. Troy drew back and pushed in again, and again. Kayla’s moans grew in volume, her pussy clamped tight around Troy’s cock, her juices ran over his thighs. The months of sexual deprivation overtook him quickly; he felt his seed boiling up, flowing into his shaft, demanding to be released. “Unnnh!” he grunted as he let it go, the come firing out of him in one supercharged bolt after another. After a couple of spurts, he heard Kayla’s throaty “Unnnnngghh!” and felt her pussy flutter. As his orgasm subsided and he withdrew, she collapsed onto the bed, gasping.

Troy flopped down on the bed, stunned by the intensity of his orgasm and the unlikely success of his conquest. Moments later, though, he realized that he hadn’t thought his plan through. How long did the VM-Stim’s effects last? He had no idea. And how would Kayla react if she came to and realized what Troy had done—what she had done? Justin’s moral evaluation of the VM-Stim’s alleged effects came rushing back to him; his conscience wasn’t stirred, but his self-preservation instinct was. Hastily, he reached down to the floor and felt for his jacket.

“Oh, God,” exhaled Kayla, who had just regained her breath and, evidently, her consciousness. She lifted her head and turned it toward her seducer. Her eyes widened as she recognized him. “Troy Davis?” The look of recognition was overtaken by one of alarm. “What—”

Troy’s groping hand found the VM-Stim, pulled it from his jacket pocket, and pressed the button again. For twelve seconds, the flashing blue-white strobe erased the shock from Kayla’s face bit by bit, leaving it blank once again. Her eyes lost their focus; she made no sound beyond her deep, panting breathing.

Having bought himself some time, Troy considered what he should tell Kayla. He decided to start with a question, to see whether his earlier suggestions had stuck. “Kayla, tell me who controls you.”

“You . . . do,” she breathed.

Excellent, Troy thought. “Kayla, you’re not going to tell anyone about what we just did. You’ll keep it a secret. Say it.”

“Secret,” she repeated. “I won’t . . . tell . . . anyone.”

“You’ll do as I tell you. And you won’t be hesitant about it. What I tell you comes first, whatever anyone else says. Say it.”

“You . . . come . . . first.”

Having succeeded so far, Troy decided to put Operation Bimbo into effect. “You don’t need to be so uptight. You love sex. You can’t stop thinking about sex. You’ll get turned on whenever you’re around me. You’ll never say no to sex with me.”

Troy saw Kayla’s nipples begin to harden again, and he smelled her pussy more strongly. She’d just been fucked, and she was getting turned on again, right then.

He decided to examine the body he’d just won possession of. The tits . . . the tits were a wonder of the world. Round, large, and firm, with nipples that jutted out from the tightened, puckered pink areolae, they’d barely begun to sag from the weight Kayla had gained since freshman year. Troy couldn’t resist putting his hands on them and fondling them. Despite her trance, Kayla gasped and trembled as he massaged them.

She’d put on some fat around her waist and stomach, and some cottage cheese on her thighs. Her ass, though bigger than Troy liked, bubbled out enticingly. He put one hand and caressed it as he spoke. “Kayla, you need to get in shape. You’re going to spend more time at the gym. You want to look good for me. You’re going to work out regularly and get toned up. You want a flat stomach and a muscular butt. Say it.”

“Going to . . . work out. Look good.”

Troy pondered whether he’d missed anything. Wait a second—they had a class together. If she got this turned on in the middle of class, people might start wondering what was going on. He wanted her as his personal bimbo, but he didn’t necessarily want everyone to know about it. “Kayla, this is very important. When you’re in class or with your friends, you’ll act normally. You’ll only get turned on by me when we’re somewhere else. Say it.”

“Won’t . . . get horny . . . in class.”

“Or with your friends.”

“Or . . . with friends.”

“Tell me when you will get horny.”

“You. With . . . you. Somewhere else.”

“Are you horny now?”

“Yes.” Troy suddenly realized that her eyes had refocused. They were looking directly into his. “Yes.”

His own dick was stirring, getting hard again, not just semi-hard but hard hard. Eight months had been a long time. He didn’t have another condom, though.

“Put your mouth on my dick, Kayla,” Troy said. “Suck me.”

With downcast eyes, Kayla reached up and held Troy’s dick, then guided it into her mouth and began to suck on it. The blowjob wasn’t very skilled, but he found himself climbing quickly toward orgasm as he watched her full breasts swing and her hips move in time to her sucking, as if she were fucking back against an invisible penis. He imagined it wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge.

Gradually, after some minutes, Troy realized that Kayla’s technique was improving, as she responded to his own nonverbal signals. He felt himself rising toward his own release again. Placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on the back of her head, he guided her movements until the come rose from his balls and spilled forth into her mouth and down her throat. She trembled and gasped as she swallowed his come and intently sucked his dick clean. She pulled off his dick, let her head fall, and kneeled on the bed, panting.

“Not bad,” said Troy, thinking not only of the blowjob but of the overall course of the evening. As he began to pick up his clothes, she raised her eyes to his, giving him a complicated look. It was part ingratiating, part anxious, part pleading. He thought for a second, then realized that while he’d come, she was still horny. “Finish getting yourself off,” he directed her. With a deep inhalation that might have been gratitude, she reached a hand down to her pussy and rubbed. Less than a minute went by before her breathing turned to moans, the moans rose, and she spasmed with the throaty “Unnnnnggghh! Unnnnggh! Unnngh!” that had accompanied her earlier orgasm.

Troy had been getting dressed, but he’d paused to marvel at the intensity of Kayla’s orgasm. When it subsided, he finished. Fastening his belt and picking up his jacket, he looked down at Kayla. “I’m going to go now,” he said. “I’ll see you around campus.” After a pause, he added, “Be nice to me when you see me.”

She looked up at him with an expression of deference. “I will.”

Troy opened the door slightly, peering down the hall. When it was empty, he slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him, walked down the stairs and left the house without stopping to talk to anyone else. As he walked back to his apartment through the brisk October air, he smiled. Kayla had accused him of acting like the king of the world. Right now, he felt like it. And she was his concubine.