The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Bitch,” said the Captain with a kindly tone, putting down the phone, “We were having company.”

I looked up expectantly. This is unusual. The Captain lives privately on the farm, since he considers our living arrangement to be slightly unconventional, and he wants to maintain a low profile.

That is necessary, since he and the Army parted ways over his work, which I consider to be of the highest service to his nation, and I got to be part of it. I adore him. He is the center of my world, or at least the sun around which Satan and I rotate.

He told me I had to go to the mud-room and stay on my big cushion. First he let us go out back and do out business. Then he took my mate, Satan and put him upstairs in the front bedroom. He is an enormous black male Lab with a glossy coat. I could hear the click of his claws on the wood floor as he paced for a while, and I whined a little, wishing I could curl up with him.

The Captain normally lets me sleep with Satan in front of the fire. He moves my cushion in the living room in the winter, and there is nothing better than having my nose in Satan’s neck, smelling his fur and the smell of us and being all wrapped around him after we mate.

I am Satan’s bitch, though I was a male human, and it is completely natural. In fact, it is all I ever wanted in the whole world, after I met the Captain and volunteered for the Unit.

I could hear music from the stereo as the Captain waited for his company. I half-closed my eyes and thought of Satan humping me. I could not hear the scratching of his claws, so I assumed he had jumped up on the Captains bed to wait for something to happen and sleep.

It was warm in the mud-room and the sun shone through the window on my naked flank. I did the same thing.

Company

I don’t know how long we waited. Time does not mean much to me these days, and I have forgotten how that came to be. I could tell that the sun had moved across my skin, and when I heard the sound of a car pull up on the gravel in front of the house I got up on my hands and knees and stretched. Then I layed down again and looked at the door to the mud-room.

I could hear the sound of two voices, the Captain’s and another, deep enough to be a man, though I could not hear what they were saying. I heard the clatter of cups and smelled coffee and then they must have gone in the living room. I could sense that they were there, and so could Satan, since I heard him plop down from the bed, his weight hitting the floor with a heavy thud. I knew he was sitting right in front of the bedroom door, on alert.

I hoped I could see him soon.

Presently I could hear footsteps coming through the kitchen and the door swung open. The Captain was stood there, looking down at me. I jumped to my hands and knees in excitement. Behind him stood a tall man with a straggly moustache and longish dark hair. His mouth formed an “o” of astonishment.

“There she is,” said the Captain. “My Bitch.”

“This was a soldier?” said the tall man. “A male soldier?”

The Captain smiled. “Bitch was. But now things are different, and we are all just what we were supposed to be.” He snapped his fingers at me and turned. I followed him closely, padding on all fours, bursting in curiosity. We walked across the kitchen and into the living room. The Captain pointed at the rag rug next to his chair and I circled once and sat on my haunches. The fire was on and the room was toasty. I like that since I don’t have a nice coat like Satan. Captain tries to keep things warm enough for me.

He reached down and rubbed my ear. I was happy to be out of the mud-room and delighted that he touched me. I leaned against his chair and let my tongue loll out in pleasure.

Content, I listened to the noise of the men talking.

“So give this to me again. This is how he wants to be?”

“Completely voluntary. It is not slavery or anything like it. He wants to be here with me, I take care of him, and between me and Satan he is happy as a clam.”

“So the conditioning worked?”

“There is no conditioning regimen in the world that can do that without the pre-disposition and active cooperation of the subject. This is what he is. A human dog-bitch. It was the product of discovery and the operation itself.” I rubbed my head against the Captain’s hand.

“No surgery?”

“No. I can understand your confusion. It was a military operation. At least then. That is certainly an option, but it was not the point. There is a fellow in England who is having himself progressively altered into having the face of a cat, if you can imagine. People are strange creatures. Let me take you through it. I was a graduate researcher at Chapel Hill in animal behavior. I was getting close to some interesting results, and I had a minor in Human psychology and another in physical anthropology. I was in the 4th Psychological Operations group in the Army Reserves. I started to put some human factors work together with PsyOps concepts, and I managed to convince the Army to fund what I was doing at the university. Some of the other Agencies had an interest as well, you can imagine who.”

The tall man nodded speculatively. “So you launched the experiments after 9/11?”

“No. I was into this a long time before that. I had stumbled onto the zoo culture, and it both intrigued me and repulsed me. But I knew something was there.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I started with Kinsey’s ground-breaking research, and reports of bestiality. It turns out that it is not only common, it is normative in a lot of places, even in this country. Mostly it is young males finding sexual release with farm or domestic animals. They tend to outgrow the behavior, though to some degree as a coping mechanism, it can continue through a whole lifetime.”

“That is disgusting.”

“And a feature of human sexual behavior that is common enough to have formed taboos in some cultures. That is where I knew there was something deep in the psyche that could be exploited.”

“Which is what? A desire for sheep or horses? That is gross.”

“No. There have always been randy shepherds, and not all prisoners or sailors are homosexual. But homosexual behavior is common in both places. Sex happens. The key to it is the gender role. Within a forbidden activity is something even more profound, and that is exchanging mastery. That is the key to all of human sexual conduct and that is role. Those who penetrate have an intrinsic fear of being penetrated. If I can use the homosexual analogy, tops hate to become bottoms. Even the most earnest and randy Shepard would hate to be taken as a ewe to his ram.”

“You got that right,” said the tall man. “So what was the wrinkle in this that got your program funded?”

“Well, the internet has opened up a lot of previously closely-held behaviors. The beasties, as I call them, have a lot of information on the web. They call themselves “Zoos,” and while they are freaks, it makes you understand the whole spectrum of human behavior with pets. There is a lot more to it than is on the surface. There is a joke that explains the whole thing.”

“Which is?”

“Three dogs in the pound are talking. One is a Rottweiller, another is a bulldog, and the third is a Great Dane. They ask what each other is in for. The Rottie says he was taunted by the little boy next door and he nipped him. He is going to be put down. The Bulldog says the little girl in the family always pulled his tail, and finally he couldn’t stand it and bit her. He is going to be put down. Both look at the Dane. He says he was walking down the hall and his mistress has left the bathroom door open. She is bending over, showing her heart-shaped ass and inviting pussy. He bounds in and mounts her, the poor woman shouting in surprise. So the other two dogs shake their heads, saying he surely is going to be put down for that.”

The Captain smiled and rubbed my hair gently. Then he did the punch-line.

“No, says the Dane. I’m here to have my toenails trimmed.”

The tall man laughed. “You think so? You think there is a lot of that sort of stuff out there?”

“Enough that it is part of our folklore and humor. It is not considered a laughing matter in other cultures, though, and that is how my theories became a black program-of-record for the US Army.”

The tall man sat back in his chair. “That is why I am here, but it is not quite for the same reasons. There is something I want to do, a matter to be rectified. I need to help someone learn a lesson.”

“My techniques are not universal, and I told you up-front that it requires cooperation for this to have a well balanced and ethical outcome.”

“I am not concerned about ethics. That violation has already occurred. That is what I intend to fix. But what exactly did your program do?”

“That will take a moment. Let me freshen the coffee.” The Captain got up and took both coffee cups back to the kitchen. I followed on hands and knees to a point where I could see him and the tall man. When he returned, I went back to his side.

“When we took Afghanistan, there were a lot of bad guys in captivity. Some of them were hard cases. There was a change in our policy that permitted coercive questioning, In some cases it was a lot like torture. But there was a problem.”

“I know. Torture doesn’t get you the truth. It just gets you what you want to hear.”

“Precisely. The question was about finding methods that encouraged truthful disclosure on the part of the detainees, and left no marks except happy collaboration. It is not a one-size-fits-all situation. It requires cultural understanding and context.”

“Which you provided.”

The Captain smiled. “Yes, I did. It was remarkably successful. And quite simple, until those idiots at Abu Ghraib screwed it up. Dogs have always had a profound effect on people. I did not want to do it with snarls and teeth. I wanted to play into a fear much more profound. Something unthinkable.”

“That is why I am here. To learn how you did it.”

“I’m prepared to talk to you about it because you come with the endorsement of some people still in the business, and because you are going to compensate me handsomely. But it is going to be hands-off from here, and the compensation is going to be cash and I will not see you again, nor have any contact with you.”

“Correct. I have my own fish to fry. So what did you do?”

“It was genius, if I do say so myself. I wanted to find a way to soften up the prisoners without harming them- plant a psychological seed so devastating that it did not require hunger, or discomfort, or sleep deprivation. At least actively. I let them do that to themselves.”

He snapped his fingers, pointing to a place in front of the fireplace. I padded over and turned to face him, rising up on my hindquarters with my hands in the begging position, mouth open. The Captain dished a doggy treat out of his top pocket and tossed it to me. I caught it in my mouth, and bent forward, chewing.

“The first step was to get a suitable volunteer, since the dog was not a problem. In fact, that was the only way this could be done legally. Bitch was a soldier in our veterinary lab. He was a very shy kid, and once I found out why, I decided he was ideal.”

“Does it have to be voluntary?” asked the tall man, looking concerned. I looked at the Captain, wondering if he might be good for another treat.

“For this mission, yes. Though it is situation-dependent. I could imagine a scenario where it could done coercively, but there could be serious legal ramifications. Probably jail time, if brought to trial. It would not be very pleasant, and I can’t even imagine the publicity. In this case, though, with a volunteer, it was completely legal.”

“I have other concerns. But this kid…” he asked, voice trailing off in question.

“This kid loved dogs from his earliest days. He was abused as a child, and all his love and caring came from the family dog. Based on his situation, I think there was a certain identification and transference. Brutal step-father, rape. Unspeakable, really, to do that to someone so young and helpless.”

“And the training?”

“Two-part. One was behavior modification, which involved drugs, and a little language training. The other was bonding with the canine part of the team. As I said, with cooperation, it was easy. Bitch was an enthusiastic participant, particularly when he received praise for something that could, in other contexts, be regarded as horrific.”

“Technically, how would one proceed without a cooperative subject?” The Captain sat back in his chair and folded his hands like a bridge under his nose.

“MK-ULTRA was the name of a project run by Langley in the 1950s. It was heavily funded, and was designed to counter a similar project the Soviets were conducting. It was intended to produce consciousness-altering drugs, and techniques of behavioral control. It was quite effective, though in the end the political leadership decided not to deploy the capabilities operationally. I can get you a list of the substances. They are controlled, though some can be manufactured quite easily. Bitch uses some now. It helps his mood, and improves his coat.”

“That would be useful. But in the case of your project, how long did it take to get mission ready?”

“Only about six months. Once Bitch volunteered, we began subliminal training for only a few key phrases in the language of interest, and we groomed him to look as though he might be an enemy combatant. Long hair, unkempt beard, lean. We transferred him to a classified facility, which was essentially a kennel we had on the back forty of one of the old testing ranges in Germany. Then we introduced him to his mate, and began compatibility and role training. There was nothing there that does not happen almost identically in training a military or police K-9 team. This just had some unusual areas of ..well, let’s call it... intimacy”

“The selection of the canine was important?”

“Heavens, yes.” Exclaimed the Captain. “That was the whole point. Because of the religious implications, we needed a large black dog. In the religion of the enemy, the dog is seen as a tool of the Devil, and the color is highly significant. The point of this was to place Bitch in a position where other prisoners could see him repeatedly raped by a dog, defiled utterly as he denied his supposed faith, knotted and tied to a ferocious unclean animal. In my mind, it went one better to what the Americans did to the insurgents in the Philippines in the Spanish-American War, when they sewed up dead enemy in pig carcasses before burial.”

“Nothing else was needed. Just the few phrases that let them all know that his mortal soul and salvation were being stripped from him, and that he would be cast out into the darkness and consigned to the bottom of hell.”

“Did it work?”

The Captain smiled. “Like a charm. The others stumbled all over themselves spilling their guts.”

“If it was so effective why was it stopped?”

“Simple. Abu Ghraib. The Department and the Administration were taking huge black eyes. If they found out what we were doing at the undisclosed location, they knew there would be hell to pay in perception, even if there was no physical crime against anyone except Bitch, and he was a volunteer.”

“Slick. But then they got rid of you?”

“Yep. Closed us down, lickety-split. They got Bitch up off his knees, put him back in a uniform, had him sign some non-disclosure forms and gave him a Bronze Star with a classified citation and discharged him. They were going to destroy his partner Satan, but I managed to save him. As to me, I was released from active duty with a classified commendation and the thanks of a grateful government.”

“Cold.”

“Yes, but understandable. Just before they bulldozed the undisclosed location, I found Bitch sleeping on the ground next to my car. He could not go back to the world, and he was upset and afraid. He missed his partner. We had a talk about what he wanted, and I understood that I had opened up something in him that he craved like life itself. I felt I owed him something, even if the government thought that a fancy ribbon took care of it. I promised to take care of him, and he hasn’t said a word since.”

“He seems to be happy.”

“I assure you his every need is met. Let me show you.”

The Captain got up and went upstairs. I heard him open the bedroom door, and I heard Satan bound out and across the wooden floors and down the stairs. I waited expectantly for him. He burst into the room, giving the visitor an inquiring look and a growl until the Captain told him to knock it off.

Satan came to me and began to lick my face and I licked him right back, our tongues meeting in joy, dancing across each other’s teeth and gums. He pressed against my chest and I kept my eyes submissively below the level of his as we bounced together. I could see he was excited, the red tip of his proud cock beginning to peek out of his black furry sheath.

The Captain told me I should be a good bitch and prepare myself. I yelped and padded on all fours into the kitchen as fast as I could go. I turned my back to the post with the oiled pad on it and worked it into the crack on my butt. Satan saw what I was doing and began to jump on my back. I yelped in excitement.

“Come back here, you two!” shouted the Captain. I padded obediently back into the living room and assumed the mating position in front of the fireplace, my face down on the rag rug, my arms flat on the floor and my butt in the air, open and accessible to my mate.

Satan is a big dog, well over a hundred pounds. He sniffed me once, and then leapt on my back, clutching me around the waist. I love that feeling. He has scratched me so often with his dewclaws that my skin is tough, and I quiver when his paws bind me to him. His cock was fully engorged now, and he stabled at me repeatedly, seeking his goal.

I squirmed beneath him, helping him to find my target. On one thrust, the tip gained purchase and he began to hammer himself home into me. I whimpered in pain and joy, anxious to be completed. With only a few more strokes he was almost fully into me, and I could feel his knot, the size of a tennis ball pressing against me.

We are an old couple, now, though Satan is quite single-minded and the Captain lets us mate frequently. I crave being tied to him, and I pushed back as hard as I could. I could feel the great pressure on me as suddenly his knot popped into me, and I could feel it continue to expand, sealing me up completely. I whimpered in happiness as his cock scraped my special place inside.

I felt myself begin to spurt in joy and completion as Stan began to pump his seed into my belly.

The Captain and his guest watched quietly. When Satan had completed this part of my breeding, he scrambled with his forelegs over my back, tugging at my insides with that mighty knot until I thought I was going to faint. Then we were butt-to-butt, warm fur against warm flesh, tied together in a way we would stay for minutes.

I was in the special world I go to when my mate fucks me and turns. Presently, though, I heard the guest say: “Makes me want a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke.”

“Me too,” said the Captain. “I don’t think I will ever quite get over it. Pity that the dog will only last a few more years. The big ones are usually only good for eight or nine years. I will have to start a transition program presently, since Bitch will obviously be good for another couple decades, and he is always going to need a mate.”

They watched quietly, breathing hard, until Satan softened. When he popped out of me, he was so male. He walked matter-of-factly away to curl up on the cushion and begin to lick himself.

I wanted to lie down and bask in the glow of our lust, but I knew my training. I got back up on my hands and crawled to where I had deposited my seed on the floor. I licked it up carefully, since the Captain likes a clean house, and then padded over to my mate. There was a time where he resisted my tongue on his sensitive private parts but that was long ago. He rolled over on his back and permitted me to worship his softening cock, licking our juices clean.

Then I climbed up on the cushion and wrapped myself around him, smelling the rich after-sex smell, loving him, content to be his bitch.

The guest cleared his throat. “So you think your method could work, even on someone who didn’t volunteer?”

“I am quite confident I could write you out a training program that would achieve similar, if not quite so spectacular results. But of course, that would be ethically wrong. I could not have any part of that.”

“I understand completely.”

I don’t now how long the guest stayed, but it must have been a couple hours. The Captain let us out in the back after he was gone, and I had an exquisite crap on the grass with all of that dog-cum that was in me. Then Satan and I got to chase the Frisbee.

I don’t know if he is up to fuck me again today, but I have my hopes. He usually gets randy again after we have our dog food.