The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Things had been happening in the city; Overmind usually prided herself on knowing everything that was going on, and knowing why it was going on, but this time, no mind she had looked into had provided an answer.

It had started as a mysterious occurrence here— a confusing happenstance there; but all of these incidents had started to add up— there had been an increasing number of them, and now, after everything that had happened, Overmind felt very much that things were drawing to a kind of boiling point— the pressure just couldn’t be ratcheted up any further— what was going on had to come to an end, and since, apparently, no one else cared and no one else was taking steps in this direction, it fell to her.

And this was a confusing position for her to be in, as she typically liked to think of herself as a villain. She would have expected on of the heroes to take care of this mess that had built up. But no hero had solved it yet— and it really was becoming a mess at this point, getting more and more overt.

She had some disdain, viewing things from the villains’ side— whatever was going on, why it was going on, it was distasteful. A good villain might have an ability, or two, but it should be an ability they refined, which they then used in the execution of their schemes. That took finesse. That took character.

What had been happening lately had been completely unskilled— would have been mockable, except it had turned out to be so frighteningly effective. There was a new drug in the hands of an unknown group of new villains— no one else in the villains’ league knew who they were, where they’d come from, or where they’d gotten their drug. But they used it haphazardly! With no respect for villainy as a whole— making a shoddy presentation of it.

They took their drug and robbed things they wanted to steal, took their drug and left a string of lazy crimes behind them.

And the thing that was so infuriating was that no one was stopping them. No one was stopping them, and the drug worked, and all anyone knew about it was that it was called Ultra Bliss.

It was clearly a mind-control drug, though not everyone had put that together. Overmind had some experience with mind-control herself— so she recognized the signs. And she had come to the conclusion that, for the preservation of the dignity of villainous action, whoever this secretive group was, they needed their access to Ultra Bliss cutoff. If this would make her a hero in the eyes of some, that would just have to be a blow to her reputation that she would bear. It was more important this mysterious group be stopped, stopped quickly.

So she had been using her own ability to track the source of this Ultra Bliss stuff— she’d dipped in and out of minds, any mind thinking about Ultra Bliss— this had lead to a lot of frustrating deadends, but it had eventually lead her where she needed to be: the warehouse she was now standing in front of. This was, apparently, where the entire stash of Ultra Bliss was kept— it was unclear to her yet whether it was actually manufactured here or not, but this was where all of it was, whether it had been made here or elsewhere.

Overmind shook her head as she looked at the warehouse. She still objected to it as a villain— and objected to it as a telepath. She was Overmind— the most powerful telepath the city had ever witnessed, and there was a way to control someone’s mind, slip in, conquer it, take it over. Simply creating a drug to do it was like using a bludgeon where a mallet would do. Or breaking down a door that could be opened by turning its knob. She had no respect for the method at all, and as she reflected on this again, she once more rededicated herself to destroying the stores of Ultra Bliss, and, if it was made here, its methods of manufacture.

She had waited long enough outside. She approached the warehouse warily, but nothing befell her— there was no hidden danger that suddenly attacked her. She made it inside, and began her investigation.

The entrypoint had brought her into the storage area— it looked like any other warehouse, full of metal crates stack on top of each other. She moved cautiously between them— but the lighting was dimmed. This area was unattended.

She needed to figure out first if that drug was being made here— the storage area was no good for that— it had been impossible to tell, from outside, if the warehouse was all just one open space inside, or if it eventually broke off into different rooms. She again lamented the fact that she had not been able to find schematics for this building in any mind she had looked in— she would have to do this all on foot.

She kept herself close to the metal containers. They towered over her, and still didn’t reach all the way to the warehouse ceiling. She kept herself moving forward.

Really, how did the heroes do this all the time? It was such slow work— usually she could find schematics mentally, but for whatever reason, no mind available to her had known the layout of this warehouse. She wondered if the group she was opposing had built it and kept the design secret. Or perhaps split the knowledge across multiple hosts, so that no one person would know the entire arrangement of the space.

She had ventured further into the dimness— and it looked like, here, finally the storage area broke off into hallways. This was a more frightening place to walk, because there was nothing in the halls that she could hide behind, but Overmind decided it was worth it to risk it— she needed to find out about Ultra Bliss’s manufacturing, if there was anything here for her to learn from.

As she went down the hall, she realized that the walls on either side were glass— transparent, so they could be looked into. There were rooms— did they keep people in these rooms? Each only looked like it was meant as a bunk— did they keep people in these rooms, or did they one day intend to?

When she got further, she reached a long expanse of glass that revealed a large room which was definitely looking productive. There was an assemblyline, there were machines over it— all of them were working with a substance at different stages of development. So they did manufacture it here, but she would need more time to think about how to destroy this room— it would also be a good idea to see if there was more than one manufacturing room. The key would be to break everything down in such a way that it couldn’t be prepared.

Telepathy usually only worked on humans— but she did know how to influence a mind, and if she could visualize each machine as part of one mechanical mind, perhaps she could influence it. She had never tried anything like that before. Oh, to have been gifted the ability of superstrength, if only for the duration of her visit here— she had never wished for it before. And she never even would have been here if not for her telepathy. But it would have been a lot more convenient if she could have just gone in there and smashed everything to dust. Dust particles could not be repaired into whole, entire machines.

She needed more time to think, she concluded again. To figure out how to influence a mechanical mind of many different parts. And she needed to keep exploring— if there were multiple labs and not just this one, she’d have to do this new trick several times over.

And on the way, perhaps she would find some kept people. She may as well play the hero if she did. She could tell herself it was to deprive this group of lazy villains of their subjects— so they would lose all their research— if in fact they had done any subject testing to acquire any. She thought so little of her enemies behind this warehouse— and they were her enemies, they were enemies to any selfrespecting villain who valued the craft of evil— she valued their intelligence so little she doubted they’d researched.

She’d gone beyond the lab now— there were more of those rooms meant as containment cells— there were starting to be subjects in them.

She was in and out of three cells in a row— but there was nothing on any of them— nothing to indicate research was being done. When Overmind looked into each mind, she found the same conclusion: Ultra Bliss had devastated each mental landscape. Once she was ready to go, she could come back for these ones— in the privacy of her compound, she’d likely be able to undo the damage through telepathic coaxing and rerouting.

In the fourth room, the subject wore a protective helmet.

But not just any helmet! No, this was one of hers. Over-minds helmets, she’d called them— sometimes she stylized her name that way, to truly emphasize the point that she was above all other thinkers, that she could bring them all to bow. She went back and forth on which she liked better: Overmind, to show everyone she could conquer the abstract of mentality, no matter what practical form it took. Or Over-minds— to show she could conquer many minds, all minds, because she was above them. Both versions of her name had their uses— and she interchanged them.

She felt a leap of longing in her heart at seeing the helmet— she’d once been one of the most successful villains in their metropolis, but all that remained of her empire now were old pieces of technology, scattered here and there, stolen, repurposed. They were hers, they had been her great work, but they weren’t used with respect, weren’t used as they’d once been intended for.

It was one more reason her coming here in the hero’s guise was ridiculous. The heroes’ league had done this to her— taken down her empire, yet now she was cleaning up their mistake for them, fixing what should already have been fixed. The truth was, after her sophisticated empire of control had been dismantled, she hadn’t had the heart to build it back up from nothing again. She’d been content building more insidious structures— holding minds she only sometimes activated, using people who didn’t know they were being used.

She got no respect from the other villains as she once had— when she’d had largest organization in the city, all those resources, all that wealth— all those slaves. Then they had all admired her. But now that she wasn’t so showy— now that she was careful, now that she’d learned from her mistakes and didn’t build things which could be identified and therefore destroyed— now, no one had admiration for her at all, though her skill was still more refined than any of theirs.

It was true what she did now was more like shadowyhiding. There was nothing glorifying in it; but it was safer— she could expand forever and never be caught; but never impress anyone either, because all her gains were hidden.

She looked back at that helmet— once hers— once made by her. Yes, she could dissect a mind only using her telepathic ability— and she could take control of one the same way. But the invention of her helmet had never felt like cheating to her. The only reason it worked was because she knew how minds were constructed— she knew all possible permutations— and this tangible knowledge was what had created the helmets of which there were so few remaining now. It had done her work for her— felt like it was doing her work through her but in multiples she could never have managed if she were trying to do everything herself.

She remembered how it had used to be in those days— a room full of chairs with restraints, vulnerable subjects brought to her by existing slaves, all of them bound in those chairs for rows on rows, filling the room to capacity— a hundred, a hundred fifty, two hundred— all sitting neatly in rows— each with a helmet on their head, being enslaved— breathing heavily, as the enslavement had taken greater hold— squirming and writhing in their bonds— it had been a thing of true beauty to behold.

Once she had stood in such a room and had watched the establishment of her empire, arms crossed over her chest but a slight smirk to her mouth.

Now— there was only this helmet left. It looked as she remembered— like gold that had been painted onto a skull— it was so tight it only looked like paint— she doubted this helmet was doing what she’d programmed it with originally. It looked like it was doing some kind of shielding— protecting the mind of the woman wearing it? But why? Was this a test— the woman was having something directed at her, and the helmet was being tested to see if it could ward it off?

That certainly wasn’t what it had been made for, she thought with a sniff.

The woman was bound up— just lying on her bunk, but coiled in ropes, with that helmet on her head.

Overmind sighed. She might as well start here.

She pulled the woman up— got them both standing in the centre of the room, and started untying the knots in the ropes which were keeping her coiled.

The second she pulled on the ropes, four glass sheets fell from the ceiling, meeting each other around Overmind and the other captive— they had neatly formed themselves into a sealed box— not a completely sealed box— there were quite a few dotted-openings in the glass to allow the entry of air— but sealed in the sense that once in, no captive could let themselves out again.

And it was close quarters in here. The box had slapped itself together, four sides coming into one whole container, and the container had sealed the sheets of glass together. Basically there was enough room for Overmind and the other captive to stand in front of each other— and then the glass was right there, pressing in on all sides.

It had been a trap.

All of Overmind’s other plans seemed useless now. She had been thinking she would finish her sweep— destroy one or more labs, and once they were all destroyed, she’d take all the captives with her on the way out. But now she was stuck— she wouldn’t be doing any of these things anymore.

And then she saw— a bright gas was flooding the room. She would be breathing it— there was no chance of avoiding that, not with all those dotsized openings throughout the box. It would easily infiltrate, and the air was so close in here, it was basically going to be forced into her mouth.

The gas was familiar to her. She’d seen it in enough memories when she’d been trying to investigate minds about it— before she’d ever come here. And if that hadn’t been enough, she’d also seen it in that production room just down the hall. This was Ultra Bliss filling the room now, coming in, in clouds— everywhere, filling the room entirely, like a tidal flood of water that would drown anything— only it was air, so it just wisped.

But Overmind was nervous. As nervous as she would have been if she really had been about to drown— she’d looked into not one, not two, but three different subject’s minds on her way here— and she had seen the same thing. Mental devastation. That was what Ultra Bliss did— it dismantled minds. Not with the talent or knowledge that she did— sloppily, by her standards, but effectively. In a standardized manner, the same way every time— making everyone the same burnt down forest after a forest fire— leaving the same devastation.

It made her lament. As a telepath she had primarily spent most of her time playing around in other people’s minds— but she had, also, set up her own mind just as she liked it, with the ability to choose and design that other’s did not have. She didn’t want her mind ravaged and taken apart. But she could see that mist was coming in through the openings now— it would reach her mouth, reach her nose in just a few seconds— and it lit the whole room in an eerie glow— the lighting in here had been too dark to really see anything apart from the golden glittering of her former helmet, which she would have recognized anywhere.

But now the Ultra Bliss cast a ghostly illumination— she loathed the stuff, truly loathed it. And it was approaching.

She had never tried it before— and she had only thought of it in the hallway just now— there wasn’t a human mind responsible for this entrapment— or at least, not one here presently that she could manipulate for escape. But if she could treat the glass box like a mind— as she had planned to do on the assembly line— it was that, or resign herself to her fate— the devastation of her mind. But she’d never tried it before, and inventing a new skill within oneself thirty seconds before it would be too late to escape anymore wasn’t the wisest plan. However, it was the only plan, so Overmind closed her eyes, and visualized the box.

She only had a second to situate herself around that visualization before she needed to start doing something with it— now, she saw the glass box in her head, but now she imagined it as if it had sentience— as if it was one large brain only keeping them trapped by the firing of its synapses— only keeping them trapped by its own desire.

And she knew she was only reaching out to glass with her power, logically— but she was forcing herself to believe on a deeper level that the glass box could be reasoned with— and— it sounded like the glass was shaking. If she could get it to shatter— then she and the other captive could run out of the room before the Ultra Bliss had completely ruined them.

She felt a hand on her arm— the other captive— now? She only needed a few more seconds— she was going to be able to get it to break—

Not only one hand. Two hands on both of her shoulders— shaking her bodily by her hold— shaking her until her eyes opened.

The visualization was dispelled— the glass stopped shaking. To Overmind’s disappointment, it looked like it had swollen— as if right in the second before shattering. She would have to start over again— if she would even be able to with Ultra Bliss coursing through her.

What? What was it that had been so important? So important that it had ruined their only chance of escape?

Her eyes focused and she looked at the other captive in annoyance.

The annoyance was dispelled and replaced by something else, once she really understood what she was seeing.

It had been dark in the room before— she had only discerned the vague form of a woman, and the gold glittering of her own helmet, as she’d thought before. And she’d noticed the ethereal lighting that the Ultra Bliss cast off itself as it advanced— but she hadn’t been looking at the captive before, only at the gas.

The captive— the person who had apparently been a subject bound up in this room for testing— hadn’t actually been a subject.

The woman was Miss Behaviour.

Overmind had only heard of her now and then— she’d never had much respect for her— yes, it was true she could enslave by touching a person skin to skin, but from what Overmind knew of her, she was always looking for some other way to do— a way to cheat, cut corners, skip steps. If she was the one behind the manufacturing of Ultra Bliss, that would be perfectly in character for her— she had a gift she could have refined, honored, used. But instead she was always doing schemes like this— coming up with other ways to do what she could have done herself perfectly well if she’d only had the patience for it.

And Overmind was adamant that it was not the same— her invention of the mind-controlling helmets wasn’t the same, because inventing them had taken work, effort, years— research— she’d had to use everything she’d ever learned through the exercise of her own powers— it had been a life’s work. Miss Behaviour never seemed to learn anything from her own powers— never seemed to try and enhance them, or fully understand them— so none of the inventing she ever did had ever been such a labor of effort as what Overmind had done.

The other thing about Miss Behaviour was that she always relied on her minions to do things for her. Maybe it was because she kept those stupid gloves on her hands at all times, but she never liked to get her hands dirty with actual work.

So it all made a lot of sense to Overmind— but none of it lessened the contempt she felt for the other supervillain; especially since the other supervillain had now stuck her in a trap.

And she could really see her now; her long red hair, where it came down out the base of the helmet— her red and black latex, those gloves she always wore.

But— oh— she didn’t only have the helmet on. She was also wearing a gasmask— the chamber she was breathing on only contained oxygen— it was feeding it to her. She would not be forced to inhale any of the Ultra Bliss five seconds from now when it had filled the glass box— she would keep breathing that oxygen. And the presence of her helmet made so much sense now— it was being used as a mind-shield now— not because Miss Behaviour was being tested— it had been put on her head to protect her from Overmind! As long as that helmet worked, Overmind wouldn’t be able to force her way into Miss Behaviour’s mind and take control, force Miss Behaviour to release her into freedom.

That actually stung her— her own helmet being used against her to keep her out— keep her from controlling a mind. It had been invented to help her enslave minds, not to lock her out of them. But this was what things had come to now: her entrapment in a doombox— her own helmet shielding against her, rendering her power useless.

Miss Behaviour watched her— it was hard to see with the gasmask on— but it looked like she was watching her with the smirk.

And then the Ultra Bliss flooded the box completely at last— and Miss Behaviour was obscured by clouds of glass.

As soon as it was in, it was also in Overmind— in her mouth, in her nose, down her throat. She couldn’t hold her breath— a situation so dire as this might have made it justifiable for her to hold her breath to the point of dying— but if she could even hold her breath to the point she blacked out, then her body would just take over with automatic breathing for her anyway— so since holding breath to the extreme wouldn’t be possible, there was no point in her holding her breath only to fail and release it in a matter of seconds or minutes.

She hated Ultra Bliss— hated it now even more, since it was inside her. And it was a particularly cruel thing to use on a telepath— she knew the inner layout of her mind so well, she knew exactly what the Ultra Bliss was doing.

Her assessment of the devastation it left in its trail for other minds had been correct— it had a standardized method. It didn’t care which mind it was obliterating, what it was bulldozing over. It just wanted to clear space, so it could generate the same kind of generic obedience it expected. This meant Overmind’s entire internal landscape had to be leveled— her whole personality, her whole identity— her memories, her preferences— there truly was no skill to it at all; it was like a battering ram, a bulldozer— great strikes of force were hitting everywhere in her head, cracking, damaging everything.

She had to make some kind of an attempt. She was Overmind, for villainy’s sake! She knew about destroying minds— which meant the inverse— she had to know about building them too. And she did know. Building minds had been just as important as destroying, in her work, because she hadn’t been a careless battering ram like this drug— she’d taken things apart to admire the composition of them, the inherent beauty— and then reassembled the pieces so they fit together the same way, only centred around obedience instead— like a puzzle— like making a sculpture— it had been art, not like this.

She needed to be building her own mind now— as much as was being decimated— she had to build after it was destroyed.

A whole section of her landscape came down— she went there, while the Ultra Bliss attacked elsewhere— she built it up— something else had gone down— she built it up. It was a constant race, a constant failure. The Ultra Bliss kept pummeling. She built but couldn’t maintain— and the Ultra Bliss was building too, putting down slavery, subservience— generic, not tailored—

And somewhere in the clouds of gas, Miss Behaviour had found her— gotten them both down to kneeling— taken her gloves off, gotten in past Overmind’s suit— she was masturbating her, and it seemed to strengthen the Ultra Bliss— Overmind was gargling on the pleasure— gargling on the obedience— all her training, all her knowledge— all her power, nothing, in the face of this— she was succumbing— she couldn’t find. The feeling of Miss Behaviour’s hand— the effectiveness of the Ultra Bliss.

She wasn’t herself anymore— all she was meant to be, all she was, was lust— lust incarnate— mindless lust incarnate, and she eagerly humped on Miss Behaviour’s hand— her soul belonged to Miss Behaviour now.

Two weeks had passed. Overmind wasn’t Overmind anymore. She could barely remember that she ever had been. The Ultra Bliss had demolished her— but if Overmind could have been aware of what was being done to her mind, she might have grudgingly retracted her previous disparagements of Miss Behaviour’s skill— Miss Behaviour had wanted Overmind to become something specific— she hadn’t wanted to just leave her as a generic slave to Ultra Bliss— so through use of her power, a lot of programming, and a lot of coaxing, she had in fact built Overmind up from a whimpering, mindless slave, into something a bit more sophisticated. Overmind might even have had some respect for her reconstruction process— if she could have watched the same thing being done to something else, or if she could have been aware of its being done to her.

But she couldn’t. She had only been able to experience it— from down in the mindlessness, she had been pulled up— from out of the depths— and she had become Mind Maid. Retaining her telepathic abilities— her powers— these were no lesser than they had been, but she had all that power— and all she did, day after day, was function as Miss Behaviour’s maid, cleaning around the penthouse. And she had no shame about this— no resentment.

She was a perfect maid, and she wanted to be. She didn’t consider it in anyway beneath her— it was her only desire, her highest aspiration. She was happiest when she was cleaning— and happiest when Miss Behaviour acknowledged her cleaning efforts in an appreciative manner. Cleaning was her purpose— her reason for living— being a Maid was her destiny— and she was grateful, overwhelmingly happy that she had the position she did. That she spent her days the way that she spent them. There wasn’t anything more she wanted from life.

Mind Maid dressed in a way that Overmind would have been humiliated by, had she still existed. She wore a latex maid outfit— skintight to her body, black and white— and black latex maid’s dress that ended partway down her upperleg— just long enough to hide her crotch, though not if she bent over. It hugged particularly tightly to her bust— and it had no sleeves, it was a sleeveless dress— with a lowdipping collar that showed off much of her cleavage.

And it had a little white latex apron that hung over the skirt— and she wore a white latex headpiece in her hair. She enjoyed wearing these things— she wore nothing underneath them, so all day long, as she went around cleaning, she could feel the latex sitting against her skin— it kept her in a perpetual state of arousal, feeling the latex brush over her genitals— feeling the latex brush over her breasts— she was constantly stimulated, and constantly sensitive.

She didn’t know it, but the cleaning she did reinforced her slavery— every time she cleaned, it drilled her compliance into her head without her knowing— and at the end of each cleaning day, she was fresh and eager to serve all over again— to serve sexually as she served menially— because once she was done cleaning, she had been recharged, filled to her brim with more devotion to give out— even if she could have remembered wanting to escape, she would never have been able to do it— the constant arousal cooked her brain— and the drilling and redrilling of the new truths of her life all day long, cleaning task over cleaning task, cemented her into her new existence. There was no exiting it— that was okay, because Mind Maid didn’t want an exit, anyway.

When she cleaned, as well as it doing things to her mind, it did things to her heart. By now, she had fallen hopelessly in love with Miss Behaviour, and when she cleaned for her, she felt like she was doing something for her, doing something that would make her beloved happy— so that made her all the more keen to get more cleaning done, albeit enslaving herself further without knowing it— the more she cleaned, the more she loved Miss Behaviour, and the more she cleaned, the more she became dependent on her— but her mind believed that cleaning was her purpose and destiny, so she was trapped in to doing it in more ways than one— and as she worked on the penthouse, working on the penthouse worked on her— in her mind— in her heart— in her pussy— making her perfect everyday, tidying up her mind as she tidied up the space itself.

It had been another successful day of cleaning, today. Mind Maid was just getting all the supplies put back in the cleaning supply closet— she knew what time Miss Behaviour came home every day— it was possible Miss Behaviour only came home at the same time, so late in the day, just because she knew Mind Maid would expect it.

But it didn’t matter why— she came home at her certain time, and Mind Maid knew to expect her— and sure enough, just as she was closing the closetdoor for the cleaning supply closet, the frontdoor to the penthouse was opening, and Miss Behaviour was walking in— looking stunning, amazing, breathtaking, beautiful— Mind Maid threw herself down on the floor in front of her to show the depth of her devotion. It had made an external sign of it, but it still hadn’t come close to expressing all that she felt inside.

She loved this woman. Hopelessly loved her— loved her so much she could never love another, not this much, not like this— loved her so much she would do anything for her, only ever think of her wellbeing, and always put it before her own. She wanted her beloved to be happy— to have all that she wanted from life and from the world, wanted her to have that always— and it was a maddening love, a love that everything else was shoved aside for, fitted around because it would be second to nothing— it was a love that she loved too much, Mind Maid was sure, but she couldn’t pull back— couldn’t restrain herself— she only seemed to love her beloved more every passing day, whether she was seeing her in person or not— it was a like a thing that doomed her— that love would only ever get deeper, there was no reversing it, and it so consumed her heart— so she was doomed to have her heart consumed.

She stayed down on the floor— but Miss Behaviour was apparently observing this display of desperate love without much interest or compassion for it.

“Mind Maid, up!” She chastised. “It’s time for you to deliver another psychic pulse to the city!”

Mind Maid pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, then managed to get herself standing again, despite the overwhelming love which had sent her slamming down. She was a Maid— but she was Mind Maid, which meant sometimes her telepathic abilities were still called on— Miss Behaviour had her delivering psychic blasts to the city on a semi-regular basis now. Once, she would have been able to deliver such a blast only with her own intention— but she was trained now only to do it when Miss Behaviour triggered her, because Miss Behaviour liked to have some control over it, even though it was not her own ability.

Mind Maid was glad to be given another way to serve— she was always glad to have another way to serve, loved serving.

With a shudder, she remembered all the other times she’d been made to deliver that psychic pulse— pleasurable, bodyseizing memories.

She stood, and Miss Behaviour gave her a look— as if she was very stupid suddenly.

“Well?” Her voice was expectant. “You know what position I want you in!”

Mind Maid’s eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth— oh, of course, she had been foolish. She shouldn’t have just been standing there like that.

She was quick to run to the other side of the penthouse— to the wall of wide, full-length windows that she was always expected to place herself at.

They were many stories above the earth— but there were other skyscrapers around here— so it wasn’t a completely unpopulated echelon.

Mind Maid shuddered again— she always came to this particular window, and though she’d needed prompting, she didn’t anymore. She knew exactly how she was supposed to arrange herself.

Breasts, face— every part of her pressed up against the glass so she was like the specimen under a slide for a microscope— squished down, crushed, flatten, so she could be completely deconstructed, completely studied, completely observed. She pressed her hands to the glass on either side of her head— crushing herself to the window, it was always this windowsheet— in a wall of fourteen, she always came in six from the penthouse’s leftcorner.

And she had herself up on the glass— she could feel its unyielding surface crushing into her body— her breasts squishing over themselves into it, the latex sticking, pulling smearing a little as its texture met glass— her stomach pressed in— her forehead— her nose— flattened onto her face— and she was putting so much weight on her hands, and on her arms.

She was fully smushed into the window now— like every time before— looking out at the skyscrapers that were around them. Her pussy was already flooding with arousal— it knew what to expect after going through this routine so many times before now. Her breathing was quick and shallow. She couldn’t see what Miss Behaviour was doing behind her. She could never watch her for this part— she could only look out at the sky, and at the other surrounding buildings of height— or she could look down, so far down to the world below which appeared antlike and small from this degree of removal. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. She was shuddering and shaking against the window— a living specimen, still, not a dead one— afraid to be examined— but she knew she wasn’t really afraid, just full of nerves. Above all, she was impatient.

She looked again to the skyscraper across the way. Always when she was here she wondered if she would ever see a person come to one of the windows and look over to her. She was here for anyone’s sight— it was humiliating, and also thrilling.

It would not be so awful if she were naked— if she were only showing her body in its natural state, somehow that would have been less revealing.

But she was showing herself in an unnatural state— dressed up in latex— showing everyone that she was pathetic, that she was lowly, that she willingly dressed herself up in a way that was so fetish because someone made her and she refused to resist them. It showed a whole private inner set of experience— all of Miss Behaviour’s domination, all of her own submission to it— it took all of that, and showed it off to anyone she wanted to see.

And still, her body had become used to the feel of latex. She did not truly want to be naked in this moment— she wanted to feel the latex on her. She could feel the latex on her, and it was crushing into her body, since it was being smushed just like her. And she could feel the way it contacted the window— just that feeling alone made her pussy drench itself in pleasure— latex wasn’t meant to be rubbed against things, pressed against things, it caught, it dragged— but that feeling was so fetish for her it made her groan.

No, she truly wanted to be wearing what she wore— and she wanted people to be able to look over and read all her secrets in just her attire. See her, and see that she spent all day cleaning for her beloved Mistress, that she spent all day in servitude like that, getting wet like that— see her and see that cleaning had become a form of masturbation for her in which she never even actually needed to touch herself. Those were private things that should have been guarded with shame— but they are legible on her, she wanted them read.

There was a new thrill in her this time. It was one she had often felt. Perhaps someone would look over and see her— she was fervently wishing it true, now. She wanted it to be the case— adored the idea, actually! They could see more than just the way she dressed or the truth of her lifestyle— if they stayed watching her, they could see her getting fucked, and that would be even more humiliating— and so more thrilling! No privacy for her, she was fucked out in the open, and they could watch, see she was such a slut for it that she would let herself be fucked out in the open because she loved her fucker so much. And because she was so lowly it was something she enjoyed.

Her eyes scanned the windows around her that she could see, search for a viewer, wishing for one. If they waited long enough, then they wouldn’t only her getting fucked. They would also see her sending out her powerpulse of psychic energy, once Miss Behaviour triggered her and forced her to output it. Then maybe they would connect it back— understand what was happening to them when the fell to their knees as it struck.

That would also be intrusion on a very intimate moment— things like telepathic powerpulses were meant to be done in private, with no one watching— but if someone was watching, they’d get to see this privacy for themselves. And more embarrassing still, they’d see that it wasn’t something Mind Maid didn’t intentionally, not something that she chose— they’d see it was something she was triggered into— so pathetic low down that she could be operated like a machine, but couldn’t operate herself— all of that could be seen if there was only something to watch— and she thrilled— and once more, she wanted there to be— where was her viewer?

Her eyes scanned again, but in all the windows she could see, there was not one person looking out at her to watch. Oh well. Maybe next time— the idea still excited her. And she hoped that there was someone watching— through a window which was not visible to her. She told herself there was, because that made it more fun. She actually believed it was true— and pressed herself harder against the window, trying to show off for them— hoping they were really there. It made her so happy she wanted to laugh.

She heard a step behind her— it was finally starting now, it was finally starting, and then she felt Miss Behaviour’s hands reaching down and pulling up the back of her latex skirt. Mind Maid was never allowed to wear underwear— both so she could feel the latex of her skirts in her intimate place, but also for this— so that when Miss Behaviour wanted to fuck her, she could easily access her fuckable parts.

And now Mind Maid felt something else that made something leap in her chest. Something as hard and unyielding as the window she was quashed against— but in phallic form— and which she knew her Mistress had seated inside of her— her Mistress’ favourite, thick, doubledildo— one end of it curving and buried high up in her Mistress’ cunt— the other ready to push into her own.

Mistress always had such sure, steady control of that thing. Now she teased it along Mind Maid’s folds— she was so squished up against the window, but she could feel the head of the dildo nosing around, stimulating her. It was turning her on, and the moisture of that poured out of her, running down one leg— and the dildo nosed around more. Mistress was teasing her. Would tease her before she ever finally penetrated into her.

“Please, Mistress…” Mind Maid groaned. Her voice was partly muffled because of the way it was being crushed into the window in front of her. She bucked back, trying to make the dildo come into her, but Mistress was only brushing it around her— denying her what she begged for.

Now the front of her body was more crushed into the window than ever— but her pelvis was canted it back, not crushed into the window at all, so Mistress could have total access to it. Forcing her body forward, more roughly pushing it into the window pushed her pussy back more— and she could feel the dildo everywhere, because Mistress was making an entire circuit— brushing the dildotip up one innerlip, the down the other— then teasing the walls of her entrance— then driving the tip up into Mind Maid’s clit.

She let out a little grunt when that happened, and Mistress seemed to like that— she kept the dildotip flush against Mind Maid’s clit, and started a rhythm there— grinding the dildo into Mind Maid’s click, ramming it, pulling back, ramming it again. Mind Maid was seeing spots— and then they were forcing her back into her head.

Then there was a pause in Mistress’ movements— and Mind Maid felt herself pulling back out of her mind— returning to greater awareness of her body.

This was obliterated in the next second when it was revealed what Mistress had been doing: lining up the dildo with Mind Maid’s pussyentrance— and now she stuffed the whole thing in her in one thrust— and Mind Maid knew that when the front of the dildo hit into her deepest backwall, it forced the whole dildo to bounce off, and press the back end further into Mistress, probably hitting her backwall as a result.

When Mistress sucked in a hiss of air, Mind Maid knew her guess had been confirmed for truth. But she could barely know that— because the feeling of that huge monster inside her was forcing her back into her head. She wasn’t seeing the city— she was seeing the past. She was seeing the past two weeks but believing they were longer— she was believing now that she had always been Mind Maid, always here, always serving— that she was seeing a whole lifetime worth of memories that had really happened. She couldn’t remember her past any differently than what she saw now.

Mistress taking her body in every room of the penthouse— with the doubledildo, with a single dildo, with her mouth, with her hand, with both her hands— Mistress stuffing her full of fingers, or synthetic cock, or tongue— and seeing herself, too, forced to return the favor. On her knees across every square inch of the floor of this place— licking and licking Mistress’ pussy, tonguing Mistress’ clit, fingering her at the same time.

And she could feel the emotional truth of each memory— could feel the ecstatic bliss which had thrilled her. Sometimes, Mistress wasn’t touching her at all, and she’d felt that bliss just from knowing how much Mistress was enjoying what she was doing for her.

She was meant to serve— she had been born to serve— it had so sexually pleased her to serve— all the past memories of her lifetime recurred.

And now, as each memory happened at once, as each emotional state attached happened in her body, it was more than just the remembering. The sensation of getting rammed with that dildo— all the way up into her, as high and as far back as it would go— and herself, bouncing on its thrusts— that wove itself together with what she remembered. She watched a past version herself getting taken up against the window this same way, a past time it had happened— and felt it happening to her at the same time.

She watched herself being rammed into on the bed with the same doubledildo— and felt what was happening to her currently. Reality and memory were blurring together— she was being fucked in all places at once— everywhere she’d seen herself around the penthouse— she was really there, right this moment— getting fucked in the way she was seeing, and yet supreme over all of them, whether she saw herself being fitted with fingers or with a tongue, she was always filled with a ghostly dildo which was entering her pussy from behind.

Even when she saw herself and Mistress, kneeling, facing each other on the bed, the doubledildo in both of them as they seesawed on it— she felt the doubledildo taking her from behind even though the angle was wrong. Her present was a ghostly echo in every memory she saw— she had the sensation of being stuffed, of feeling her breasts, her whole body being lifted and then crushed into a window sheet— and then lowered, and lifted again. She didn’t know which pleasure was from when— the pleasure associated with any given memory seemed to bleed over into her body— she had the pleasure inside her from a million tonguings-out; from giving a million tonguing-out, and getting them— from a million fingerings— giving them, getting them back, and all this pleasure connected to her body, met the entrance of the dildo— and multiplied.

Mistress had trained her mind to do this. She knew Mistress had trained her mind to do this— once, maybe, she might have been able to set up such a mental set of experiences, with all the pressing vibrancy of current experience— but she no longer had this kind of mental control— Mistress had trained her— Mistress was getting ready to trigger her—

All her memories happened together, all the pleasure added up, and it was becoming overwhelming— there was too much inside of her, and she needed to project it all outwards!

She felt Mistress ram one last, particularly deep thrust in her. “Now, Mind Maid!” She grunted, as that thrust was paid back to her at the other end of the dildo.

And there was no choice— no decision— no action— two things happened at once in response, but Mind Maid had caused neither, chosen neither. The power to unleash both might have been in her body, but only Mistress could ever bring it to fruition.

Mind Maid cried out— as she was ripped from her memories and trapped into her body— a body that was being overwhelmed in orgasm, a mindshattering orgasm that could not be contained— and in that instant— it wasn’t contained— she shot it out of her, mind first, and it descended onto the city, and it spread, like it was a sonic wave.

Mind Maid sagged into the window again— it had taken so much out of her to release a psychic blast of that magnitude— she was breathing slowly now— fully satisfied— so much pressure had been relieved. But out of every time Mistress had done this to her, triggered her to do this to the city— she was sure this had been the most powerful blast out of all the times it had been done.

She truly was not Overmind now— for Overmind would never have released a psychic blast on the city. She had always had the power, but she had considered it beneath her— she had wanted to earn her conquests, instead of just blasting every mind at once and reducing them all to jelly.

And she truly was not Overmind now, because if Overmind had been forced to release such a blast— she would have interestedly given telepathic inspection to each mind throughout city, in search of the blast’s effects.

No fragment of such an impulse remained in her. Mind Maid smiled a happy, dopey smile as she leaned against the window and felt Mistress still moving in her— using her now as something to brace the doubledildo off, to get her own pleasure.

She was completely happy.

The Cat Queen, Lioness, and their pride of other feline creatures all felt it when the blast went off. Every other mind was susceptible to it but theirs— at Miss Behaviour’s bidding, Mind Maid had worked in each of their heads to make it so they were impervious to her blasts.

But they were the only group unaffected by it— the entire city, apart from them, had just felt it. The wave had entered every mind, and every single citizen was feeling its effects— a psychic hazyness not unlike dreaming— an inability to resist, and a desire to submit— a subduing, a willingness to go along with absolutely anything.

Having carried out missions multiple times throughout the past several occasions on which such psychic blasts had been set off, they now were very comfortable with what they needed to do, and the whole group of them, The Cat Queen, Lioness, and the pride which followed them, were stationed outside their target.

And as soon as they felt that sonicfeeling wave passing through them and leaving them unaltered, they immediately went inside.

The place they had been stationed outside of was city hall— they had already taken most of the municipal government, but there were some holdouts they had not being able to reach in time. There were three last groups to take care of today: The Mayor, each sitting City Councillor, and the District Attorney, all of whom could be found in this building.

The group of feline women walked confidently through the halls around them. Whenever a person was visible, the air of the whole area was completely chaotic. Every single person had more or less collapsed into a daze— some were sprawled on floors, over desks— staring up with dazed and vacant eyes, some of them lightly smiling— the reverberations of the psychic wave echoed in their minds, still.

But all of these people were unimportant— staffers, not anyone the pride, or its leaders, were actually seeking.

And they had talked about it— but there was one way to do this easily— and they’d reacted to the carnage left by these waves enough that they intuitively knew how to make everything easier for themselves. They went as a group— they passed the District Attorney’s office, and told her to come with them— they went past the Mayor’s office, and told her to come with them— and, in the one hallways that contained the offices of every City Councillor, they went down the hall, calling each one out, telling them to follow.

They knew they had gotten everyone— and since they’d each been psychic pulsed, all their targets willingly followed them without even thinking about it. So then The Cat Queen and Lioness together led on their pride, and their victims, until they reached the council chamber, and had all of them stand in a wide circle on the lowest level of the chamber— they both leaders, and each of the other pridemembers, took out their weapons of compliance— each one was armed with a spraygun full of vaporized Ultra Bliss— glowing its odd, eerie colour— and the spray nozzle was just the right size to fit inside a nostril.

They each of them were wearing many spraybottles like this— each one contained exactly enough Ultra Bliss for the complete and total brainwashing of one individual, and they had made sure to bring enough for each.

Now they moved around the circle of dopey municipal servants who only stood there. Before each one, they took out one spraybottle, inserted the nozzle just past their nostril, and squeezed down, expelling the Ultra Bliss into them, at the same time instructing them to, “Inhale Continuously,” and each target obeyed.

Each member of the pride was feeling the same way about this, as they went around the circle. First, they were feeling successful in their mission— and glad, because they knew how it was helping the cause of their Mistress.

But also, as they shot the vapor directly in through the noses of their subjects, they could see the brainwashing taking effect— remodeling minds, shaping these people to be obedient little slaves for the rest of their lives— and each feminine feline was taking great interest in this between their legs— finding it exciting to see the brainwashing happening so openly— seeing their subjects go from being slightly out-of-it individual, to being each of them a copy of the same kind of puppet.

No one tried to resist. They all stood in the circle, and breathed in when they were told to do so.

At last, they had gotten everyone brainwashed.

As the Cat Queen stepped back, her work now complete, she surveyed the group of newly recruited slaves. Now, they would enact any legislation that Miss Behaviour wanted— they would enact any legislation their organization as a whole wanted. They would make all the rules suit them, and their plans, suit them, and their missions— it made everything so nice and neat.

But taking the municipal leadership this way was only the latest of such attacks— leadership over a city was more than just who its figureheads were— there were so many structures that had to run, had to organize themselves, and they had had to take over each one of these components too. Bit by bit, they had swallowed up all oversight and authority— and they hadn’t only done that.

They had also been sure to swallow up all their enemies— everyone who would have rebelled against them and their agenda. Miss Behaviour had had Mind Maid blasting the city every few days it had seemed— and every time, there had been a coherent plan as to which obstacle would next be dismantled— and together, The Cat Queen and Lioness and the pride had always been in position, and carried their plan out.

So many had fallen to them this way— everyone important. One particular time, they had gone into the heroes’ headquarters where they often met as an organization— and while they had all been similarly affected by the psychic blast, the group of felines had advanced, and done the same thing— called all the heroes down to their central meeting room, stood them in a circle, and taken spraybottle after spraybottle of Ultra Bliss down, from where they had been strapped onto their bodies, their suits, in a line— and then, standing before each hero, taking their corresponding spraybottle, getting the nozzle in past the nostril and spraying the vapor inside.

The heroes had been more difficult though— the Cat Queen remembered with a smile— that had made it more entertaining for the entire pride.

They had had willpower— they had each one of them, when exposed to the drug, resurfaced partly from the aftereffects of Mind Maid’s psychic blast— trying to resist, trying to overcome what invaded their brains; it had been important to masturbate them, to stimulate them sexually in order to help the Ultra Bliss completely dominate and conquer them— it had been very sating to stand there before a helpless hero, watching the flicker in their eyes as the Ultra Bliss spread through them and the pleasure helped it on— as their bodies became more lost to lust, hopelessly pulling their minds down with them— each hero had, in the end, been enslaved, and made a thrall of the drug which had brainwashed them, and a thrall to the organization which had given it to them.

So now, with all the town leadership, with all the figures of authority and oversight already brainwashed under control, and with all other possible obstacles similarly dismantled, there was really no one standing in their way, anymore. That filled the Cat Queen with a great sense of appreciation, for all the people who enabled and participated in their missions each day.

The only ones who might have stopped them were the heroes— and now the heroes were heroes no longer— only more mindless thralls to obedience. They might have foreseen or tried to prevent Mind Maid’s telepathic attacks if they could have done so.

But the pride had been following through on their plans for long enough— all the heroes had already been made subservient. There was no way for them to protect, no way for them to save, because they were already serving their new purpose— their new owners. They couldn’t even remember wanting anything that wasn’t obedience to the agenda they had been given.

And now, with nothing else in the way, things could be easy from here on out, the Cat Queen mused, as she once again admired the circle of municipal servants in front of her. There would be another telepathic blast tomorrow— and the day after that— and the day after that— and each day, the pride would go out, hunting to brainwash; they had gotten all the key players, so now, they could take their time— systematically moving their way through every apartment building, every house— every office, every retail space, every business. One by one, they would enslave every resident of the city— they would turn the entire remaining population to thralls just like the thralls they had already made.

The best part was, they could truly take their time with it.

THE END