The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’d known her since we were both kids on the block together. Her mom lived four doors down from us. Her dad had been killed in some industrial accident, and the city had paid out big. Her mom and my mom played pinochle three times a week with the Simon sisters.

Samantha, known as Sam to all of us, grew up beautiful but mean. I don’t know if it was her dad being killed, or being raised alone with her mom, but she was always mean to me growing up. I remember that the day I got glasses I was feeling terrible. As we all walked home from school that day, I’d hoped that I’d escape being teased about it. Instead, Sam set up her boyfriend Tommy to push me around and call me ‘four eyes’. I don’t think he meant for me to fall down, but I was klutzy at twelve, and I fell and broke my glasses. When I cried, he looked like he felt bad, but behind him, I could see her smirking.

That’s just the way she always was, nasty and distant, like she was better than any of us. She grew up beautiful too. She ended up being five foot nine, thin, blond, and beautiful. Mind you, her natural color was dirty brown.

We never talked during high-school, probably not once during the entire four years. She was a cheerleader, played Lacrosse, and hung out with the college bound set. I associated with the chess club and the science nerds. She went to dances, I talked about comic books and chemistry. She spent a year studying in Europe and came back looking like some beautiful alien; I spent my junior year working at Franks BBQ in the evenings and always smelled like grease.

She applied to and was accepted at Barnard. She left the block and never looked back. Last I heard about her, she went to work on a law degree, her mom talking about Sam maybe getting into Yale.

Me, I got into city college, did good, and got a partial scholarship to Cal-Poly in Biology. I got my undergrad degree from there, after nearly six years and two extensions because I was working. I have a flair for plant sciences, so I got another partial scholarship, this time to Carnegie Mellon. I landed a part-time teaching position, and I got my MS in Cellular Biology. I stayed in their program and got my PhD a couple of years later. Later, I added a second PhD in Organic Chemistry. I had planned on getting a slot on campus, and I could see my life as a professor stretch out in front of me.

However, that was not to be. I didn’t get the slot on campus, and ended up taking a summer research position with Fielding Bioscience as a field researcher. I had hoped that it would be good experience and I could go back to CMU later.

Fielding Bioscience was doing basic plant research for possible medical applications. The plants happened to be in the Amazon. I ended up on my hands and knees, sampling ferns in the Amazon rain forest in mid-summer.

My supervisor was a guy named Calcott, Dave Calcott. Dave was a big guy. He sweated like an upset pig in the heat. We had a team of ten porters, bearers, laborers from Peru, and four researchers. Oh, and Dave, who mostly cursed and sweated. That whole summer we worked deeper and deeper into the jungle, making contact with local people, paying them in goods and local currency, asking questions about plants. It was a blast.

I was having so much fun, its difficult to explain. Here I was, in the miserable heat, in the jungle, on my hands and knees, grubbing around, trying to explain myself to curious tribesmen, and I was thrilled. I’d go do it again in a heartbeat.

Anyway, some time around early September, we were starting to wind the field work down for the summer. I was planning on making sure Dave liked me enough to hire me to do some lab work on the samples, and then get back to campus by January with some decent cash in my pocket.

Late one afternoon, as we were setting up camp, a group of natives walked into the clearing. This is actually not that unusual. The locals love to trade, and they’re generally pretty welcoming, chatty, friendly, happy. I’d made a specialty out of learning some of the local tongue.

These folks were a new group to us. They called themselves the Yasohurta, which as far as I could tell, meant something like ‘Beautiful Ones’. It’s hard to tell.

We had a nice evening together, up until Dave the fat pig, makes a pass at one of the female Yasohurta. She’s probably all of fourteen, just post-pubescent. This is the jungle, and he might have gotten away with it, but he was a little drunk. He leaned over to her, laughed and groped at the girl.

“Here, pussy, pussy, pussy... here little piece of ass.” He chanted, being the drunk bastard that he was. He grinned at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the tribal Shaman grimace. One of the tribesmen spoke in fairly clear Spanish. Translated, it was simple. “Fuck these bastards.”

The next thing I knew, there was a six inch long reed dart sticking out of my cheek. My face went instantly numb and I lurched to my feet. Dave was beginning to look like a he’d tried to hump a porcupine, and our laborers were running and screaming into the jungle.

Dave and I passed out, laying next to each other. I didn’t know where the rest of the team ended up.

What I remember at this point is fragmentary, but clear enough. One of the native elders arrived some time later. They spent a lot of time talking to each other, probably trying to decide what to do with us. Killing Americans is a bad business, and they knew it. But they were pissed.

I got dragged over and propped up against a tree. So did the other members of the team and some of the laborers. They dragged Dave out to the center of the clearing and stripped him down. They painted his genitals with some kind of red ochre and performed some ceremony. There was a lot of knife waving. Even paralyzed, Dave looked terrified.

Then they fed each of us some really nasty herbal concoction. They slopped it into our mouths. Some splashed on my clothes. A few minutes later, I felt like I was living at the bottom of a well, looking up at life.

Someone came over and talked to us. Gave us orders. In broken Spanglish. Basically, they said. “Go away, never come back.”

The next bit is important.

The one who spoke some English turned in Dave’s direction, away from me and said. “Forget about us, forget about this, never come back.”

Here’s the thing. Dave and the rest of the crew completely forgot about the entire incident. Me, I know that I’ll never, ever go back to that part of the Amazon again. Not that I don’t want to, I just won’t. I’d probably jump out of a plane to avoid it.

Six days later we were in Lima. We wrapped the project in record time and flew home. I got the gig with Fielding Bioscience that fall and made decent money.

In mid-October, our field gear arrived from the shipping company. In the third crate I opened was my personal field pack. In that field pack was the shirt I was wearing that night in the clearing. In the right hand pocket of that shirt was a plastic specimen envelope. The envelope was still partially open.

Dried in the bottom of that envelope was some kind of liquid residue. I knew instantly where it had come from. I saved it, very, very carefully.

Also in the field materials were some broken and shattered quills that had been used on us.

To this day I do not know exactly why I can remember and the others cannot. Maybe it was where I was sitting, maybe it was that no one looked at me when the command was placed. I don’t know.

I’m not a stupid man though. What was on those quills, those darts, was a hyper fast acting, painless paralytic. What was on those quills was a fortune. What was in the plastic specimen bag was a very large secret.

Seven years later, Fielding Biosciences got FDA approval to test market a new surgical anesthetic called Embrogla. It was extremely fast acting, it paralyzed major muscle groups, had a low allergen incidence, and it revolutionized open heart surgery. I made a not-so-small fortune from it. We turned Embrogla into an entire field of paralytics. It could replace Botox, many local anesthetics, and perhaps even some general anesthetics.

One Sunday morning I was sitting at breakfast in my split-level Cape Cod outside Boston. I’d just broken up with a woman named Helen, and was happy to see that the last of her stuff was finally gone. I opened the Sunday edition of the Wall Street Journal and read that an acquisitions outfit named ‘The Stoddard Group’ had decided to make a merger play for Fielding.

I didn’t really care. Who owns a publicly held company at any given time is not my concern. I work in the labs, I make things. I get paid well in cash and stock, and as long as I have a job, I’m in great shape.

The next morning, when I went into work, there was a voice mail waiting for me. It asked me to drop by the executive offices first thing. I grabbed a cup of coffee and walked over. The CEO’s executive assistant ushers me into the boardroom, and our boss, Alan Godson the CEO, waves at me.

There are all these people present, and they all turn and look at me. I’m standing there, drinking coffee, wearing a stained lab coat over my jeans and wrinkled polo shirt, glasses pushed up on my nose, and peering around.

“Here he is!” Alan booms out. “This is our star researcher, William Tawse. Bill here is the discoverer and developer of Embrogla, our lead hospital sector product. Bill runs our pharmaceuticals group now, well at least the research side. We don’t burden him with the management details.”

There’s a nasty laugh from the back. “Oh, I bet not.” The crowd parts slightly to reveal a woman. She’s dressed in a designer suit, perfectly dressed blond hair, tall, thin, beautiful. It’s Sam... Samantha Wilcuff, bitch extraordinaire.

“Billy and I go way back, don’t we?” She smiles a white-toothed, perfect smile at me. It never gets near her eyes.

“Sam?” I say, surprised.

“Billy was always the science nerd. Even when we were kids. And here you are now Billy, all grown up.” She laughed. I suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable. I became acutely aware of the stains on my coat and the coffee in my hands.

I set the cup down a bit too abruptly on the edge of the conference table. It tipped over and rolled, spilling its contents across the table, soaking papers, making a mess. I dove for some paper towels and collided with Alan’s assistant who was trying to help.

Sam laughed again and turned away. The crowd of lawyers, brokers, people-who-matter turned with her. Alan gave me a frustrated look and turned with them.

That fast, and I was thirteen again. I walked out of the office, hot with embarrassment, anger, and shame.

She’d gone to Harvard Law then went on to a Wall Street job, at one of the big five firms, in mergers and acquisitions. She was a rising star, noted for the ruthlessness of her work. She trimmed firms down to a skeleton staff, made them insanely profitable on paper, but unable to sustain themselves, and then sold them off at a profit. None of the companies she ever worked on survived as a viable entity.

Basically, Sam had turned into a vicious Wall Street shark. Kind of predictable, really. Her name was associated with a series of prominent men, but no one ever stuck. She had never been engaged as far as I could tell. I did some Lexus / Nexus searches and read up on her work.

Turns out that there was one firm she’d done right by. It was a tiny but still publicly traded cruise travel company. Woman owned. Specialized in gay cruises. Sam found them a reverse shell to merge into and made them a lot of money. Five years later and they were still doing well. I formed an opinion. Sam was a lesbian. It explained a lot.

A couple of nights later, my doorbell rang. It was Sam. She was dressed in impeccable business attire, and smiled at me when I answered. “Invite me in, Billy.” I did so.

We sat in my living room. I offered her a drink. She refused.

“Lets get right to the point, Billy from the Block.”

I frowned. “My name is Bill, or William, if you like.”

She ignored me. “I know for a fact that you’re the only researcher currently producing good product for Fielding. I propose to make you a lot of money.”

I sat listening to see what she was up to.

“Tell the board you’re not happy working for Alan.”

“Why would I do that? I love working for Alan.”

“Don’t be an idiot Billy. I’ll offer you an additional 500,000 shares, which will be worth five million dollars... as ‘options’ to stay on board. We’ll dump Alan, get control of the board, and liquidate. In less than a year, you’ll be set for life.”

She looked at me. I sat and thought for a while. Then, she made her mistake. She smiled at me, an almost patronizing smile, and said. “I know, why don’t I take you out for dinner on Friday. We’ll have a couple of drinks afterwards,” She was trying to flirt with me “and then who knows what’ll pop up in our conversation.” Her smile was brilliant and as insincere as all hell.

“I know what, Sam.”

She smiled that 10,000 watt smile at me.

“Why don’t you get the hell out of my house? Why don’t you pack up that fucking act of yours and go fuck off with your lawyer buddies? Up to tonight, I could have given a crap if you bought Fielding. Now I’ll fight you.”

Her smile never flickered as she rose to her feet.

“You know something Billy? I did you a favor coming here. I made you a decent offer. Now you’ll get nothing. I’ll ruin this shitty little company of yours, and I’ll make a killing doing it. You always were an idiot. Too smart for your own good.”

She walked to the door, opened it and walked out, leaving it ajar.

“Night, Billy from the Block.”

I talked to Alan the next day. He was concerned, but not upset. He said he had a strategy. I didn’t believe a word of it. I called my broker and hedged my stock.

A month later, Alan’s wife found an envelope in the mailbox of their estate. It showed Alan engaged in what looked like drunken sex with a pair of underaged Thai twins, a girl and a boy.

I knew Alan. He’d never in a million years have done that. Never. He’d gone to dinner with the wrong people and woken up in the wrong place. Alan was an honorable man. It didn’t matter though, Alan was out, and his marriage was ruined.

Sam, representing Stoddard, took over control the next day. The board meeting was a foregone conclusion, and the stock went at fire-sale prices. I was furious.

Security seized all my notes, all my work for seven years, the next day and locked me out of my lab. I got a two week severance check. The next day I was served with notice that I was being sued by Stoddard for failing in my fiduciary duty to the stockholders as a director of the company. Sam was playing hard-ball.

My phone rang a couple of days later. It was Sam.

“Hi Billy.”

“Sam”

“Last chance. You get to keep your house and cash. You settle with us, and we bring you back aboard. On a contract. We own everything you work on, we own your soul.” She paused. “Or, I point out to the SEC that you hedged your stock before the take-over, I supply them with the notes of our extensive planning meetings, and you go to jail. Your choice.”

So, I said yes. I signed her contract, went back to work. She got busy working out how to remainder the company out for the maximum amount possible.

After a month had passed, security had stopped breathing down my neck and I was able to get my precious Amazonian sample out of the samples safe and smuggle it home.

I had always brought my work home with me, and after a few years of that, I had a respectable lab in my basement. Nothing like the firm’s equipment, but enough.

It was simple enough to begin to isolate the active components of the dried sample. Beyond that though, it became a weird and complex organic chemical soup. How do you know whether or not the potassium from bananas is there for a reason or because they like the taste of bananas? You don’t, not for a long, long time.

After a few months of burning the candle at both ends, I began to see some light. There, locked into a complicated pattern was what appeared to be a chemo-transmitter that was capable of actually penetrating the blood-brain barrier within seconds and it was capable of carrying an encapsulated or contained drug with it. In other words, what I had found was the perfect drug delivery system. That was the first piece. Even on its own, that component would be enough to fund a dozen drugs and make me a multi-millionaire. The question remained though... what was the transport agent carrying into the brain?

Meanwhile, Sam pressed on. She reduced staff, cut costs, shaped the company up for a sale. After two quarters of increased revenues and dramatic but unsustainable profits, the stock soared and she began to liquidate.

My division was sold to an old established drug firm.

She arrived one day, two assistants in tow. She looked packed up and ready to go.

“Well, smart little Billy, you kept your head down and did your job. Good for you.” She smiled a tight and nasty grin at me.

“Next time you come up against the real world, play smart from the beginning.” She examined the lab, distantly. “Have fun playing with your stinky toys, Billy. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet some ugly little girl with a PhD in nerds and you two can go have ugly babies.”

She handed me an envelope.

“Here’s your cut from the liquidation. Just over a million. Good bye, good riddance... Billy from the Block.”

I nodded my head, shame and guilt at war within me.

She turned and walked away, out of my lab and my life. I silently vowed to myself that she would never get away with this.