The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Why did I do that, you ask. Why did I leave that beautiful, sexy, devoted woman standing there crying and head home to an empty house? Good question. I asked myself that every mile of the trip home.

Part of it was the remembrance of what I learned after our first night—that she was with me because my grandfather wished it. That my grandfather was himself enjoying her charms. Part of it was that I really didn’t understand how or why a girl like that could devote herself to an old man like my grandfather. Nor how such an utterly gorgeous woman could find enough interest in average-looking, low-prospects me to stay and be happy for the rest of her life.

I’m one of these annoying, dangerous guys who will actually read a book while he’s driving. I considered taking out the journal and browsing it, but just didn’t feel like facing any of that right then. In fact, when I got home I threw the notebook on my desk and didn’t start to read it until the next weekend.

When I finally sat down to go through bills on Saturday morning, I looked at it lying there. Still, I pushed it away and finished writing checks to the phone company, the electric company, and one of my three credit card companies. By then I figured it was lunchtime.

Normally on a Saturday, if I didn’t have a date (which was most of them), I’d just heat up a frozen dinner or some frozen burritos and sit and watch the tube. But I was still a little messed up over the happenings of the last weekend so I thought I’d treat myself a little. I grabbed the notebook and my wallet and keys and headed out for a bite at Angelo’s – a little hamburger joint that made the best burgers I’ve had in my life. Angelo, like Grandfather’s cook, Carlos, was a Greek. Damn, those Greeks can cook.

Anyway, I sat there in the dingy joint savoring my hamburger and put the notebook on the table in front of me. It had a plain, blue cover with the manufacturer’s name in the lower right corner. Nothing fancy. I opened to the first page.

My name is Doctor Thomas Brooks. I’m writing this because I don’t want what I’ve accomplished to die with me. I hope that my grandson, Daniel, or whoever ends up with this journal, will use the things I’ve discovered and created with discernment and discretion.

The information in this notebook is valuable and potentially very dangerous. Be careful how you use it.

Hmm. Interesting so far, I thought.

While working as lead research scientist on an important drug development project, I discovered a side effect that can confer undreamed of power upon the user.

Okay, now we’re getting corny. He continued in that vein for some time. Eventually I finished my hamburger and went back home to recline in my easy chair and pick up my reading again.

I learned that Grandfather had been trying to develop a drug to counteract the effects of Alzheimer’s and had discovered side effects that had much more potential than they’d hoped. Intelligence seemed to be boosted, at least some. Then I came to the part where Grandfather tried the drug on himself—the non-credible part:

…that he had done EXACTLY as I asked. I experimented a little more, asking him to do ridiculous things, even embarrassing things like strip to his underwear and run down the hall. He did them without hesitation. I told him to forget all the events of the past ten minutes. He never remembered the things I had made him do that day.

I left the building and walked the streets, talking with people, visiting stores. What I was really doing was experimenting on others. Little things, things that wouldn’t alarm anyone if the power didn’t work. Things that would just make them look at me strange and maybe think, “what a weirdo”. Over the next couple of hours, I must have experimented on sixty different individuals. In every case, they did exactly what I asked with no questions.

There was no doubt about it. I had discovered a drug that amplified the power emitted by the human brain to such an extent that the user could actually replace a subject’s thoughts with his own commands. I had discovered mind control.

Mind control. Right, I thought. My grandfather was a loon. A total nutcase. He invented a past of adventure to make his lonely, rich existence mean something.

Lonely? But what about the girls? Yeah, what about the girls? I mean why would half a dozen or so lovely young girls spend their lives as virtual sex slaves of a dirty old man? Okay, maybe I could think of a reason. Maybe I could think of ten million reasons. But that just didn’t seem to fit. Those girls really seemed to love him – both the first time I was there and after his death. And Krista. She couldn’t have been with him just for the money, could she?

Mind control. Couldn’t be. Such things didn’t happen, I knew that. But still, it sure was a convenient explanation for the girls.

I skipped to the section that talked about using the drug itself. I decided I’d use the same amount Grandfather had the first time he tried it. Then I dug the case of TTCY out of the trunk of my car, where I had left it all week.

After sitting again in my easy chair, I pulled out one of the bottles, opened the cap and sniffed it. Vile stench! I thought perhaps that I had ruined it by leaving it in the hot car all week.

I flipped through the book until I found a section about making the drug. At the end of the section it talked about storage:

…the drug has a shelf life of at least ten years if you keep it refrigerated. If left out, it seems to lose potency in a few months but will remain safe to take.

Hmm. I had no way of knowing how long ago the drug had been produced. Nor did his journal mention storing in a car trunk in the middle of a hot summer anywhere that I could find.

I decided that I’d risk it. I threw back a shot and swallowed. I nearly retched! If the smell was bad the taste was the worst thing I could imagine putting in my mouth. It was slimy and tasted like I imagine raw sewage must.

I got it down and then ran to the kitchen sink to rinse out my mouth. As I finished my cleansing I took stock of my thoughts. They DID seem a bit more clear than usual. I felt like I sometimes did when playing pool. Normally, I wasn’t real good. But every now and then I get into this groove where I KNOW every shot I try will go perfect. The same thing used to happen on tests sometimes at school. The questions would be there and I’d pull the answers out of my memory. That’s the way the drug made me feel – like I was in the zone and ready to kick ass.

I lived in a nicer apartment complex. Next door was a divorced woman who didn’t much like me. I think maybe it was just men in general she didn’t much like. But she was okay looking and had a nice big set on her chest.

I walked over and knocked on her door.

When she opened it, I said, “Hello Mrs. Solomon. Come over for a minute, would you?” I phrased it as a request but tried to make it sound like a command.

She never hesitated, didn’t ask why. Instead, she simply said, “Sure” and followed me back to my door.

Once inside she looked around and seemed a little confused. “Umm, what did you need, Mr. Thompson?” she finally asked.

“Make me a glass of ice water, please.”

“Okay,” and off she went to the kitchen.

Grandfather, in his notes, said that it took him more than a week of experimenting before he realized that, if he concentrated, he could make his test subjects do his bidding without saying a word. So I concentrated on Myrna Solomon taking off her shirt and bra before she served me my ice water.

Did I mention she had a nice big set? They were even nicer when bare. She leaned over and placed the glass on the table in front of me and stood back up. She apparently hadn’t noticed her bare chest yet, but the confused expression was returning to her face.

“Myrna,” I said, “listen to me. It’s perfectly normal for you to be here with me.” I hesitated, unsure of how much I could control her mind and memories. “You have visited me often. And you like me a lot.”

“In fact,” I continued, improvising, “you rather have the hots for me. You remember many a night masturbating yourself while thinking of me between your legs. You will find anything I say to you to be perfectly normal and acceptable. You will happily do all that I ask of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a problem with any of this?”

If the drug was working, she shouldn’t have – I’d just told her it was all perfectly acceptable.

“No.”

Hot damn. My grandfather was a freakin’ genius. And I had been pissed at receiving so little. Grandfather had in fact left me everything truly valuable that he had. Including Krista. Hmm, I might have to rethink that whole thing. But in the meantime…

“Take off your skirt.”

She was wearing a pretty flower pattern that hung down to just below her knees. As I watched, Myrna reached around behind her to unbutton it. She let it slide to the floor. Her legs were a little heavier than I normally liked but still very sexy.

The power was intoxicating. I owned this woman. I could do whatever I wanted with her. “Now turn around, bend over, and slide your underwear down to your ankles.”

She did it, starting to get into it, making a show out of the whole thing. She could be rather sexy when she wanted. Her skin was tanned but she had bikini lines. Her hips flared wide below her thin abdomen. She was shaped more like a 40’s pinup girl than a bikini model.

My cock was raging – it had been as soon as I knew that Grandfather’s drug worked—and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Myrna, kneel on the couch and spread your legs a bit. You’re very horny. You’re getting sopping wet just thinking about me entering you.”

She climbed onto the couch and presented her rear to me. I dropped my pants, grabbed her hips, and sunk myself into her vagina in one stroke. Shit, she was wet. I’d never had a woman so wet before. I was just about swimming in her.

She was pretty tight though. She was just 27 and had never had children. My guess is she hadn’t seen many cocks in her little pussy either.

I rode her for a few minutes and made her cum almost constantly just by imagining it in my head. She was writhing on my prick, her cuntal muscles contracting and squeezing constantly. I held out as long as I could, but I didn’t want to get her pregnant, so before I came I pulled out and commanded her with my mind to turn around. I sunk my prick into her throat. She gagged but I wouldn’t allow her to pull off while I shot my load into her stomach.

After I let her go she collapsed face first onto the couch. As soon as I’d shot my load and pulled out I began to feel a little guilty at what I’d done.

I mean, this woman THOUGHT she was hot for me and maybe even thought what we’d just done was entirely consensual. But I knew better. I had just raped Myrna. I felt like a shit.

Still, I had to cover my tracks.

“Myrna, that was wonderful.”

“My god,” she gasped out, “I’ve never…I’ve never had sex like that.”

I grinned. “Myrna, now listen. You’re a great lover. You and I have been occasional lovers for a few months. When one of us feels the need, we get together and do it and then go our separate ways. Nothing will ever come of it, and we’re both fine with it. You don’t love me but you like me a lot and you think I’m the best lover you’ve ever had. You won’t, however, tell anyone about our relationship. It’s important to keep it a secret. Do you understand?”

Her body still limp on my couch, she managed to breathe out a “yes”, and closed her eyes. I think she would have fallen asleep right then if I hadn’t made her get up and sent her home.

After helping her get her clothes back on – she was having trouble moving her limbs right – and seeing her to the door, I sat down to think about what I’d done. Was it really rape? She certainly enjoyed it immensely. She even wanted it – after I’d adjusted her thinking.

What about Krista? Obviously Grandfather had “adjusted” her. So when she and I were together, was I raping her, with Grandfather’s help?

If I went over to Myrna tomorrow, she would gladly let me in and have sex with me without any further manipulation by me. Would that be rape?

It took me awhile, but my mind was still clearer than it normally would be. No, I eventually concluded, seeing Myrna again wouldn’t be rape. Nor was what Krista and I did rape. The rape occurred when I modified Myrna’s mind against her will. It was a raping of her mind – a “mind rape”.

My conscience told me what I had done was wrong. But I didn’t know if I would be able to resist using the drug in the future. Power can be very addictive.

After musing about the situation and beating myself up for nearly an hour I went and took a shower. I guess I felt like I was trying to clean off the filth of what I’d done. As the hot water pounded down on me, I felt a headache coming on. By the time I’d gotten out of the shower and dried off my head was pounding.

My head hurt so bad that I went back into my living room and picked up the journal, looking for anything Grandfather may have written about after effects of the drug. I flipped through a few pages before I had to put it down. My head was pounding. I had never before had a headache like this. I couldn’t think straight, I certainly couldn’t read.

I went to my tiny kitchen and searched the spice drawer for a bottle of aspirin. If I’d had any that’s where it would have been. I couldn’t find any. I drew a glass of water from the tap anyway and dug a piece of ice out of the freezer to hold to my temple.

“Daniel, what have you done?” I heard someone say behind me. I whirled around, the ice cube flying from my hand, but no one was there. “Daniel!” I heard a different voice to my right but, again, no one was there. I stumbled to my bedroom.

The pain was incredible. “Oh, God, it hurts!” I cried.

There lying on the bed, I saw Krista, tied up and bleeding. Her peach colored dress torn, her face bloody and tear stained, obviously someone had raped her. “Daniel, please!” she cried to me. Then she wasn’t there.

I fell to my knees, the glass of water falling from my hand. I fell forward against the bed and I screamed in pain.