The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Marissa had never felt excitement like this before. The first day of Ms. Fremont’s class had turned her life upside down. The path towards true enlightenment was laid bare before her. The building blocks for a success the likes of which she never could have imagined. Every one of the women present for that first lesson had immediately recognized the importance of it and had dropped virtually every other academic and social engagement. Their new education would make nearly all of their old obligations obsolete.

Marissa felt like she had been in a sandbox her entire life. Told to play within its bounds and not to tread outside lest society shun her. But Elena Fremont had lifted her up, like an infant, and shown her that there were no bounds to her playpen. It stretched on as far as the eye could see. As far as her imagination could muster. And Marissa intended to explore all of it.

Every girl in the class was pumped full of excitement, a healthy dose of awe for Ms. Fremont’s skill, some arousal, and a tinge of fear of the unknown. That first lesson had gone on hours longer than a normal class would have. Even exhausted as they were, none of them had wanted to go. It was only after Ms. Fremont assured them that they would be attending her class nearly every day that they relented on their never ending stream of questions and reluctantly shuffled out, tittering to each other.

Marissa had felt as light as a feather since that first class ended. They had been treated to a dozen more since then. Handed lessons like fruit plucked from the tree of knowledge. And Marissa and the other girls had gorged themselves. She walked down the hall of her university’s psychology building, not even attempting to hide the smirk that had been stamped on her face for the last two weeks. The hours between Ms. Fremont’s classes felt like an eternity and the long, mostly featureless hallways of the psychology building didn’t do much to alleviate the feeling.

She turned the last corner and arrived finally at Mecca. Ms. Fremont’s office. The seat of power to an actual Goddess. And none of the rest of these fools even knew to worship at its doors. Yet. Elena Fremont’s most devoted follower stood in front; her personal bodyguard, John Doe. John was one of Elena’s first acquisitions and she had found it humorous to don him with a name more befitting his station as a mindless thrall. He was also an ex-Navy SEAL and not to be trifled with, mindless or not. Many of the other students and faculty had noted his presence with anger but for some reason the university’s deans had flatly refused to remove him. Though Marissa was fairly sure she knew the reason. She approached John, who was staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. But no doubt still tracking her in his periphery. John had been informed that none of the girls were threats, but Marissa still felt it prudent to announce her arrival.

“Hi John” she said, coming to a stop to his right and clasping her hands behind her back like a young school girl. “Is Ms. Fremont in?”

“Yes ma’am, though she is in a meeting. Please enter and have a seat until she is ready for you.”

“Ooooh, thank you so much.” Marissa purred, standing on her tippy-toes to peck the henchman on the cheek, and reached down to give the bulge in his slacks a quick squeeze. “Good boy.”

Neither John’s impassable demeanor, nor his bulge, budged an inch. Too much loyalty to his master, probably. Or maybe Marissa just didn’t have Elena’s touch yet. She trailed her hand on John’s hip as she brushed past him into the office’s waiting room. Just as John had indicated, Elena’s office door was closed. But Marissa knew enough of her new teacher’s daily routine to know that Elena probably wasn’t in a traditional meeting. She put her ear to the closed door and heard Ms. Fremont’s sing-song voice which told Marissa everything she needed to know about what was going on inside. She tried the handle and was unsurprised to feel it was unlocked. After all, no one except the priestesses were making it past John outside, so there was no point in locking it.

She slowly opened the door to step inside and was pleased to see that a devotee was indeed praying at the shrine of the Goddess Fremont. He was completely naked and occupying an armchair that was typical fare for university offices. Sitting would have been too strong a word for what he was doing, though. He was slouched so deep into the chair that it might as well have been a bed. His limbs were all hanging limp, the chair’s armrests wedged into each of his armpits. The back of the chair propped his head up and was undoubtedly the only thing keeping it from lolling backwards. His thick eight inch cock rested contentedly on the taut stomach of Elena Fremont, who was straddling his legs. She was just as naked as her devotee and both were covered in a sheen of sweat, though Elena’s abdomen had an extra layer of what Marissa surmised could only be several loads of ejaculate. She was hunched over, hands on his chest, and speaking softly and quickly to the man, who was listening intently to her sermon with wide eyes and mouth hanging open. As Marissa entered, Elena regarded her with a quick glance and took the interruption as a chance to rest briefly, placing her hands on the man’s knees behind her and reclining onto them, putting all of her most impressive features on full display. Marissa was awestruck by Ms. Fremont’s impeccable body every time she had the pleasure to glimpse a piece of it. The man should have been no less awestruck, but had managed to turn his head towards Marissa.

“Ma’am, please help me.” he implored softly. The horror of his words were undermined by his relaxed voice and limp body. The two women made eye contact and chuckled to each other as Marissa stepped next to the man’s chair.

“Aww, what’s wrong sweetie?” She asked, still giggling softly.

Marissa smiled down at the man and lovingly brushed a few strands of disheveled hair out of his eyes. He looked up at her and smiled back weakly.

“Ms. Fremont said I was resisting too much, so she’s turning my brains into cum and pumping them out through my cock.”

The women couldn’t suppress a quick laugh at the man’s honest and brutally accurate response. He was clearly reciting what Elena had told him she was doing to him earlier. Some part of him still comprehended his predicament, but Elena had disabled all of his faculties to deal with it.

“Oh, Ms. Fremont is really good at doing that to resistant boys like you, isn’t she?”

“Yeah” he sighed, as Elena gently grabbed his chin and guided his gaze back to her incredible glistening body.

“This is Steve Gladstrom, our fair city’s chief of police.” Elena informed her, swaying her body slightly as Steve’s gaze found a home in her beautiful breasts. “I told his secretary this meeting was to discuss a possible guest lecture on criminal psychology. He’s well on his way to being a good boy but his mind was stronger than most and I still have quite a bit of work to do on him.”

“It looks like he’s pretty smitten with you already, ma’am.” Marissa nodded towards Steve’s manhood. Elena followed her gaze, though she had to lean forward to peer over her enormous breasts, and saw that it had begun releasing a weak load onto her stomach as Steve goggled slack jawed at Elena’s chest. Only one pump had any force behind it and was stopped abruptly by the underside of her perfect tits.

“Hah!” Elena laughed “Yes, but that was his fourth load and he hasn’t learned to hold them in until I demand them. Oh well, no rest for the wicked, eh? What can I help you with?”

“So, there’s this guy I met in English Lit last semester, and we’ve been hanging out and—”

“I hope, Miss Scoggins, that I don’t have to help you get a singular horny boy into bed with you.”

“No ma’am, we’ve been fucking ’n all. It’s just that he’s always on top and forcefu—”

“Does he have one of these?” Elena interrupted again, hefting Steve’s thick exhausted manhood and waving it back and forth a couple of times before letting it fall wetly back onto her stomach.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elena inclined her head towards Marissa, waiting for the young student to finish parroting the lesson.

“He has a cock, so he can be subdued.” Marissa hung her head and recited meekly.

“Too true, Miss Scoggins. Too true. I know you’re eager to saddle a young stud but you have the rest of your life to find good dick. Use your interactions with this boy to practice. You have what he wants and boys are taught by society not to take what they want by force, which gives you and your tight cunt all the time you need to enslave him.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you. I was also wondering if I could stop by Professor Hardin’s office so I could talk to him abo—”

“No.”

“I just wanted to see if he’d let m—”

“No, you may not practice what you think you’ve learned in my class on anyone but the male students of this university.” Elena cut her off sharply, annunciating each syllable with painful clarity. “The boys are stupid and eager to cum. The men are more difficult to subdue and more dangerous if you fail. And I will not have you, or the other girls, putting our classroom at risk. Fixing your failing grades in your other classes will be a homework assignment for all of you when we can get everyone in the class up to speed. That’s why I instructed you all to only practice on the boys. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Marissa said dejectedly.

“Cheer up, Marissa. We’ll have plenty of time for you to drain every cock in the metroplex. Let’s learn to walk before we run and all that, yes?” Elena said with a warm smile.

“Yeah” Marissa agreed. Returning the smile as best she could.

“Good, now I have a long evening ahead of me with this future-good-boy. We’re going to need his services before too long, I imagine. I’ll see you bright and early in class tomorrow.”

Marissa thanked her professor again and showed herself out. She didn’t have the same pep that she did when she had entered but she was resolved to practice as much as possible. She reached for her phone and started thumbing a text message to her boyfriend as she left.

“Goodbye John” she again let her fingers run across his slacks and caress his bulge as she walked by. And he again responded with resounding indifference.

“One day” she thought.

Marissa arrived at class the next day with a latte, sweatpants, and a headful of unkempt hair. She had had a long night with her boy toy. He stubbornly remained more boy than toy for the time being. Though she had managed to get him on his back and slowly milked a load out of him once. Progress. Her B cups might not be as flashy as Ms. Fremont’s double D’s, but just as Elena had teased her about, she indeed had a very tight pussy. And Marissa was acutely aware of her own strengths and weaknesses. She hadn’t found good looks until highschool and had spent more than a few years being the brunt of her classmates’ cruel jokes until then. All for the best, though. She had had to learn what struggle was a long time ago. Learn how to win and how to lose and how to try. Failing to domesticate a particularly aggressive boyfriend didn’t weigh too heavily on her mind. And failing, in this case, meant being used like a sex toy for several hours, which wasn’t the end of the world either if she was being honest.

Ms. Fremont was up on the dais making casual conversation with a man in slacks and a button-up shirt. He cut a fairly good figure, had a scruffy beard covering a square jaw. All in all he wore his mid-forties quite well. Marissa and another girl took seats in the front row and shared a knowing glance and a smirk. When the girls had all settled in and taken out their notebooks Elena addressed them. The man stood a bit behind and to her left with his hands in his pockets and a cheerful smile on his face.

“Hello everyone. Today we’re going to have a lecture from Professor Zyke. He literally wrote the book on subconscious cognition of nonverbal communication. We managed to snag a free hour from him before he prepares for a talk at the European Psychology Association in Zurich on Thursday. This’ll be a bit of a sneak peak of that talk, if I understand correctly. I know this is a departure from our syllabus, so it won’t be on our test next week. But I might include a question or two as extra credit. So phones off and ears open. Becky that means you. “ She said pointedly at a girl in the third row. “Professor, they’re all yours.”

She finished with a brief smile at the man and backed away. Professor Zyke returned the smile and nodded his head in acknowledgement as he stepped up to the lectern, gripping it on the side edges casually.

“Thank you. Please, call me Gordon. A little background about me; I teach a class most of you will end up having to take next year, Psych 302. And this will be on the test there.”

He flashed a handsome, toothy grin at his own joke and the girls tittered. Not as much at his icebreaker than at the inside joke that all of them shared, which was that the good Professor was going to be Ms. Fremont’s latest exhibit for them. Gordon launched into a lecture that was as dry as it was indecipherable. Marissa was completely lost from the first word. It was a grating reminder that this thing, the classrooms and professors and lectures on difficult subjects, was not her world. She and the other girls had given up this world in order to be Elena’s disciples. Ms. Fremont had taken a seat in a chair on the stage facing the girls a few feet away from the lectern. A few minutes in, she leaned forward and raised her hand.

“Professor, may I ask…” she trailed off to let Gordon acknowledge her interruption.

“Oh, absolutely. If I can’t field questions from peers at my own university, I’m gonna get eviscerated by the sharks at the IPA.”

“Hah. Well, I was wondering why you maintain that non verbal cues are interpreted primarily subconsciously and verbal cues interpreted primarily consciously.”

“Ah, well, the Yang-Silva experiment in the late 90’s found that—”

“Maybe I’m not phrasing my question correctly. Here, let me show you.”

Elena excitedly stood and approached Gordon on his right. He turned slightly to face her, only the weak remnants of a smile on his face. Being approached mid-lecture like this is very atypical and unprofessional, especially from another professor.

“When eye contact is made, most nonverbal communication bypasses the amygdala and is processed directly by the thalamus. But if you don’t have eye contact established, would the thalamus and amygdala’s processing responsibilities not be reversed? Say, for example, you were to focus somewhere other than my eyes. Like my collarbone. So that my facial expressions could only be seen in your periphery.”

The professor was trying to parse Elena’s questions and was too distracted by the strangeness of the situation to notice that her left hand had come to rest on his shoulder and was applying a gentle, soothing pressure. He had successfully noticed, however, that the top few buttons of her dress shirt had come undone. Gordon knew something was wrong but he was still in a lecture hall. He was still addressing a room full of students. And he was still being questioned by an academic and a faculty member. There was no need to panic. There was no need to flee in terror like his brain was telling him he should. Elena’s barrage of jargon continued, and Gordon instinctively backed away from the siren, but every inch he gave up, Elena accepted greedily.

“It’s okay, Gordon. Please keep staring at my collar bone, or whatever you want.” Elena said reassuringly, cupping both of the frightened man’s cheeks and keeping his head from turning. “It will help to distract you so that the nonverbal cues I sneak into your psyche can be processed as far away from the thalamus as possible. And it’s okay for males to notice the secondary sexual characteristics of nearby females. Even between peers. Even in a strictly academic setting such as this.” Elena chuckled.

“No, I…you” Gordon spluttered. His left hand was still gripping the lectern, somewhat tighter than when he started. But his right hand went up to remove hers from his cheek.

“Shhhhh, it’s okay Gordon. We’re all just interested in finding the secrets of the human psyche. No one will fault you for doing what men do best while we have this completely professional discussion.”

Her left hand intercepted his right and pulled it gently down to hang limply at his side. Her hand, having completed its mission, traversed the short distance between Gordon’s hip and his crotch to start massaging the tent that had started to form there.

“But...your class...I shouldn’t”

“Oh hush, Gordie. The girls will understand if a healthy male wants to stare a little bit at a pair of nice big tits. And they definitely won’t mind if you get a big strong erection while doing it.”

Elena smiled up into the man’s gawking face. His hips started rocking into Elena’s incessant hand, which gladly accommodated him and started rubbing and squeezing in time with his weak thrusts.

“Big...tits…” Gordon finally admitted, relaxing and letting his hand fall from the lectern to join the other one by his hip.

“I know this is all a bit confusing, Gordie. Let’s get your lump here as relaxed as the rest of you so you can think straight again. Why don’t you pull that cock out for me and start stroking it.”

Elena let her words sink into Gordon’s sex-addled brain while she worked on undoing his belt and trousers to speed things up. Gordon now stared wide eyed and slack jawed down into the depths of Elena’s cleavage. He reached in and started trying to free his manhood, which was not made easier since it was already throbbing in his pants.

“There you go, Gordie. Get those balls out, too. I want you to give your cock the five-star treatment for being such a good boy.”

As the professor’s meaty cock and low hanging balls came into view, some cheers and catcalls arose from the girls. They had seen enough of Elena’s inductions to know that Gordon wasn’t going to show any more resistance. Nevertheless, Elena held up a silencing hand to the hungry priestesses.

“Now, ladies, let’s show the good professor some respect while he jacks his meat for my fat tits.”

Marissa laughed along with the rest of the class. It was refreshing to share an experience like this with Ms. Fremont like she was one of the girls.

“Gordie, baby, do you think that some of the other members at your psychology conference would like to jack off for my tits just like you are?” Elena asked sweetly, putting her hands on her hip and cocking them to one side, like she was posing for a movie director.

“Yeah...fat tits…” Gordon was jerking for all he was worth, hunched slightly over so he could reach under with his other hand to play with his balls. His eyes were hungry and bulging at Elena’s chest.

“Ooooh, I think so too. But they didn’t invite me.” She pouted her lips and crossed her arms under her chest in faux anger, like a petulant child. “Do you think you could maybe convince some of them to come visit you in the states sometime? Specifically, John Stremp, Stephen Chow, and Straus Ludmen? I bet you boys would love to jerk your dicks to my big fat tits, wouldn’t you?”

Marissa figured Ms. Fremont was in a particularly good mood right now; she wasn’t usually this vulgar in her work. The girls showed their appreciation for the show with more hoots and hollers.

“Yeah! Big fat tits!”

“You’ll do anything for me, won’t you Gordie?”

“Yeah…” The professor sighed out his response and smiled. Eyes still locked on Elena’s imposing cleavage. One of the girls behind Marissa got emboldened by the laid-back class they were having to jovially shout that Ms. Fremont was going to get covered if she stayed in front of the professor. Elena traced circles around the head of the furiously pumping penis in front of her as she lovingly cupped the professor’s cheek. She smiled and addressed the girl, but continued to look up into the face of the entranced man.

“Girls, what’s life without a few worshipful loads sprayed all over you? Gordon, stare at my tits, give in, and blow one of those worshipful loads out for me now.”

“Tits!” the man exclaimed one last time like he had discovered the cure for cancer. He followed up his revelation with a series of short, animalistic grunts while his cock furiously spat jizz all over his Goddess’ skirt. His hips thrust forward with each spurt and Elena laughed the whole time at having reduced the tenured professor to a caveman. She let the man empty himself completely and waited for a lull in the laughing and clapping from the priestesses to continue.

“Well girls, that’s that. Gordie sweetie, just relax there for a bit and then we’ll go over exactly what I want you to do at the conference. Miss Langston, why don’t you take your fingers out of your pussy and tell me what the first method I used in my induction wa—”

“Very well done, Ms. Fremont!” A male voice rang out from the back of the room. After the first class, all of the girls had relocated from the back to the front of the auditorium, and Elena had been too busy with her new thrall to notice the man quietly slipping into the auditorium. There had been no visitors in Ms. Fremont’s lectures thus far and the girls all instantly recognized the danger they were in. Every girl’s breath caught in her throat. Each seat emptied as the priestesses bolted to their feet and spun around to face the intruder. Marissa was as scared as she had ever been and was slowly backing out of her row of seats so she was not between Ms. Fremont and the man. She needed to be able to see how Ms. Fremont reacted in order to gauge which side of her fight-or-flight response was supposed to win.

The man was about six feet tall, looked to be around forty years old, and had a medium build. He was perfectly clean-shaven, with short cropped hair like he had just come from a 1950’s barbershop. He had on an expensive and perfectly tailored suit and had small round eyeglasses like the kind you’d expect to see on bookies or accountants. His shoes were polished to a shine and he stood bolt upright with his left hand behind his back like a butler. The only thing that wasn’t prim and proper about the man was his right hand, which was covered in a white rubber glove, and was stroking the erect penis of Elena’s bodyguard. John stood to the man’s right, hands loose at his sides and all of his facial features relaxed. The man had an overhand grip on John’s tool and was pumping it methodically, like a nurse performing a routine medical procedure. Elena was standing behind the lectern, having walked Gordon out from behind it during his induction. She grasped both edges, just as Gordon had, but with a white knuckle grip instead. Her teeth were gritted and every muscle in her body was tensed like a cat’s.

“Who the fuck are you! John, protocol one!” she screamed.

Neither John nor the man registered a single emotion on their faces.The two of them stared straight forward at Elena, motionless save for the precise movements of the man’s right hand. Mocking Elena with their stillness.

“Protocol-fucking-one, John! Fucking eliminate him!”

The girls had never heard Ms. Fremont this desperate, and it scared them to their core. The two men still stood like statues.

“John, is it?” the man said after a few moments, “John, you may release yourself and then get on your knees.”

“Sir.” John replied, and instantly his member was pulsing out rope after rope onto the isle in front of them while the man’s hand continued its milking. The ordeal proceeded for about thirty seconds, but without all of the grunting and humping that had accompanied Gordon’s orgasm. Gone, too, were the titters and jeers from the audience. The girls looked on in stunned silence. John had been as impassable as a mountain range and as regular as the tides. Yet here he was, docile and pumping at the hands of this man. When John had emptied himself and the man had let go, he sank to his knees and sat back on the heels of his feet. His eyes were glassy and his mouth hung slightly open. His hands were open, palms up on the floor. The head of his long, spent cock just barely resting on the floor between his legs. For the first time, the man looked away from Elena and towards the cum-covered glove he had used to relieve John. He used his left hand to carefully peel off the glove from his right and spoke to the class in an arrogant and collected voice.

“My name is Charles, and as long as everyone remains calm, you have nothing to fear from me today. Or from the men waiting for me outside.”

Having removed his soiled glove, Charles pinched it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger and slowly set it on John’s motionless head to his right. He clasped his hands behind his back and started down the aisle towards Elena, whistling a soft tune as he walked. Marissa was backed into the end of her row of seats. When Charles had mentioned the men waiting outside, she had decided that hiding was preferable to running, though her animal brain was telling her neither option would save her if worse came to worse. She was currently wedged between the wall and the furthest seat on her row, squatting down and sitting on the heels of her feet uncomfortably, and trying to make herself as small as possible. Other girls in the class were mostly doing the same, or crouching in the aisles to give themselves the most options for running. But then she heard the tune the man was whistling. His song was soft and lyrical, in stark contrast to his stiff, prim demeanor. His song was beautiful and Marissa felt safe listening to it. She gave her feet a break and leaned forward onto her knees, still crouching. Even Ms. Fremont seemed to loosen up a bit, and was carrying herself less like a cornered badger and more like a disappointed headmistress. Charles turned before he reached the stairs leading to the stage and walked between the stage and the front row of seats, still whistling and glancing around the room. Elena had moved out from behind the lectern and was standing with her feet spread slightly and her arms crossed in front of her bust. Charles stopped just in front of the stage, which came up to his chest and cut his song off abruptly. The suddenness of his beautiful song ending jarred Marissa and made her stomach drop momentarily.

“Don’t be too upset with John, there. Poor lad didn’t really have a chance, and good help is so hard to come by these days. I’m sure you’ll verify this yourself, but I haven’t left any surprises in him. A few hours staring at those breasts of yours and he’ll be right as rain again.”

Elena’s glare didn’t abate one iota at his reassuring words.

“How kind of you, Charles. Now who. The fuck. Are you.”

“I’m a liason of The Movers. And I’m here to communicate the terms of your existence if you continue to operate in this capacity.” He swept his hand around to indicate the entranced professor and huddled students.

“You would interrupt my class and dictate terms to m—”

“I would, yes. And you will listen to them now. The Movers are rather particular about whom they allow to practice The Trade. To that end, I will return here tomorrow evening at six-o-clock and administer your test. If you fail, you and your students will be killed or enslaved, as The Movers see fit. If you attempt to subvert or undermine the intent of this trial, you and your students will be killed or enslaved, as The Movers see fit. All of the women who attend your ‘classes’ will be in attendance tomorrow as well. If you, or any of them are missing—”

“Yes, yes. The Movers will see fit to do all sorts of nasty horrible things.”

“Quite right, Ms. Fremont. One last thing. This is not the first test I have administered, by far. And it is your test, not mine. If you attempt to try me in a similar fashion,” his face and voice darkened suddenly “I can assure you, I will use you as my personal toy and then dispose of your broken body.”

Charles turned on his heels and walked out stiffly, whistling a beautiful tune until the closing auditorium door left the women in abject silence.