The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

HIM

He often marveled at the contradictory nature of people. It seemed utterly counterintuitive to him, but the simple fact was that humans could embody opposite attributes that should, from a logical standpoint, be simply incompatible. People could be both kind and cruel; practical and oddly metaphysical; brilliant and absolutely moronic. It was this last contradiction that vexed him the most, for it was the one that affected his life with the tenacity of a hungry mosquito.

He was, by the very nature of his work, surrounded by eminently smart people—one did not reach an elite scientific group at a major institution without being, at the very least, highly intelligent. And yet, in conversation with his colleagues he was often astounded at their inability to grasp some concepts, at the strength with which they clung to ideas that were, simply speaking, misguided. Perhaps it was a side product of specialization: in order to be the best at one area of knowledge a laser focus was a valuable tool—time being, after all, a limited commodity and limiting factor—so an inability to grasp the… greater picture, so to speak, shouldn’t be surprising. It was, however, frustrating. So many geniuses and not one had the ability to reach into different disciplines, make the necessary cognitive connections and reach the obvious conclusions. It was irritating, and no one irritated him more than Professor Jones.

He respected her mind immensely. She was absolutely brilliant. She was also incredibly irritating. To her, everything boiled down to numbers, to the essence of mathematical relations, to the point that it struck him as a blinding shortsightedness, almost like a dogmatic religion. To Hannah Jones, existence could be reduced to the abstract elegance of equations, to the purity of symbol and calculation and algorithm. He had tried to explain himself and his work to her numerous times, and she simply ignored it as unsound, as lacking the strict discipline of perfect mathematical precision. How someone so smart could be so blind to the truth was a mystery, and it would remain just another irritating fact of life if not for one simple, powerful, and very much non-mathematical fact.

He was in love with Hannah.

Perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate. He was in love with Hannah’s potential, with what Hannah could be with just a few slight adjustments. She was a beautiful woman, with large, bright eyes, long red hair and a disarming smile that, sadly, never was intended for him. She was intelligent and funny, if a tad too… extreme in her feminist beliefs. To him it went hand in hand with her mathematical focus. Her ideology was tidy, logically sound, internally consistent: a worldview a mathematician could follow. It was also, in his eyes, utterly wrong.

How she managed to not see the truth was beyond him. It was so simple, so obvious once one understood the fundamental facts, that to him it jumped into view clear as the summer sun.

Human beings were messy. More than that, they were animals. These things were well understood and generally accepted, so why was it so hard to take the next logical step? What was a human if not a living vat of chemicals? Sure, men and women may come up with explanations for their actions, their desires, their impulses—but in the end they were post-facto justifications for things that had their roots deep inside their bodies, in glands and in their blood and as neurotransmitters in their brains. Free will was a delusion, a tale spun to explain the actions that a cocktail of chemicals had determined before people were even aware of their needs, desires, fears. Everything that determined what one was… no one got a choice in those things. No one chose their genetics, or the indoctrination that shaped their brains in a fundamental and very material way, or the events and traumas that further modified an organ that, in the end, functioned entirely by the secretion of once chemical or another in one area or another. The simple fact was that no one was in control… at least, not until they could master the physical, material aspect of themselves. Soul, consciousness, morality… all abstract veils that only obscured that a true understanding of biochemistry was the only true freedom, for biochemistry made everyone a slave.

Hannah couldn’t see that. So smart, and yet so dumb.

Well, he had tried explaining himself long enough. It wasn’t her fault, after all: she was a victim of her own chemistry. He would have to take a more direct approach.

He watched the machine spinning at a dazzling rate and kept his imagination in check. Sure, it might work perfectly, but the chances of a first attempt being exactly right were very much zero. In his experience, everything boiled down to iteration. Most likely, the serum would do nothing at all, and he would go back and look over delivery methods, proteic composition and active elements. But with a lot of luck, there would be some effects, and he would have to be alert to spot their signs and adjust accordingly for a more refined version… and so on over and over again, until everything worked just as it should. It would probably take months if not years of work—unpaid, off-the-clock work—to achieve a functioning formula. He was ready for that. It was worth it.

The centrifuge stopped. He fought his own chemistry, the rush of excitement and adrenaline that flooded his veins. He reminded himself that this was just a start. He had to be patient. The scientific method had no room for impulsiveness.

HER

She drove back home, and she found her mind drifting back again and again to the events of the day. It had been such a small thing, such a simple, gentle act—and yet, something inside her imbued it with some sort of special significance. It just seemed like something she would have never dreamed Dr. Peter Harris of doing.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Dr. Harris; far from it, in fact. She had the utmost respect for his brilliance: he was, after all, the most accomplished biochemist of his generation. More than that, he was the hardest worker she had ever met. No matter how early she got to the institute, Peter Harris was already there, toiling away inside his lab; no matter how late she went home, Peter Harris always stayed behind, working on his theories, refining experiments. Part of her felt a bit sorry for him—she couldn’t imagine he had much of a social life, or indeed, the disposition for one. Peter was many things, but a people person wasn’t one of them.

Their conversations had been few, and they invariably devolved into a dissertation that blurred the lines between science, metaphysics, ethics, and yes, a rather visible sexism. In a way, she couldn’t truly blame him for that. It was, if anything, a professional deformation, a product of overspecialization and a wrong turn taken somewhere: perhaps it had been a particular book or a retrograde professor, but the mixture of evolutionary psychology, a lifelong devotion to the inner working of the body and loneliness had become an unshakeable conviction that women and men had their own predetermined roles. If anyone else had said some of the things Dr. Harris had let slip in conversation, she would have deemed them ignorant misogynists. But she didn’t get that feeling from Peter, even if the content of the words was the same, deep down, as some of the sentiments expressed in the worst online spaces. No, it was different with him, almost devoid of the loathing and anger that usually came with sexist remarks. He sounded less like a frothing woman hater and more like the first man to discover gravity, dumbfounded at the rest of the world not getting something that, for him, was obvious as rain.

That’s what made that moment before in the day so rare. She had been working in her lab (fine, overworking… she had skipped lunch, after all) when a polite knock had announced Dr. Harris’ presence. He had never gone to her lab before, so that was strange in itself. Stranger still was the reason for his visit. She replayed the brief conversation in her mind.

“Dr. Hays, I went to fetch me some coffee, and it struck me that you have been cooped up here all day. Thought you could use something to stay hydrated”

“Oh… Dr. Harris. Yes, I… thank you, but I’m not much of a coffee drinker, I’m afraid”

“I know. And coffee is, as you know, a diuretic, halting the proper processing of water and increasing the production of urine—hardly the right beverage to stave off dehydration. No, I brought you a herbal tea. Chamomile with a little mint, I believe. It was in the break room”

She had prepared herself mentally for what was to come. Surely this tea would be accompanied by a lecture on hormones, how they determined her behavior and, as a female, her mood was irrevocably determined by them. Instead, however, he had simply left the tea on a table, wished her a good rest of the day and left.

That had been unique. A simple, selfless act of kindness. Usually Dr. Harris was too deep inside his own world to notice the needs of others. Well, she chose to see this tiny event as a good sign. Maybe he had been doing some work on himself, had reflected or studied different views on the world.

And the tea hadn’t been bad, either.

Maybe Peter would find some work-life balance in the end. As for her, she was ready for some more life in her personal equation. A nice girl’s night out.

She felt the first subtle inklings of it when she was getting dressed. Not one for extravagance or provocation, she had picked out a simple outfit of jeans and a top… before suddenly changing her mind. She couldn’t account for it, couldn’t explain her thought process fully. She looked at her clothes and simply felt that… well, they wouldn’t do. At all.

She could also go a bit sexier on her makeup. Just for that night.

Her husband looked at her as if he was about to devour her, which she took as a good sign. A short, rarely-work black dress with a plunging neckline, nylon stockings to match and devilishly sharp heels did, in fact, have quite the effect on men. Not that she cared about such things usually, but… it felt nice to be desired.

“Should I be worried?”, her husband asked in that ‘kidding-but-not-really’ tone of his.

She kissed him. She had intended the kiss to be a reassuring peck, but it quickly turned into a full, open mouthed, lustful affair. Her husband held her tight, and she could feel his penis hardening as it rubbed against her body. That was an even better sign.

“Maybe you could just… stay in for tonight” her husband said with mischievous hope. She pulled away from him with effort. True, jumping his bones looked like a most pleasant way to spend the evening, but she had promised her friends she’d be there at the bar, and after a string of cancellations due to her work, she wasn’t about to let them down. She’d make it up to him later.

“Don’t worry. Tomorrow we’ll have the whole day to ourselves”, she teased.

“So… it’s just you and the girls tonight, right? No… friends of friends or cousins or anything like that?”

“No, silly. Just the usual set. Why so interested?”

“Well, it’s just that… you know… you look… well, amazing, but a bit… provocative”

She smiled.

“Sometimes a girl just wants to look pretty”

The guy was an asshole. She was well aware of the fact. His aggressive posture, his corny lines, his buying her drinks again and again to get her wasted… subtlety wasn’t his forte. Normally she would have given him a very clear, very explicit signal to get the hell away from her. And yet…

It felt good. The attention. The way he shamelessly looked at her body. The way he didn’t bother to hide the simple fact that he was dying to… well, to fuck her. Her friends had attempted several rescues, normally a welcome practice among the girls. She had rebuked them. Not only that, she knew she was only making the situation worse with each passing minute. She smiled and laughed, tilting her head back. She endeavored to find excuses to lean forward, giving him a nice view of her cleavage—and he didn’t miss a single opportunity. She put her hand on his knee after a particularly terrible joke.

Any man on Earth would read her behavior as an open invitation, and she knew it. But it just felt so… fun. She was teasing him, that was all. Being sexy and flirty, just for a night. Harmless. She wasn’t the type to hook up at bars, and even less so the type to cheat.

Yes, that was it. Just simple, harmless fun.

HIM

He had prepared himself for disappointment. No one got things right on the first try, and his compound was, he knew, in its infancy. The most likely outcome of the experiment would be, simply, that it would have no effect on Hannah. Still, he awaited her arrival eagerly. In fact, ever since he had given her the dose in that herbal tea, he had been filled with a sense of electric anticipation, even as he did his best to tamper it down, to keep his methodic brain in control. He would have to be attentive, of course. Any change in behavior, any effect at all could be a clue to refine the formula. It could be subtle, almost impossible to notice—so he was ready to do some serious observation.

Observation was, after all, the first step to any scientific endeavor.

When Hannah arrived, he realized he had prepared himself in vain. She was very visibly upset. It was plain to see in her body language, in the way her greetings were blunt and brief, in her downcast eyes. Something had happened. He needed to know what. He gave her a good half hour to settle into her lab before venturing in. It would be difficult to get the information from her without seeming too… eager.

When he walked in, Dr. Jones was sitting behind her desk, notebooks and reference texts laying there, unused. For the energetic mathematician, that she hadn’t started work on all engines was more than an oddity. She looked up. She had been holding back tears, not entirely successfully. He considered how to get her to open up. He slowly went to her, and sat across from her. He mulled over how to open the conversation, and found himself at a loss for words. Nothing that came to his mind seemed to fit the moment.

It turned out, he shouldn’t have worried.

“Peter…” she said. He perked up. She never used his first name.

“Are you okay?”, he ventured.

“I’m… no. No, I’m not okay. I did something… something awful. I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“It’s okay. I’m here. And whatever it is you did, I promise I won’t tell a soul. Besides, it can’t possibly be as terrible as you think”

“It is! Peter, I… I need to get this off my chest. I… cheated”

“You cheated? In a… sexual way?”

“Yes. I… I…”

“Hannah, take a deep breath. Walk me through it. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. We are, after all, slaves to our chemistry”

“Oh, shut up, Peter! This isn’t some theoretical fucking case about free will! I cheated on my husband, okay? This is real life!”

“I’m sorry. Please, tell me about it”

She took a deep breath.

“I was out with some friends, and… and this guy, he was hitting on me and I… I couldn’t… my whole body felt like it needed him… needed his… his cock! His cum! His seed! And I… I followed him into the bathroom. I knew it, I knew it was wrong, but I just couldn’t help myself… my… need was so strong, so much stronger than me! I wasn’t thinking, Peter… Or rather I was thinking, but it was like my own mind was just so far away, and he smelled so… manly, so… I could smell him even through his cheap body spray and I got so wet and, and… We got to the bathroom. I think it was dirty, I can’t remember. I didn’t care. I instantly tried to fucking rip his pants off, but he put his hand on top on my head and my body just… knew what to do, and I went to my knees. He made me wait for it. He undid his belt slowly, and I realized I was drooling, like the whole world had faded away and his cock was all that mattered, and once I saw it… I couldn’t help myself! I took it all in, I felt so desperate! I needed to milk it, to get its cum! I never… I never acted like that before. So shameless. I used my lips, my tongue, my throat… I let my tits out so he could look at them, so he would cum faster, and he watched my with this fucking smug expression but I didn’t care, all that mattered was his cock… and he was holding back, but I needed him to cum, needed it so badly… Shit, Peter! What the fuck is wrong with me?”

He took all the information in. The way her voice trembled. Her flushing face. Her lips growing moist. She felt terrible, but the memory was also arousing her. It looked like the formula was longer lasting than he had calculated.

“Did he cum?”, he asked.

“Yes… I finished him in my mouth, and it felt so amazing! So… perfect. Like it was everything I ever needed! But then… then…”

“What happened?”

“He left. But I couldn’t move. I stayed there, on my knees. And he must have had some friends with him, because another man walked in”

“A second guy?”

“A second… then a third… then… I don’t know. I can’t tell how many! I just sucked and let them fuck my tits and said filthy stuff to make them cum! I needed it! Needed the seed… the tasty, warm, amazing cum…”

He watched her closely. Her hand was conspicuously out of sight, but her small whimpers were a sure sign of what she was doing. Clearly the experiment had been a success, and a colossal failure. Her lust had increased, as expected… but it was unfocused, directed towards every man around her. He made a mental note to refine that for the second version. More immediately, he had a choice to make. Clearly she was still somewhat under the effects of the drug—but how much? To take the next step would be dangerous, and could compromise the entire project—but he was only human, after all. Besides… fortune favored the bold. He got up and walked to her side. Without warning, he let his hard cock out. After hearing her, only a dead man wouldn’t get hard as stone. He watched her reaction.

“Peter? What are you… what… oh my God… That smell… I… no, not again! I have to… fuck… Put it away, Peter, or I’ll… Ah, I need it. I need it!”

She dove to the floor and took his dick in her mouth as if it was her only lifeline, as if she would perish if she didn’t pleasure that beautiful cock. He had to fight back with all his will to keep himself from exploding right then, so skillful and eager was Hannah’s mouth. She muttered half-formed words every now and then. “Peter, I’m sorry… I can’t… I need it… give me your cum… cum… please, Peter… I need your seed”

He held back with a superhuman effort. He wanted to take it further, to try her other holes, to ask her questions that might further his research… but Hannah wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. She undid her blouse and fixed her needy eyes on him. “Do it… look at me… look at my body… my mouth… my tits… they need you… they need your seed. Please, stop fighting it! Please let my mouth milk that beautiful cock!”

She renewed her assault with increased desperation. She took him deep, and moved with frantic animal abandon. She mixed up the pressure of her lips, the speed of her tongue, her angle of attack, sending wave after wave of pleasure through his body.

In the end, the result was inevitable. He exploded deep in her throat, and she swallowed every drop, careful not to waste any of the precious cum, while her own body was wracked with an orgasm. Just the feeling of warm cum was enough to send her over the edge, a part of him noted.

Hannah was in pure, peaceful bliss. He decided to leave her there—not because he didn’t care about her, but because he cared in the extreme. He had to get back to his lab, refine the formula. He had lucked out. The effects were near the goal… but not quite there yet. Hannah deserved his best work.

He needed to iterate. That was the method, after all.