The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

From the moment John Davis looked into Susan Thompson’s eyes, he was completely in her thrall. One moment he was his own man, the next he was an obedient servant.

Susan had hypnotized him. She didn’t drug him or swing a watch in front of his eyes. She didn’t say, “You are getting verry sleepy.” She just walked up to him and locked her transfixing blue eyes on him, and a voice in his mind commanded him to obey. And he did.

And if he had known what she had in mind, it’s doubtful John would have resisted much. Night after night, she would lure him out into her car and fuck him almost into unconsciousness.

He was conditioned, programmed to be a perfect boyfriend, and a perfect sex toy. Every word, every touch was designed to elicit a specific response. If she said, “I want you now,” he instantly got hard. “Let me feel it” turned him into a fucking machine, ramming his spike-hard cock in and out of her like a piston. “Surrender to me” was a command that laid him flat on his back, to be ridden until his mistress was spent.

Susan indulged herself in every desire. She dabbed Vaseline on her lips every day until they were soft as pillows, and drove John half-mad with the way she would kiss him. Many nights she would plunge her mouth down on his tool, and suck him dry. She compelled him to learn every inch of her flawless body, and pleasure it at her command. John Davis was her private slave.

Unfortunately, someone else found out.

John’s father worked for the government. Russell Davis was recruited for the CIA right out of college. Before long, he was spun off to a separate agency, which officially didn’t exist. If you knew of its existence, you called it “The Working Group.”

Davis was no scientist, but his aptitude tests and personal interactions on the job revealed a more valuable talent: he knew the way people thought. An observer by nature, he had spent his younger years learning how to anticipate what other would do in any given circumstance.

He helped out on some treaty negotiations, but his real success was in the field. Time after time, when the agency conducted secret experiments on unwitting volunteers, Davis would be the one to spot the “plant,” the unbalanced subject, even one foreign intelligence agent.

So he witnessed over a hundred such “black” operations, usually on college campuses. A handful of cash-strapped college students would ingest whatever drug the kindly health teacher would offer them, and Davis would watch them.

Sometimes, he watched them go insane. Sometimes, he watched them gently doze off from boredom. And very rarely, he watched as a young student became something much more. One guy in a Rolling Stones shirt was dumb-struck when he realized he could make a soda can fly across the room into his hand, just by thinking about it.

That guy had a talent. And now that guy has a little room all to himself in Virginia, with very special locks. There’s no record of his detainment, but he doesn’t get around much anymore.

And now, Davis was sure that there was another, even more “talented” person, right here in his town. In fact, she was ringing the doorbell right now.

Susan’s mouth hung open for a second before she said, “Oh, hi, Mr. Davis. Is John home?”

“Sure, Susan,” he said pleasantly, ushering her in. “C’mon in.”

Russell Davis had noticed a change in his son’s demeanor. His active, inquisitive mind seemed to be suppressed lately. There was a moment when he feared his son was into drugs, but he discarded that notion. No, something—or more to the point, someone had a hold over his son. And he knew who that might be.

He steered Susan into the library, and hoped he was prepared for whatever happened next. “Listen, Susan,” he started, with a sort of disappointed father voice, “I’m afraid you two can’t stay out after the prom.”

Susan turned around to look at him, shocked. “Why not?”

“Well, there’s just too many kids who aren’t as responsible as you kids. And if they’re out there drinking and driving around,” he spread his hands, helplessly, “well, I just couldn’t allow you to put yourself in danger.” And he turned to face her, saying, “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course I do, Mr. Davis” she said, taking a step closer. But actually, he was counting on her not understanding—or liking it—one bit.

She stepped closer. “We wouldn’t want to worry you,” she said in a cool, pleasant voice, as she brought her eyes up to look directly into his. “In fact, you’re not worried about it at all.”

He looked into her sparkling blue eyes. Her voice seemed to come from far away, but still from somewhere inside his mind. The blue in her eyes had him utterly spellbound. “You want us to have a good time tomorrow night, and you know we’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Yes,” he said hesitantly, and then more confidently. “Yes. You kids will be just fine. It’s perfectly safe.”

“And you won’t remember our little talk, except that you told us to have a good time after the prom.”

“Of course.” And she smiled.

“Well!” Susan said, clapping her hands once, snapping him out of it. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. I better go see what John is up to.” And she left in search of her hypnotized boyfriend.

Leaving behind his hypnotized father. Russell Davis stood in the library, trying to think what he was supposed to do. Eventually, he went to the desk to get his cigarettes. When he opened the drawer to fish them out, he saw the note he had written to himself the day before: “Rewind videotape.”

That was when he remember the hidden camera that had recorded his entire conversation with the beautiful young Miss Thompson.

“That’s it,” Davis said, turning off the TV, “a Pure Talent at work.” Pure Talent was the phrase the Working Group used to describe a person with natural mental abilities. Eleven men and women, the entire contingent of Group members in the sector, were there to watch the video, and decide how to proceed.

The tape was a little off-center, and the sound was muffled, but it caught everything. “You can see how confident she is, how certain she is that no one else knows. She won’t be expecting us, so it won’t be a problem. Questions? No? Meet back here at five, and we’ll set up for tonight’s pick-up. It’s a prom, so dress like parents waiting to pick up their kids. That’s all for now.”

When most of the others had left, Matt Dwyer pulled Davis aside. “Chief,” he asked quietly, “what was it like?”

He looked for a moment at Dwyer. Maybe he’s too green for this assignment. “What? You mean being dominated?”

“No. You know. The whole thing.”

Davis understood. “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. My cock was full, and my mind was empty. But remember,” he said, gripping the younger man’s shoulder, “you can’t afford to start thinking about her that way, or you’ll lose your focus when the time comes.”

This prom deal is not all it’s cracked up to be, Susan thought, but it’s still pretty cool. Part of the problem was the location—while other schools were having their proms at banquet halls, here they were in the gymnasium. And a few streamers do not transform a gym into anything classy.

But she wasted little time on such thoughts. John was parked at their table, quite content to watch his date for the evening dance with a few other partners. Every boy she asked was happy to oblige, after they looked into her mesmerizing blue eyes.

In less than a year, she had gone from outcast to very popular, and tonight was the crowning moment. When the song ended, she gently released her hold on her partner, and sent him dazed but happily back to his own date.

As she approached her table, she noticed something odd. John looked, well, worried. She sat down, locked her piercing eyes on her date, and said, “Tell me what’s wrong, John.”

“Someone’s watching the exits,” he answered in a flat voice.

“What do you mean?” Susan asked, her panic rising.

“My dad works for the government. I’ve seen some of his co-workers. They’re here. They’re getting ready to pick somebody up. There’s two at every exit, and they have guns.”

“How do you know that?” she demanded.

He shrugged without looking away from the beautiful blue eyes that he obeyed without question. “It’s something about the way their jackets hang. I dunno.”

Looking back on what happened that night, you’d have to agree that Susan would have been taken by surprise, if not for heredity. It turns out that John Davis was every bit as observant as his father.

“Who are they after? Are they after me?” Susan was trembling.

“Naw. My dad’s in a secret stuff agency. He reads up on things like psychics and telepathy. Mind control. That kind of stuff. I wonder who,” he smiled, “in our class might be into that.”

She could feel her stomach churning. Susan was scared now. It had begun as a game, and now it was out of control. She looked around the gym, and saw them now in the illuminated doorways, waiting there. Waiting there for her.

She turned back to John, and took his face in her hands. She forced herself to sound cool and confident. “John,” she said, her eyes growing larger, deeper, “they’re after me. You don’t have to know why. But you have to help me escape.”

“Yes,” he said dreamily.

“How would you do it?” she demanded softly.

“Look for a weakness—is there a window unattended? Are there any doors that lead to outside exits?”

Susan thought furiously. Her advantage was that they wouldn’t know she was onto them. How could she use that?

Suddenly, she was glad they used the gym, after all.

“John, you have keys to your dad’s car, don’t you?” He nodded, and Susan got up and walked over to one of her friends, to ask a small favor.

Five minutes later, Mr. Partyka wheeled his mop and bucket into the gym. Susan was never so happy to see a janitor in her life. He came over to where she was standing, next to the bleachers, and starting poking around, looking annoyed.

“Something wrong, Mr. Partyka?” she asked pleasantly.

“Yeah, they told me some kid threw up over here, but I don’t see nothin’.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you what happened,” she stepped closer and smiled. Her eyes locked onto his, and her power flooded through his mind. “Go put your mop away. Go into the women’s locker room. Unlock the door that leads into the gym, and then unlock the door that leads to the pool. Leave the key in the door, on the pool side. When you’re finished, go back to your storeroom. Do it now.”

“Yes,” he answered automatically, and he turned away.

Susan gave him ten minutes to get the job done. It gave her time to reflect on what she had to do now. She looked around at her classmates, wistfully, realizing she could never come back here.

“Ready? Let’s go,” she said, and she and John made their way out on the dance floor. Steadily, they worked their way over to the locker room door. No one was standing guard, because they thought it was locked. “Now! Go!” They pulled the door open, and ran inside.

Outside, Russell Davis was jolted into full alertness when he heard Paulsen shout over the two-way, “They’re in the locker room! Repeat! Subject and Escort are in the women’s locker room, south side of the gym. Go! Go! Go!”

As four teams converged on the women’s locker room, Davis jumped out of his car. “Falk, you come with me. Dwyer, stay here.” And the two men jogged toward the school entrance. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to materialize at a different exit. “Listen up, Group. Take two squads out to cover the back and side doors to the school. I’ve got the front door. Go! Move it!”

Inside, four men had searched every corner of the women’s locker room with no sight of the escapees. They barked instructions to one other, so much so that no one heard the faint click of metal, as the door that led from the pool to the outside gently clicked shut.

Dwyer sat in the car, listening to the sound of the pursuit. He wanted to be in there, doing something. Then, he abruptly decided to get some air. He unlocked the car’s doors, and stepped out. Startled, he said, “Mr. Davis, I thought you were inside.”

Davis stepped forward and trained powerful blue eyes on Dwyer. “Mr. Dwyer came out, and took his son home,” the voice said, as the figure seemed to dissolve in his mind into that of a young girl with big blue eyes. “You remember now, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Dwyer took his son home.”

“The mission is accomplished. You have done your job well.”

“Thank you.” And Dwyer continued to stand there, justifiably proud of his small part in a successful operation, as the car pulled away.

At the Canadian border, the inspector asked “What nationality?” and “Where are you headed today?”

“Well, maybe you could help me on that,” the young woman said with a smile. She pulled out a map, and pointed to it. “We want to go here.”

The inspector stepped up to the car, and the woman looked up at him. Her blue eyes seemed to catch the sun, and he caught his breath, transfixed.