The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Agent 642, report.”

“It’s a trap.” replied the other Agent. “I’m cut off. You’ll have to go home without me.”

“Our orders were to...”

“The death camps are a fake.” Agent 642 said. “All the so-called ‘prisoners’ are armed with Tommy guns.”

“Shit.”

“Report back to home base.” Agent 642 said. “Above all, get home alive so that nobody else...” There was the sound of weapons fire, and screaming. Agent 169 looked over to her comerades and could see the grief on their faces. She switched to the emergency channel and hailed the extraction team.

“Wrong shell.” she said into the radio. “Babysitter’s napping. Got bus fare? Over.”

“Hold hands when you cross the street.” came the reply.

“Roger that.” replied Agent 169. She signaled to the other agents, and they left the way they had come. The clearing they had arrived in was swarming with enemy operatives. “Bad dogs at the corner. Detour? Over.”

“I hear Miami’s nice this time of year.” the voice on the other end said. The four black-clad female agents turned their boots in the direction of Tel Aviv and kept to the shadows, making use of all their stealth training. They reached the southeast corner of Tel Aviv, where a cafe served as a secondary rendevous point.

“How’s the special?” Agent 169 asked the attractive young woman in a corner booth.

“A little dry. I should have asked for mayo.” the other replied. “Don’t drink the water.”

“K.” Agent 169 replied. “Wanna go for Italian instead?”

“Love to, but I’m allergic.” Someone just within Agent 169’s peripheral vision was slowly reaching for a gun.

“I thought this was the non-smoking section.” she said. The agent at the booth ducked just in time. Agent 169 put a bullet between the man’s eyebrows, and he slumped down under the table. The agent at the booth put her eye to the bullet hole the man had made.

“Yikes.” she said. “Check, please.”

Four of the five agents that had been assigned to the death camps returned with the extraction team. All nineteen of the women knelt in the main hall.

“What happened?” asked a tall, blonde-haired man—the only male in evidence.

“It was a trap.” Agent 169 said. “The prisoners were armed. They had most of our escape routes covered. We barely made it out alive. Agent 642 wasn’t so lucky.” The blonde-haired man bowed his head and closed his eyes. He didn’t like losing agents under any circumstances—and he had really liked Agent 642. He forced his mind back to the task at hand.

“I’ll make my report to the State Department.” he said. “And...amend the roster. Call our girls in Puerto Rico. Tell them to hack into the Russian missile command and send a couple of presents to the guys that did this. Then arrange a suitable service for Agent 642.” He stood then, and entered the computer room where he kept records of his team. He called up Agent 642’s file and made the appropriate changes. He was fighting tears as he closed the file, and turned his chair away from the screen while it uploaded the updated file to the Secretary of State’s computer. He fought to keep control of himself. His communicator beeped. He flipped the switch and turned back to the screen.

“Stan, is everything alright?” asked the Secretary.

“No.” Stan replied.

“In the past year, you’ve had more successful campaigns than the C.I.A. has in its whole existence, and I’ve never known you to lose an agent.”

“The death camps were a trap.” Stan said.

“I’m sorry.” replied the Secretary. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“It’s not that.” Stan said. “I was...particularly fond of her. I was going to take her off the active roster after this one so I could keep her nearby.”

“I’m sorry.” the Secretary said. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Eventually.” Stan said. “I think I need a vacation, as soon as I’ve filled Agent 642’s spot on the roster.”

“You got it, Stan.” the Secretary said. “I’ll foot your bill myself.”

“Thanks.”

“You take care, you hear me?”

“I will.” Stan said. He stood and snapped off a crisp salute before the Secretary terminated the connection. He sat down and turned away from the screen. The next thing he knew, he was crying.

Aimee whacked the punching bag with what was left of her energy. She barely had the strength to keep from crying. Another relationship had just bitten the dust. She had an idea of what the reason had been. Kirk had been intimidated by the strength of her will—not to mention her legs. And she didn’t spread her legs on command like the well-trained whores that made up most of the rest of the female human population of downtown Dallas. She shambled to the bed and barely remembered to make sure her alarm clock was set. She had thought Kirk was special, but she had been disappointed. Again. Despite herself, she cried.

When she woke up the next morning, there was a present waiting for her on the coffee table. She could have sworn she had locked the door last night. She opened the shopping-mall yellow box and was startled by a helium balloon that rose up out of the box. Shiny aluminum composed one side, the othe rside read “How can you BEAR it?” At the end of the string she found an adorable blue teddy bear. There was also a card inside. The outside showed an adorable kitten. Aimee flipped open the card and read the message.

“Watching for some time

Relationship has crumbled

Let me be your friend.”

I’ve never gotten a friendship card in haiku before. Aimee thought. This is cool! She put the bear on her nightstand and laid the card in its lap so she could shower and dress. She unlocked her apartment door and twisted the deadbolt back to its unlocked position. She checked her purse. She had about sixty dollars left. She figured it would g woman said. “Did you find the present?”

“It was sitting on my coffee table.” Aimee replied. “How did you get into my apartment?”

“I sweet-talked the landlord. Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker. I started scouting you when I saw your resume. You’re looking for a job in the personal security business so you can take advantage of your years of martail arts training. It’s just that kind of training that we need. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I was going to get breakfast at McDonald’s before I go on to my job interview.”

“No problem.” the young woman said. “Hop in.”

“I don’t even know your name.” Aimee said.

“Call me Madison.” the young woman said. When Aimee still made no move to approach the DeLorean, Madison sighed. “Don’t worry. I work for the fun branch of the government.”

“The government has a fun branch?” Aimee asked. Madison flashed a badge which showed her picture above the letters O.B.D.N.s, whatever that meant.

“Trust me, you’ll like it.” Madison said. She extended a hand, and Aimee took it. Madison pulled her into an embrace. It seemed rather unbusinesslike to Aimee, but quite soothing. When Madison finally released her, she was ushered to the passenger’s seat.

“So, why the DeLorean?” Aimee asked as they got underway.

“Most of us use limos, but they don’t make limos with gull-wing doors, so I drive a DeLorean.”

“Pardon my asking, but what’s so great about gull-wing doors?” Aimee asked. “I heard they quit making them because they tend to jam.”

“I’ll show you.” Madison said, and accellerated. Before long, there was a cop behind them. Madison pulled over and waited for the officer. As soon as the officer was astride the vehicle, Madison opened the door. It caught the officer on the chin and knocked him unconscious. Madison laughed as she closed the door and took off. Despite herself, Aimee laughed too.

“I’m beginning to see your point.” Aimee said. Before she knew it, they were on the interstate. “Where are we going?”

“Just past Corsicana.” Madison said. “Do you want to listen to the radio?” Aimee shook her head. It was a long ride, but they turned off the interstate and crossed a bridge, then followed the service road a little way back to the north until they came to a dirt road. Aimee was really starting to feel scared as they followed the winding dirt road for almost half an hour. Finally the DeLorean came to a farmhouse on a hill. Aimee felt cold. Madison flashed her badge at someone at the barbed wire fence, then drove around to the back, where something like a garage door rose, and they drove inside. Madison drove on a spiral ramp for quite some time, and Aimee wondered how far down they were going. They finally came to a kind of garage, filled with limos and several other kinds of cars. Madison parked her DeLorean with the other late-model vehicles.

“Where are we?” Aimee asked.

“Welcome to the Texas Underhill Facility.” Madison said. “Come on. Breakfast is on the boss.” She led Aimee to a big steel door and ran a key card through a slot. The door beeped and opened. They stopped at a booth just inside that door, and just before another. A young brunette inside the booth was drinking coffee and reading Mad Magazine. Madison knocked on the window. The young woman almost spilled her coffee. “Aimee needs an ID.” Madison said. The young woman nodded.

“Okay.” the young woman said to Aimee. “I’ll take six pictures, and you can pick which one you want.” When the young woman was finished, Aimee chose the only one that looked halfway decent, a shot of her with her head turned demurely to the right. In about a minute, the young woman had made a card that looked like it would outlast her driver’s license. It had her name, address, the date, and the word APPLICANT printed around the picture.

“Cool.” Aimee said. “Why don’t they do my driver’s license like this?”

“That would make sense.” the young woman said. Aimee and Madison laughed. The door opened at the flip of a switch by the woman. Aimee and Madison walked down a hall which led past several rooms. Madison turned right at a wide gap in the hall’s right wall, and they entered what appeared to be the facility’s food court. To Aimee’s delight, there was an impressive variety of breakfast food available. Aimee decided that since breakfast was on the boss, she might as well enjoy it. She got two eggs sunny side up, French toast, Belgian waffles, sausage and bacon, with orange juice and chocolate milk. Madison had a bowl of Frosted Flakes, waffles, a breakfast burrito and an egg sandwich with orange juice and coffee. Aimee grabbed a Diet Dr Pepper from the cooler beside the checkout counter. Madison handed the petite young cashier an official-looking voucher.

“Soda with breakfast?” Madison asked.

“I never acquired a taste for coffee.” Aimee said. Madison shrugged.

Some time later, Madison held open the door to a rather large office. Aimee walked in and discovered a man in his late twenties or early thirties—the first male she had seen out of roughly two hundred lithe young women that filled the installation.

“Are you the only man here?” Aimee asked.

“I’m afraid so.” the young man said. “I’m Stan. How did you like your escort?”

“Madison was great.” Aimee said.

“Oh, is that the name she gave you?” Stan asked. “It’s something of a deviation from her usual choices.” Stan chuckled at Aimee’s betrayed look. “My dear young lady, don’t look at me like that. Didn’t she tell you you were applying to be a secret agent?”

“She said she worked for the fun branch of the government.” Aimee said.

“Well, she does enjoy her work.” Stan said. “Don’t worry, we don’t get any of the shitty assignments. The Secretary of State knows me and respects my morals. Before you ask, the reason I run this organization is because I lost my taste for certain aspects of field work. Like having to rely on the information the State Department allows me. I demand that anyone who contacts me consider himself to be under oath.”

“So what’s Madison’s real name?” Aimee asked.

“Agent 591.” Stan replied. “You were contacted because there is an opening. We lost Agent 642 in a covert strike against what we thought was a death camp. It was in fact a trap set by some of the U.N.’s enemies...a pitcher plant, of sorts, designed to attract and destroy the U.N.’s best operatives. Once we knew the prisoners were bogus, we sent a couple of missiles to wipe out the trap. That campaign was the first and only time we have lost an agent, and I don’t intend a repeat performance. You’re already a skilled martial artist. That will give us something to build on. I need to see what you know, so that we’ll know what we need to teach you.”

“Okay, where do we start?”

Aimee awoke feeling like her muscles were made of lead. She fumbled for the snooze button before she realized the alarm clock was across the room. She shambled out of bed and shut off the alarm, but by then she was wide awake. Agent 591, whom Aimee had formerly known as Madison, had brought Aimee’s clothes from home to use while she was being tested.

She dressed and shambled into Stan’s office to report for the next phase of testing.

“Hello, Aimee.” Stan said. “I’m sure you’ve seen Secretary of State Jackman on TV.”

“Mr. Secretary.” Aimee said tiredly.

“Stan’s a good friend of mine.” the Secretary explained. “I don’t often get a chance to come down and speak with him personally. He saved my life back when he was a field agent.” Aimee shook hands with the Secretary and flopped down into a chair.

“I’m afraid my tests are a little tiring.” Stan explained to the Secretary. “Most of our applicants don’t make it this far, especially men.” He turned to Aimee. “Fortunately, Aimee, you don’t have to go through any more. You’ve passed. You’re in. I’ll have Madison show you to your new quarters.” Aimee was too tired to protest. She fell asleep as soon as her body came in contact with the soft new bed.

Aimee opened her eyes. It was dark. Suddenly there was light. She realized she was inside a casket. She screamed. Agent 591 put her arms around her.

“It’s okay, Aimee.” she said. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Come on out of there.” She was lifted from the coffin. Another cadaver was put in her place, and the coffin was closed and reburied. As the suspended-animation drug wore off, memories came back to Aimee. She had had to agree to cut off all contact with her friends and family and fake her own death as a security precaution. Stan had assured her that she would make new friends and forge new relationships to replace the ones she had lost.

Aimee felt funny as she was lifted to the table. The outfit they had put her in was so form-fitting, and the material felt so naughty against her hairless vagina. She had been rubbed down with hair-removal cream everywhere but her head. Her head was buzzing. They put a weird-looking hood over her head. Soon she heard a soft hum in her ears, and an image appeared before her. She felt herself becoming aroused. She felt something slide into her snatch and begin to vibrate. She wanted to surrender to the lust and come, but her will held back. Her mind grew more fuzzy as the humming grew louder, more insistent.

Stan watched Aimee’s progress on the computer screen. She was almost ready. She had resisted certain aspects of her new programming, but that had only made her surrender more total. Her training was going well. After almost six weeks of being subjected to almost constant mental trials, her mind had now been fully reshaped to fit her new role. He walked slowly to the training room. They were unhooking her from the machines. Agent 591 arrived as she had been instructed to.

“Agent 591, I am assigning her to you.” he told her. She nodded. “Therefore, you will need to be with us during the imprining phase.”

“Understood.” Agent 591 said. When Aimee was completely unhooked, Stan lifted her nude, limp body in his arms and carried her to a room off to the side. He laid her on the soft bed on the north wall. At his instruction, Agent 591 took a position at Aimee’s left. Stan took a position at Aimee’s right. He tweaked her nipple, and she opened her eyes, catching sight of them and imprinting on them instantly.

“Agent 701 reporting for duty.” the young woman formerly known as Aimee said.

“Kneel at the foot of the bed, Agent.” Stan commanded. She obeyed. Agent 591 stood beside Agent 701. “The woman at your left is your assigned partner. You will learn from her the skills which were not able to be taught you by subliminal programming. Commence cunningulus.” Agent 701 began to lick at Agent 591’s ready vagina. Stan inserted his erect penis into Agent 701’s wet slit from behind. As Stan rammed into her from behind, Agent 701 moaned into Agent 591’s pussy, causing the other woman even greater pleasure. She was young and strong and very tight, and she brought him off quickly. Agent 701 came as well, and the feeling she caused with her loud moans brought Agent 591 off. “Agent 701, about-face.” Agent 701 turned to face him. “State my designation.”

“Master.” Agent 701 said.

“Correct.” Stan said. “From me you will take your assignments. You will obey me without question. If the situation changes, I may belay an order and give you a new one to fit the new situation. You will obey without question. Don’t worry about being able to tell if someone is faking orders. You will learn that from Agent 591. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Now, Agent 701, I want you to suck my dick.”

“Yes, Master.” Agent 701 said. She took his softened member in her mouth and began to work it with her tongue. Her gag reflex had been surpressed, so she had no problem taking it all the way in after it had hardened. Her feeding-tube had been modeled after a phallus, and to receive nutrition she had had to pleasure her digital Master over and over again. He soon filled her mouth with his seed and she swallowed it in two wonderful gulps. Now that she was fully imprinted on her Master and her partner, she was ready to be introduced to the others. She was led to the main reception hall. Before her spread the entire Order of Brainwashed, Docile Nymphomaniacs. Stan smiled. His O.B.D.N.s waited eagerly to welcome their new member. Agent 591 ushered Agent 701 into the group, where they were quickly engulfed in an all-female orgy of licking and petting and rubbing and other highly sexual activities. Stan sat in his chair and watched. After about ten minutes he pressed a button and a chime sounded. Each Agent took her assigned place and assumed a pose of complete and utter submission to her Master. All seven hundred of them. They began to chant in unison a mantra which was hardwired into their brains.

“We are O.B.D.N.s; O.B.D.N.s live for obedience; obedience is life; obedience is purpose; Obedience is our existence; we are obedience...”

“Come with me if you want to live.” the young woman said. In as much danger as she was in, President Elect Simpson was not going to argue. She took the other woman’s hand and allowed herself to be lifted onto the motorcycle in front of the woman, who fired several shots from her Baretta before taking off, leaving a trail of smoking rubber behind her.

“Who are you?” asked the President Elect once they were safe. The young woman had executed a series of maneuvers that a stuntman would have shuddered at, and didn’t seem the least bit ruffled by it.

“Agent 701.” the young woman said. “Don’t worry. I’ve been at this for ten years. I’ve never lost a client.” That made her feel better. President Elect Simpson heaved a sigh of relief. Another young woman rode up. “Agent 591 is my partner. We will be escorting you to an helicopter where you can breathe much easier. The KKK doesn’t have access to anything powerful enough to take it down.” They took off then. A thick line of people in white robes and pointy hats with masks barred the road ahead. Agent 701 pulled something from the saddlebag on her motorcycle. A handheld weapon came forward, and a miniature missile flew towards the Klansmen. They dispursed, fleeing the wrath of the rocket-launcher-weilding women. They were soon aboard a helicopter, the KKK far below them. President Elect Simpson wiped the sweat from her ebony brow. The chopper was air conditioned. It felt good.

“I’ve never lost a client.” Agent 701’s words echoed in her mind.

These people must be really good. she thought.

“Are you alright, Madam President?” Agent 701 asked.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” she replied. Agent 701 smiled. “So what’s your real name?”

“Agent 701.” the other woman replied.

“I mean legally.”

“Legally? Legally, I’ve been dead for ten years. It’s a security measure.”

“Oh.” President Elect Simpson sighed.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have fun. You know what they say. ‘All work and no play makes Agent 701 a dull girl.” The remark drew fond smiles from everybody, including the three unidentified agents who shared the cabin with them.

At least I’m not getting saved by a heartless cyborg from the future. thought the President Elect.