The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Up on the movie screen an attractive Asian woman was strapped to a table.

She was naked. Or rather, PG-13 naked. Two wide steel bands conveniently obscured her sex: one across her breasts, the other over her hips. More held her wrists and ankles.

She was struggling and shouting, a thin sheen of sweat standing out on her latte-colored skin. At one point she threw her head back and flexed her entire body, cords standing out on her neck and the insides of her elbows, but the restraints did their mindless job just fine. She was immobilized.

White-clad lab techs milled around the room, ignoring her.

Either they couldn’t hear her, or their opinion of what was happening affected their behavior so little as to not exist. She may as well have been a cat at the vet for all the acknowledgement her shouts and pleas got. They fiddled with consoles and sciencey-looking equipment. One of them tried to place electrodes on her head but she resisted, thrashing her head from side to side. Two techs quickly appeared and held her still forcibly, one by the forehead and the other by the jaw, avoiding her biting teeth. The electrodes were placed on her temples; as soon as they were affixed, all three techs walked away as if nothing had happened. The woman tried to shake them off, but they were held on by an adhesive.

A door at the far end of the room hissed open on a pneumatic track and a woman walked in. She was clad in all black, in stark contrast to the lab techs in white. Her hair was short and she gave off an air of importance.

She approached the table, smiling a tight-lipped, almost rueful smile.

“Christine,” she said. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

“HELP!” the woman—Christine—screamed. The black-clad woman’s smile became tighter, but it was an affectation. It never reached her eyes.

“No sense drawing this out,” she said. “Get it over with.”

A lab tech appeared at her elbow. Although most of them seemed to be male, this one was female. She nodded and produced a syringe.

Christine’s eyes went wider. “NO! HELP!” She thrashed in her bonds so viciously that for a moment it seemed plausible that she might break them, steel as though they were. But just as they had before, two techs appeared and took hold of her. One gripped her bicep, the other her forearm. Her arm was utterly immobilized. The tech with the syringe leaned in between them and found a vein, injecting a clear liquid into Christine’s arm.

Christine began to cry.

“Please count backwards from ten,” the tech said.

Christine did not seem interested in complying. But her struggles served the same purpose: they told her captors when the drug was taking effect and how fast. After about ten seconds her struggles slowed. After fifteen, her screams tapered off into breathy whispers.

At twenty her eyes glassed over. Her struggles stopped completely.

A device began to lower itself from the ceiling, directly over Christine’s now-placid face. It resembled something from an optometrist’s office. There were two telescoping lenses set eye-width apart. When the device was about a foot away it stopped and the telescoping lenses continued, stopping about an inch from Christine’s eyes. Her pupils had dilated—apparently another effect of the drugs—and for a moment the underside of the strange contraption was mirrored in her wide eyes, a black circle traced on each pupil.

Red light suddenly erupted from the lenses, filling her eyes.

Christine gasped. Her body went rigid, her back attempting to arch in the restraints. Her breasts were smooshed upwards against their restrictive bands, giving her petite B-frame the kind of cleavage that she normally only attained using her hands in the mirror.

Whirr.

The moment stretched out excruciatingly. Her body remained almost frighteningly rigid the entire time, the muscles in her stomach making a neat indented line down the middle. She looked more athletic in that moment than she ever had in normal life.

Suddenly Christine’s eyes rolled up and she went limp.

The wicked red lights went out and the device retracted back into the ceiling.

The woman in black leaned over her. Her face was nakedly predatory, now. She got very close, close enough to smell the sweat on the insensate girl’s skin.

“You will listen to me very closely, Christine.”

The camera lingered on the whites of Christine’s rolled up eyes for a beat. Then the scene cut to an exterior shot of the White House,

then an interior, people in stupid tailored suits walking around the stupid Oval Office panicking about something because they were stupid.

Sarah threw popcorn at the screen.

No one in the mostly empty theater noticed.

“Can we go now?”

“No. I’m watching.” Her younger sister, Paige.

The 1:30pm showing of Nation Under Siege was almost entirely vacant. There was a teenage couple making out a few rows behind them on the right; the girl was all the way in the boy’s lap, with only her feet in her own seat. There was a small pale girl in a black hooded sweatshirt in the back row on the left. And there was Sarah and her younger sister Paige down front, second row. Sarah had hoped this seating would keep Paige’s attention on the movie instead of her phone. It had not.

“You’re not even looking.”

“Yes I am.” Paige’s thumbs moved across the screen with a deftness that Sarah, only five years older, found eerie. She sighed.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want something?”

Her sister made a noise that must have meant no because if it had meant yes she would have said more.

She took the left aisle to avoid the humping teenagers and passed by the girl in the hooded sweatshirt, who was using a tablet computer. Apparently no one at this movie was watching the movie. Which was understandable. It was terrible.

There was something very familiar about the girl in the hooded sweatshirt, though. Sarah couldn’t place her. It didn’t help that the girl’s hood was pulled down so low that only her chin was visible. Sarah walked out to the concession stand, looking at the deep red and black patterns on the carpet and thinking that they were somehow comforting. She bought an overpriced diet soda.

She tried to get a better look at the girl on the way back down, but it was even more useless from that direction. She nudged Paige when she got back to her seat.

“Hey. Do you recognize that girl back there?”

“That’s Leigh,” Paige said without looking up.

Sarah turned to look before she could stop herself, then turned back quickly. “Oh my god. Leigh who used to live near us?”

“No, the other Leigh.” This was sarcasm. There was no other Leigh.

Both of the girl’s parents had died in a car accident a couple years before. She was that Leigh.

It’d been all over the local news. They had been slowing to get off of the highway, the truck behind them hadn’t slowed, and… well, there was no sense thinking about it. Leigh had been left an orphan at seventeen, two years ago.

Sarah couldn’t even imagine it.

She resisted the urge to look again.

They’d lived on the same street when she was little. She remembered Leigh as a small, serious girl who did not say much. She had a clear memory of Leigh standing on a doorstep, watching impassively as the other kids played. Then Leigh had moved away. Only a couple of streets away, but that was as good as across the universe for kids. Sarah was around ten then, which would have made Leigh and Paige five.

She leaned towards her sister, as if anyone could have heard her.

“Have you talked to her since… her parents?”

“No.”

“Did you give her your condolences?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“That doesn’t sound very—”

“—look I don’t know her, ok.”

Sarah stared at a corner of the screen obstinately. “You used to you know each other.” There was actually a picture in her parent’s house that had Leigh in it. It was of the neighborhood kids, and Sarah, and Paige, and a dog. Leigh was standing off to the side, not participating and barely in the photo at all, but she was there.

“Yeah, when I was like three. She probably doesn’t want people coming up to her and bringing it up anyway. I wouldn’t.”

That was true. Obviously.

But Sarah was going to do it anyway, wasn’t she?

She stood to an exaggerated sigh from her sister. She hesitated for a moment, but just a moment; it was easier to approach someone you knew when you were younger because you could always picture them in diapers or with some kind of goop hanging off of their face. She made her way to the back of the theater where Leigh was sitting with her feet up like a bored ghost. Sarah scooted down her row as unawkwardly as she could.

“Hi... Leigh?”

The girl looked up. Her eyes were large, dark, intelligent. Her features were elfin: precise and delicate, lit by the glow of the tablet in her lap. For a girl whose parents had resembled short, male and female versions of Stephen King, she’d come out very pretty.

“Hi,” Sarah said again. “I used to know you when you were little, kind of.”

“Sarah Buchanan,” Leigh said without hesitation.

“Wow, good memory.” She paused. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

She sat, feeling better once she was facing the screen. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your parents. I knew them when I was younger. If there’s ever anything I can do, I want you to please ask me, any time.”

“Thank you.” It had a practiced tone.

Sarah paused to give Leigh more time to respond, if she wanted to. It was the polite thing to do.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come up here since I saw you notice me,” Leigh said with a little smile.

Sarah blushed. “I was that obvious?”

Leigh nodded. “It’s all right. I seemed to remember you did things like that. It’s good,” she added, in case the previous sentence could be misconstrued. “That Paige?” She nodded towards front row.

“Yeah. You guys were in the same grade, right?”

“For eleven years.” She made a deft motion with her hand and the tablet screen went dark. “She’s kind of a bitch.”

Sarah laughed. “She kind of is. She wanted me to give you her thoughts, she’s just shy.”

“Yeah right.” She smirked. It was quite cute. With some makeup she could probably be very pretty, in a pixieish way.

“Only eleven years? Didn’t you graduate?”

“I did the last year with private tutors.”

Sarah recalled that Leigh’s parents had been fairly well off. They were scientists, both of them the same kind of scientist. Sarah only knew because the local papers had made a big deal about what respectable citizens they were. “Saved me from having to go to graduation. What a shitshow that would have been.” She took a sip of her soda. “I don’t mean having to talk to people, I mean the stupid fucking hats.”

Sarah laughed, startled. She hadn’t remembered Leigh having such a mouth. But five was pretty far from nineteen, and hers hadn’t been a straight road.

“It’s not for everyone,” Sarah said. “Are you going to college?”

“Not this year. Maybe next.” She nearly mumbled it. She was probably asked that a lot and had to give the same answer to people trying to convince her otherwise. “How about you?”

“Finished. This summer I’m working at the pool, then starting my internship next year,” Sarah said.

“Pool?”

“Yeah, the community pool downtown. I’m a lifeguard.”

Leigh looked at her. She seemed interested for the first time. Her dark eyes were riveting when you had her attention. “Get out,” she said.

“Yup!”

“Do you wear the red bathing suit and everything?”

“Yes,” Sarah laughed.

Leigh stared at her for another long moment. “That is so hot,” she said finally.

“Well some of the kids’ fathers certainly seem to think so.”

“I bet.” She seemed to realize she was staring and looked back at the screen, but she was smiling genuinely for the first time and that made Sarah very happy.

“Hey, you know they’re making a Baywatch movie—” Leigh began.

“Yes I know they’re making a Baywatch movie.” Sarah mock bared her teeth. “Everyone tells me.”

“We should see it, you can check it for accuracy.”

Sarah sighed theatrically. “I know you’re kidding, but I would love that.”

“No way, I’m not kidding.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Will you wear it to the movie, like cosplay?”

“Stop.”

“Kidding. About that, not the rest. I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.” Sarah took out her phone so they could trade information. When they were done she remained sitting there, unsure what to do next. The conversation had reached a natural breaking off point but she was reluctant to leave. “Do you mind if I stay here? I won’t bother you, I promise.”

“You don’t bother me.” That crooked grin. “It’s fine. It’s nice for a change.”

“Thank you. I didn’t mean to interrupt; you didn’t look like you were watching...”

“Yeah. It’s ok, I’ve already seen this twice.”

Sarah blinked. “Really? This? Why?”

Up on the screen the Asian woman from earlier was walking down a hallway. There was nothing special about this in and of itself, but the audience knew that Christine was no longer herself. She’d been Brainwashed. Someone had kidnapped her from her apartment, drugged her, strapped her to a table, and filled her eyes with evil red light until she was empty and compliant. They had replaced Christine with this pretty, deadly thing.

Christine’s shoulders were back, her posture perfect. Her almond-shaped eyes were pointed straight ahead as she clicked down a hall in heels. Not-Christine was on a Mission. She was on her way to pull some lever that shouldn’t be pulled, press some button that should never be pressed, something that would set a catastrophe in motion. Something that Christine would never do. But she had no say in the matter. She was now Not-Christine, and Not-Christine obeyed her abductors.

“Dunno,” Leigh mumbled, her eyes on the screen. “I just like it.”

The movie lumbered into its third act amid explosions that occasionally made it difficult to talk. Sarah probed Leigh with gentle questions when it lulled. She was trying hard not to sound patronizing or nannyish, but the more she talked with her elfin former neighbor the more concerned she got.

It sounded like Leigh did not have a single friend.

It came out in the descriptions of her studies and hobbies, all of which were solo. And it came out in the descriptions of the few people around her, which were bitingly cynical and included no one socially.

Sarah decided that she was going to get herself invited over and spend some more time with her. Because. Leigh had to be lonely—or Sarah herself would have been in that position, so she assumed the same of Leigh. And Leigh was funny and entertaining and smart—if cynical, and sometimes a bit dark. And Sarah herself had almost nothing else to do until fall. Her own friends were either still away at school or had already started their careers.

At the next lull she took her chance.

“So do you still live up on—is it Oak Street?” Sarah asked. It was the nice section of town, where the homes approached a million dollars and the lawns were mowed with riding mowers that were more often than not driven by someone hired.

“Yeh.” She seemed to hesitate for the first time since they’d started talking. Then quickly, and overly-offhandedly, she said, “Come over sometime, if you want. I have a pool I hardly use. ’Course you’re around pools all the time so that’s no big thing to you.”

Well that was easy.

“Yours probably has less toddler pee in it.”

“I have to import it.”

Sarah grinned. “That would be awesome. There’s nothing to do around here.”

The movie was ramping towards its probably big and loud finale, she sensed. “I guess I should go check on Paige.”

“Yeah, I usually leave around now anyway. Want to know what happens?”

“Spoil me.”

“Good guys win. The Manchurian Candystriper up there gets rescued by a kiss from Agent Slab Absworthy.”

“Ugh.”

“Last time I actually threw up all over the back row. The manager said I couldn’t come see this anymore if I couldn’t keep it together. I promised I’d leave before it happens this time.”

Sarah laughed as she stood. She was pretty sure she knew what a candy striper was but she would look it up later just in case. Leigh was effortlessly, almost intimidatingly intelligent. It made Sarah feel slow. People like that tended to have bizarre senses of humor, so that wasn’t strange in itself.

When she looked back on it days later, though, some of the things Leigh had said gained perverse overtones.