The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The big helicopter loomed over her as she crept along, keeping within the shadow of a nearby hanger as long as she could. Dressed in black from head to toe, Anna Jones was as invisible as was possible, her slender dancer’s silhouette keeping low; she crept out into the open next to the chopper.

She unslung the heavy bag she’d carried in and it landed with an all-too-loud flump. After a quick look around, she got to work, opening the bag and attaching a small rope to a heavy cable which she’d borrowed from the back of an airport facilities vehicle. Attaching a web of chains and cables and using a large clamp to join the ends together and attach it to a small bundle, she stopped suddenly and crouched low. Hiding among the shadows, trusting her black leather leggings and jacket to keep her in harmony with the night, she tugged at the neck of her turtleneck, listening, and then returned to her work.

She was untangling another length of rope when the spotlights came on. “Hold it right there!” a voice yelled from the other side of the blinding curtain of light.

“Damned motion sensors,” Anna spat, looking first at the helo and then toward the all-too-distant fence. She stayed still, crouched in shadow, thinking, listening as a distant rumble came to her ears, and watching as two men stepped forward out of the spotlights.

“Stand up slowly,” the taller one said, motioning with a gun.

Anna sighed, standing up slowly and taking a few steps forward into the light.

“Drop your weapons.”

“Officer, I’m not carrying any weapons.” She put up her hands.

“What is that in your hand?”

“Oh this?” she flashed a soft, innocent look with her blue eyes, holding the object, a small controller, out for the man to see.

“Give it here,” he said, taking the device and turning it over in his hand.

“Officer, this is all quite unnecessary,” Jones spoke, “I am an agent of First Commerce Bank, and I have legal papers to repossess this helicopter.

“Yeah … sure …” the shorter one spoke at last, accepting the small device the other man offered him.

“Bit past banker’s hours, isn’t it?” The tall one asked sarcastically, “and a little overdressed, too.”

“What?” Jones smiled widely, disarmingly, “These old things? It’s just something I threw on.” She stood, smiling, almost posing in the tight, form fitting leather, hearing another, somewhat closer rumble in the distance.

Suddenly a high pitched hiss began from the bags Jones had been working with. Both men looked up, “what did you do?” the tall one grabbed the device away.

“I didn’t …” the equally-surprised other man began, but was cut off as the bag swelled like a balloon and shot into the air, lifting the web of cables and chains with it. The distant rumbles returned, this time much, much louder as a giant helicopter swooped over a nearby building and settled directly above the dormant one on the ground. Anna glanced quickly at the two security men as they stared skyward in shock, and then turned upward to see the Pilot wave a big Stetson hat to them from the cockpit.

“Belloq!” Anna shouted, “Stop her! She’s a thief! Shoot her! Do something!”

As the Sikorsky Skycrane rose into the sky, the chains attached to the chopper below tightened, and then began to lift the slightly smaller craft off the ground.

“Oh for fucks sake, you guys!” Anna gave one of the men a shove, “you’re letting her get away!”

“You stop right there!” the other man ordered, pointing his gun.

“But she’s stealing my helicopter!” Anna watched as the two aircraft rose higher, and then began to move away, gathering speed.

“Yeah, dammit, another chopper,” one of the men said into his phone, “I don’t know … what the Hell should I do?” He turned to face Anna, “Yeah, sure, Boss. We’ve got her … she’s not going anywhere.”

“Mrs. Jones,” the detective began, stirring his coffee idly, “this will go much more easily if you cooperate.”

“There’s no ‘Mrs.’ about it,” Anna said, reclining in the simple wooden chair, toying with her hair as she looked beyond the cop and into the mirrored panel behind him, “and I am cooperating.”

“I see,” The detective was trying not to look uncomfortable, and trying not to stare at the provocatively attired woman, but the tight, glossy black leather and her piercing, blue eyes made it difficult, “And this, sorry …” he glanced down at his notes, “Renée Belloq … let’s see,” he read aloud … “served with distinction … Armée de l’Air—French Air Force, I guess? Test pilot, race driver … both planes and cars … currently earning an income repossessing high-end aircraft … she’s an acquaintance?”

“Hardly,” Anna scowled, ‘she’s the bitch your men helped steal my helicopter.”

“Yes, of course, how silly of me,” the detective said wryly. “Of course, it’s your helicopter.”

“Not anymore,” Anna returned his stare, her eyes boring like blue laser beams through his skull. “You helped her steal it; now I’m out seventy grand.”

“Not unlike last year in Alexandria, where a Renée Belloq made off with your Gulfstream Five, and a few months before when she relieved you of a … let’s see … a Beriev BE-10, after someone named Kidd threw a grenade at you.”

“Wynt,” Anna said, not quite under her breath. “His name was Wynt … and Belloq took advantage of the situation.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, you see, there were nuns, I had a grenade to get rid of, and it’s bad karma, I’m sure, blowing up a couple of nuns, so I had to move quickly … you have no idea how hard it is some days to get rid of a bomb,” she smiled and leaned back again.

The door opened and a man gestured to the interrogator, “Can we speak privately, detective?”

“Yes, Captain,” the detective stood and followed the other man out of the room.

“Let her go, Mike.”

“What?”

“She checks out. Paperwork’s been verified.”

“Damn it, Jim!” the detective stopped, biting his tongue, “What am I, a doorman?”

“Just let her go,” the Captain turned and walked down the hall.

The detective turned to see Anna reclining in the chair, smiling at him through the two-way mirror, as if she’d heard everything. “Bitch,” he muttered.

There she was, a hundred feet away, with a ballroom full of slowly dancing bodies and clinking crystal in between. Anna moved through the crowd in a simple but elegant black dress, a thin diamond bracelet at the wrist and gold-toned sandals with a light sparkle of diamonds. Renée Belloq stood holding a champagne glass, talking with someone at the bar. Her deep, red-brown hair was tied up in a tight bun with a strand of silver braid, and her tall, athletic frame stunned in a white flowing dress with gold at the shoulders and a belted sash, giving her the look of a Greek Goddess.

Anna moved forward, accepting a champagne glass from a waitress with a tray and taking a sip. As she approached, Belloq turned, flashing her a warm smile. “Anna, what a pleasant surprise,” she said with a sparkle in her green eyes, “I was just talking to someone who mentioned you a little while ago.”

Noting a subtle head movement, Anna followed with her eyes and lit briefly on the tall, thin man in a black tuxedo at the bar. Kidd, she thought, and where, I wonder is Mr. Wynt? A slight movement of her head showed the other moving toward her, between her and the exit. She reached for the champagne glass in Belloq’s hand, placing it and her own on a passing tray. She offered her hand as the band began a new piece of music and gestured toward the dance floor. “Shall we?” she asked.

“Of course,” Belloq replied, letting Anna lead.

“Thief,” Anna said near Belloq’s ear as the dance floor waltzed around them.

“A thief who steals from a thief, Ms. Jones ..."—she really did have a wonderful accent Anna thought—“and you hadn’t taken possession quite yet, so you have but the gall to claim ownership.”

“And it is now in the hands of the former owner,” Anna offered, “so, of course, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Until next time, of course,” Belloq purred, looking past Anna as a hand was placed on the latter’s shoulder.

“It seems our business will need to wait until our next dance, then” Anna smiled and turned to face the stocky man who had grabbed her.

“Until again I take from you what never belonged to you in the first place, Ms. Jones,” Anna heard Belloq’s mocking laugh behind her.

“I’ll see you later,” Anna turned.

“I’ll be waiting,” Belloc flashed her green eyes over her shoulder, “but, I think, it seems you’ll be late,” Anna watched her briefly as she walked slowly away, and then turned to face the nearest man.

“Hello, Jones,” the stocky man spoke, his voice like it oozed from a crypt. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your conversation.”

“I wonder if we should have just let things play out, Mr. Wynt,” chirped the other man. “Our orders don’t specify what condition she should be in when we deliver her.”

“Quite right, Mr. Kidd,” the stocky one gruffed. “A pity that the lovely lady didn’t get to finish her dance.”

“If you would, Ms. Jones,” Kidd said, motioning toward the entrance, “quietly and between us.”

Anna moved her eyes, looking for options on the now crowded dance floor.

“It would be a shame if your problem became their problem,” Wynt said, pushing the muzzle of what looked to be a MAC-10 out of his jacket just enough for Anna to see.

Anna followed Kidd toward the outside, knowing that behind her followed Wynt and the machine gun.

Outside, she carefully surveyed her surroundings. The parking valet was busy with a queue of waiting vehicles. She could tell also that the two hit men were not alone: next to a line of motorcycles stood a line of women, each with an identical long, feathered hairstyle and what could be described as a retro jumpsuit, all in gleaming white, with red stripes down the sides and red leather knee boots. “What’s with the roller derby rejects?” Anna turned her head to ask, “What’s next, K.C. and The Sunshine Band show up in a De Lorean to kidnap me back to Studio Fifty-four?”

“Move it,” snapped Wynt.

“The transportation,” Kidd spoke. In reaction, the woman at the left of the line spoke into a cufflink radio.

“Be kinda’ loud, wouldn’t it,” Anna stepped sideways and turned to fix Wynt with a cold stare, “opening up out here with all of these people and that lil’ pop gun without a silencer?” She continued to stare into the hit man’s eyes as his face appeared to be going slightly slack.

Anna looked into the parking area and spotted the roof of her car, too far away. A short distance from her, though, a man was just pulling to a stop on an Aprilia motorcycle. That’s the one, she thought, watching as Wynt slowly turned the muzzle of his gun away from her.

Kidd turned back to them, just as a long limousine pulled up nearby, driven by yet another of the women in white. Time to go, Anna knew.

“Hey!” Kidd screamed, diving out of the way as Wynt opened fire, cutting the air where he’d been standing with forty-five caliber bullets.

“Missed,” Anna spat, “dammit!” and then she set off running as the bullets riddled the windshield and front of the limousine. Anna noticed with disappointment that the car was apparently bullet proof. She reached the Aprilia just as Kidd emerged from cover. The women in white were still at attention—which Anna thought was odd, but didn’t dwell on. She grabbed the rider and pushed him roughly. “Damn!” she cursed as her dress caught on the seat, and then looked at the rider she’d unseated, who was just recovering, raising his arms in protest. “Sorry,” she said, as his face went slack and his arms went limp at his side. She hiked up the skirt of her dress and straddled the bike, tossing her shoes aside.

“Hey!” Kidd shoved, and then slapped his partner, who slowly came out of his trance. “Get the car!” He turned, drawing his own handgun, but as he leveled the Desert Eagle .44, his target was already shrinking in the distance and the quintet of women riding their identical Ninjas was roaring past him in pursuit.

The Aprilia thrust forward, gathering speed as Anna crouched behind the handlebars, knowing that, in her party attire, she was showing her pantied ass to the world. A slight head turn showed the five pursuers, “Hello, girls,” she breathed. “Ever worry about those bell bottoms catching in the gears?” She increased speed, dodging around a bus as she ran a red light.

Behind her the five pursuing bikes swarmed past a truck.

They could at least break formation, Anna thought.

Technically, the Aprilia was about as fast as the Ninja, but riding in a dress and with no shoes, Anna was at a disadvantage, and the five pursuers were gaining slowly as Anna led them through the crowded streets.

Up ahead another light turned red and Anna could see trucks converging. “Well, crap,” Anna said, with the distance closing too rapidly to avoid the sudden roadblock.

She glanced back quickly: her pursuers were almost upon her. Throwing the handlebars roughly and shifting, she sent the bike into a turn, which quickly became a slide. To her left as she rode the bike almost on its side under the first truck, one of the pursuers was too slow and hit the truck with a crunch. Another crunch to the right told her that another had done the same. Anna recovered just as she cleared the second truck, and gunned the throttle; a quick glance under her arm showed three bikes just emerging from under the truck.

Ahead the road was lined on either side with an unbroken line of warehouses, and beyond them a gate began to lower, blocking the road. Red lights began flashing, lovely, she thought, a train. She threw the motorcycle into a skidding turn, just as a long freight train stretched across the road.

Facing her pursuers, she gunned the throttle and made straight for them, closing the distance rapidly.

They were slow to react, but didn’t break formation as Anna Shot between them. She tried concentrating on them, but—unlike normally when she connected with someone and there were jumbles of thoughts, dreams, wants, and desires which she could read, disrupt, and influence—only blankness stared back at her, and the single-minded purpose of serving … a face came to her: Goddess. The thought almost overpowered her, accompanied as it was with … the only word was “bliss.” She turned her concentration away from them quickly.

Just as suddenly as she cleared the riders, Anna was faced with another immediate problem. A yellow Mustang Mach One sped toward her. An arm appeared out the window of the car, and the flashes of gunfire soon followed.

So much for capture, Anna thought and threw the motorcycle into another tight, skidding turn, only to come headlight to headlight with the leader of her other pursuers. Narrowly avoiding collision, she was briefly in the clear and considered her options. The train still lumbered past, obstructing escape, and to the left of the crossing stood a tall pile of bricks; to the right, something she’d noticed before caught her eye again: a bundle of A-frames for home construction stood, end-on, inviting her, daring her.

Another burst of gunfire came, and a hot sensation at her arm, followed by pain, caused her to almost lose control of the bike. She looked down briefly to see blood leaking from a wound on her arm. “Oh, fuck it,” she gritted her teeth and throttled to full, speeding toward the impromptu ramp. More bullets cut the air nearby as she hit the ramp, rising at full speed and launching into the air, barely clearing the top of the train cars. The Mustang and three motorcycles skidded to a stop as their quarry disappeared into the night.

Police would later receive a report of a high-value stolen motorcycle being recovered mostly undamaged at the same location where it was stolen. Security cameras had dutifully recorded a slender female with short black hair walking away from the scene at approximately two-thirty in the morning.

Renée Belloq locked the door behind her as she entered her shared penthouse and walked across the carpet, shedding her shoes as she approached the big windows of the living room. She stared out at the city lights with a faraway look on her face for several minutes before beginning to remove her long coat.

Suddenly the light turned on and with a start, she turned around. Seated across from her, near the wall in a dining room chair, was Anna Jones, dressed entirely in black leather and holding a large, somewhat odd-looking revolver. “Keep going,” she said, emphasizing the point by motioning with the gun.

Belloq flashed an angry look and let the coat drop to the floor. She wore a simple pair of leggings under a skirt, with the same shoes from earlier and a form-fitting lilac turtleneck, topped off with a wide-brimmed fedora, all of which only served to make her statuesque silhouette even more striking.

She let the skirt drop next, still giving Anna the same intensity through her eyes. Next she moved her hands to the hat.

“Uh, uh,” Anna said, “the hat stays.” She motioned with the gun again, “Turn around ... all the way around.”

Belloq started to turn, and then stopped. She started walking, slowly, swaying like a cougar stalking prey, toward Anna. “No,” she said, walking, “you’re late.” She paused briefly in front of Anna, placing her finger into the barrel of the gun and moving it aside gently, “and you’re far overdressed,” and while speaking she jumped slightly, landing, straddling Anna’s lap and falling into a deep, urgent kiss.

“What is this?” Renée paused in her finger-tracing of Anna’s breasts, they lay naked under the big window; the city below completely unaware.

Anna looked at her innocently, batting her eyes.

“This,” Renée placed her finger on the new wound in Anna’s arm; she bent in to kiss it softly.

“Bullet hole,” Anna turned her head. “Actually, there are two ... entry and exit,” she responded nonchalantly, toying with a length of Renée’s hair, “they’ll both heal after a few days.”

“The little machines in you?” Renée kissed a little higher on the arm.

“Yes.”

“They heal you, and make you strong ... but every time I mention them you get that look in your eyes.”

“They were put there to control me ...” Anna looked up at the moon, shining down through the window.

“But they don’t.” Renée kissed again.

“They want to.” Anna pulled Renée’s mouth into a soft kiss, “They always want to.”

“But you control them,” Renée traced a finger down Anna’s chest, following it with her lips. “You controlled the killers last night too?”

“I didn’t get the chance ...” Anna’s eyes drifted back to the moon, “and the power ...” she paused, “it’s hard to control once I start using it.”

“You never use it on me ...” Renée lightly placed her teeth on a nipple, “no matter how I beg.” She nipped lightly, playfully, with a small giggle.

“You and your hypnosis fetish,” Anna pulled Renée’s chin up so their eyes met, “I shudder to think if you had the power to control minds.”

“No,” Renée moved slowly closer, “My Mother is French and my Father is German,” she was staring directly into the deep, soft eyes in front of her, almost forgetting their color. “Half of me wants to rule the world and the other half thinks it already does ... clearly I can’t be trusted with power ... or chocolate … or the boots I borrowed from you.”

“My boots?” Anna started, but her head arched back as Renée found a sensitive place with her ever wandering fingers. “What if I did control you?” Anna became serious, “It scares me, sometimes; what if I go too far and can’t bring you back?”

“I’m not scared,” Renée was back, their eyes meeting, looking deeper than a kiss ever went. “I know you would come and get me.”

Anna felt the cold: somewhere she knew she was dreaming, but it was somewhere far away. The night air closed in as she ran stumbling between the two big rigs in the dark, looking for ... trying to get to ...

She had been trying to get a ride, to somewhere ... to anywhere, when they’d started to grab her. In a panic she’d smashed a bottle on one of them and stuck the other with the broken end, and then she’d run away. Suddenly they had her again. One of them grabbed her from behind and the other stood there with his head bleeding and a gun in his hand.

Her sleeping body shook as, in the dream, she kicked the man and the gun went off, it’s shot hitting the side of her head. As her sight went dark she felt the hands holding her fall away, and then all was quiet, cold.

Somewhere far away, her forehead was being kissed in her sleep, as a soft voice tried to soothe her. In the dream she was drifting, feeling it as things were injected into her, and her body began to feel different, stronger. Slowly she was aware of the things in her mind, telling her to obey, and she knew she would.

There was a warm, soft sensation as Anna awoke, feeling Renée holding her.

“You were dreaming again,” Renée looked into her eyes, worried.

“I’m all right,” Anna tried to sit up.

“Lie still,” Renée’s weight pushed her gently back. “What if we go away somewhere?”

“What are you talking about?”

“They found you again, which means we need to go somewhere better, " Renée reached behind her for something, “Look at these.” She put several sheets of paper onto Anna’s chest.

“TU-95?” Anna read the top one slowly.

“It is a bear,” Renée said, smiling, “A Soviet bomber ... the client will pay seven million if we procure it.”

“North Korea?” Anna sat up, causing Renée to slide off her. “This thing is in North Korea.”

“Well yes,” Renée said. “There are complications, but there always are.”

“North Korea?” Anna fixed her with a disapproving look. “How the Hell do we get in? ... And when we get in, how do we get to the plane? … And, if we get to the plane, what if it doesn’t start? What if it doesn’t fly?”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Renée mocked. “Everything’s got to be perfect with you, hasn’t it?”

“Well, I just don’t want to go and then find out we can’t get out.”

“You get to buy fancy French guns and I never, ever complain,” Renée pouted, knowing Anna was powerless against a good pout, “but I want to fly one little Russian bomber and you get all up on me with the negative waves.”

“Oh,” Anna said, “stop that ... What about the French gun?”

“Well I’m not a big super-secret government weapon,” Renée pointed a finger at the revolver on the night stand,” but I’ve seen you drooling over that pistol since I don’t know when, and now you have it.”

“What about this one?” Anna held up another sheet.

“B-23 Dragon,” Renée answered, “sure, it has a certain something, but ...”

“It’s in the States,” Anna offered, “somewhere in Arizona or Nevada, maybe.”

“We don’t know where it is.”

“We can find it though, can’t we?” Anna put the papers aside, looking Renée deep in the eyes again, “I can do that ... that thing you like.”

“Well if ...” Renée didn’t finish.

“The bubble rises,” Anna spoke softly as Renée’s face went slack. “The bubble rises and breaks at the surface, opening like a flower in your mind.”

Renée stared, blank-eyed, as Anna looked deeply into her eyes.

“Your thoughts, everything you are, and everything you know are surrounded, encased in a bubble, protected, to be opened only when I say the trigger words. You are now a blank slate.”

“I am a blank slate,” Renée monotoned, her nipples standing out at attention as she felt herself completely controlled.

“You are an obedient, blank slate.” Anna moved closer, breathing the last into Renée’s ear. She moved slightly behind her, lightly cupping her breasts in her hands. “Feel the pleasure wash over you, envelope you as you obey,” Anna’s words kissed into Renée’s receptive mind. Anna felt it grow inside her, the power, and the ever present nanomachines awakening, waiting for their opportunity. It scared her, knowing she was only a breath away from falling to them, letting them take her. The feeling of being taken licked at her, called her as if to lie in its warm bed and she felt herself wanting it, but the feeling of Renée’s heartbeat against her hands brought her back. It was strange, being a submissive, granted an artificially induced one, and controlling a willing, obedient mind.

“I obey,” Renée’s voice quivered between breaths.

“The bubble that holds everything you are sinks slowly, falling, falling, falling,” Anna kissed slowly down Renée’s neck, gradually guiding her head to rest on a pillow. “It sinks slowly, deep down into your mind, where you even forget it’s there.”

Anna kissed in slow circles down Renée’s chest, teasing a nipple with her teeth and tongue, alternately before moving on. Raising her head slightly to look into Renée’s half-lidded eyes, she forced the nanomachines and their ever-tempting offer of controlled obedience back into the box where she kept them locked. “Your body obeys.”

“My body obeys,” Renée sighed lightly.

Anna moved lower, lower, her kisses pausing just short of Renée’s sex. On the skin in front of her were three small moles, each almost touching, forming a certain familiar shape. Euro-Disney, the thought came to Anna’s mind.

Renée giggled slightly, but her obedience held her too tightly and she was too deep to do more. Anna smiled quietly, feeling how closely their minds were now connected. “You will feel every pleasure magnified now, my slave,” she whispered softly as her tongue and teeth lightly teased the sensitive folds of flesh, slowly increasing in pressure and intensity until Renée’s body tensed, her back arching upward and her mouth biting her bottom lip in orgasmic bliss.