The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“One more little screw,” said Tiff, and she giggled, singing, “One-lit-tle-screw, one-lit-tle-screw, do-de-do-de-do-de-do-de-do-do-do...” She picked up her little screwdriver to go with her little screw and mindlessly hummed her stupid song as she twisted the item into place. Into what should have been the place. The thing on the table before her now looked like the picture, and she’d always been good with jigsaw puzzles.

This wasn’t a bunch of little pieces of cardboard, though. It had started out as a tangle of wires and bits of plastic and other bits of plastic and metal things and light bulbs and stuff, and now it looked like the picture again. It wasn’t like a...what was that game, one of her more recent boyfriends had liked it, but not recent enough. The memory was gone. It wasn’t like one of those things, though. She looked at the picture she’d torn out of one of his magazines (which was why he was an old boyfriend and not a current boyfriend), a picture of a real hunk, his face all sweaty and his arms, so muscular, all glistening and shiny, just like she was down there whenever she thought about him looking at her...

But she wasn’t doing that now, nosirree! He was just here on her board instead of the wall in her bedroom because he wore one of those thingies on his head and it looked right. She’d remembered she had a thing like his thing, and flashed on a small, brief thought of the two of them together wearing their thingies. She’d torn her hands out of her panties at the thought, and gone looking for her thingie, wherever she’d put it. She’d found it in a box under a stack of her favorite puzzles, the 25-piece ones, but it was all busted up, just the wires holding it all together. Like a puzzle, she’d finally thought. Things like puzzles and stuff were just bits and pieces that you put together to make something.

It had a lot more pieces, but Lance...was it Lance, or was it Dirk? She’d shrugged. Lance/Dirk was worth it.

Like all good puzzles the box had a picture of what the thingie was supposed to look like when it was done, and she made it look like that as much as she could. She knew she’d done a good job this time because there weren’t any parts left in the box. With a quick glance at Lance/Dirk, she slipped the thingie onto her head, grabbed the picture of her panty-throb, and went to look in the mirror.

Crap! It didn’t look anything like his cute thingie on top of his cute hair and cute face. Oh, poo.

Wait! Her thingie had all those lights all over it! She raced back to the box, remembering that there was a different thingie in the box, like a remote but with fewer buttons. Maybe one of those buttons turned on the lights. She brought it back over to the mirror.

She looked at the remote, dismayed to discover that the only obvious button was marked with a big ‘NO’. Then she looked in the mirror and it said ‘ON’. She smiled, liking that much better, and she turned the remote around in her hand so it said ‘ON’ there too. She pressed the button.

Her head tingled, and she looked at the mirror. The lights were on! Blinking slowly. She turned the dial on the remote, hoping it would make them blink faster. It felt GOOD, like a buzzy...vibe... vibrator in her brain, building her up closer and closer to a monster orgasm. She put the remote down and put her hands between her legs, rubbing her clit, as words and memories swirled up into her mind. The neurochemical movement stimulated her libido, but each word, each thought, took something away from her erotic concentration, dispersing the intensity while increasing the overall mental amplitude, thus...

Suddenly something beeped, and she hung up on a single word.

Thus?

She’d had a thought.

More than a thought, a whole series of thoughts. She’d reached an actual fucking conclusion.

Tiffany pulled her hand out of her pants, wiping her juiced-up fingers on her, no, not her shirt, that’s gross, get a cloth. With newly-dried fingers she turned off the helmet and placed it carefully on the counter. “Well,” she said to no one, shuddering in the throes of an orgasm that just would not come. “That could have gone better.”

She was a genius again, and she remembered why she’d built her helmet in the first place. Her inability to find pleasure in simple things, edged out of most forms of satisfaction by the workings of her own mind. By limiting her means of expressing pleasure, the helmet had actually increased her ability to feel pleasure, a broad and lazy river forced into a cataract. She found herself craving that cataract, like a drug, but she knew what she had to do next.

Her friends were not going to thank her for this.

Catherine was the second into the kitchen that morning, squinting to see Tiffany already up and working on a mug of coffee. She smelled the aroma. “Tell me there’s more.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a little ‘hair of the dog’?” asked Tiffany in a very soft voice.

“Why would I?” asked Cat, going to the sink. “Everyone knows that the main cause of hangovers is dehydration.” She filled a glass of water and drank it down. When she finished, she lowered the glass, looking puzzled. “Did I just use a word with more than two syllables?”

“You did,” said Tiffany, getting up and coming over to the sink to touch her coffee mug to Cat’s glass. “Congratulations.”

“That’s five syllables,” said Cat. “You must be way smarter than me.”

Tiffany grimaced. “For about twenty minutes, a couple of hours ago.”

Catherine filled up the glass a second time, and got out some pills. “What did you do?”

Tiffany counted off on her fingers. “Went into your room, propped you up in bed, slapped my helmet on you and turned the dial up instead of down.”

Cat looked at her in surprise, perfectly able to infer all the enthymemetic implications of the list. “You fixed it?”

“I finally got around to seeing it as a puzzle to be fixed, and you know I’ve always been good with puzzles.”

“Not that good. So why do it then?” She gestured carefully with her glass toward her room, the one she shared with Rebecca.

Tiffany made a face. “Because I knew you’d have a monster hangover this morning, and the last thing you would have wanted on top of that was what the helmet did to me.”

Cat paused with a pill at her lips. “That bad?” She put it in her mouth and took a sip.

“You remember how good it felt going down?” asked Tiffany. Cat nodded, no need to ask what ‘it’ was. Even after three years it was still the best orgasm of her life. “It was just like that, but in reverse. The same hot and sweaty goodness, with no payoff whatsoever, so I figured why not just let you sleep through it.”

“Oh, God,” said Catherine, squeezing her legs together and slapping the glass on the counter as she belched mightily.

“Yeah,” sighed Tiffany, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip of her coffee. “It only took a couple of hours to wear off, but you wouldn’t have liked them.”

Cat reached up and gripped her shoulder. “I love you. Let’s get married.”

Tiffany laughed. “You haven’t had your coffee yet, you don’t know what you’re saying.” She went to get a second mug for her friend. “Besides, Rebecca hasn’t gotten up yet. It only makes sense to hear her offer first.”

As if summoned, the third inhabitant of the apartment shuffled into the room, head in hands. “I had the worst dream...”

“So what do we do?” asked Rebecca, having used up all the ‘V’ words she knew in variations on the classic speech from V for Vendetta, verifying that her viciously and vehemently vernacular vocabulary had voluminously veered variously verbose.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Tiffany. “The bad news is that we’ve all lost our fancy egghead jobs, and been dancing and I’m determinedly not thinking about whatall else to make ends meet on this crappy dump.” She waved her hand to indicate everything around them as she walked over to a desk and pulled open a drawer, stuffed full of unopened mail. “The good news is that we were all too stupid these last few years to remember our various funds and accounts, so they’ve just been sitting there, accruing value.”

“We’re rich?” asked Catherine.

“We’re comfortable,” said Tiffany, “And if we pool our money together, I think we can all become very rich.”

Quite a few months later, on a specially chosen weekend in May, Tiffany, Catherine, and Rebecca walked up to a carefully selected building, pushing a small cart loaded with equipment. A tall, imposing woman walked right behind them, not making a move to ease any of their burdens. That wasn’t her purpose.

Tiffany rang the bell at the door. Almost immediately a young woman opened it, taking in their little group curiously. “Brain-Spa?”

Tiffany smiled. “That’s us.”

The woman gestured, and they muscled their cart through the door and into the room full of students. “Would you like some help?” said one of them uncertainly.

“Oh, no,” said Tiffany. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

The woman at the door blinked. “Yeah? And?”

Rebecca pointed to the woman behind them all. “Well, Veronica there has very strict instructions and no sense of humor.”

“No one touches the ladies or their equipment,” said Veronica flatly, flexing her arms and cracking her knuckles. “Not even me. I’m about to lock this door. If you’re not on the list you will go now.”

“We all chipped in,” said one of the guys.

“Pretty expensive for two days,” said another.

“Yes, but it’s going to be a very intense and enjoyable two days,” said Tiffany. “Like Spring Break in a can.”

“I’ll believe it when she sees it,” said the young woman by the door, stepping away as Veronica took up her post. A very soberly dressed woman holding a clipboard stepped up to fill the gap.

“You’re the witness?” asked Veronica.

“Proctor Jones.” The woman said nothing more, which suited them both just fine.

“Pull up a chair,” said Rebecca, as they started unloading their cart and looking for plugs. “We’ll start with you.”

By the time the young woman had pulled up her chair, the Brain-Spa ladies had their equipment ready to go. Catherine pulled out a list. “Who are you?”

“My name is Stephanie,” said the woman. “Not Steph, not Stephie. Stephanie. Got it?”

“Yes, we do,” said Tiffany, as Catherine marked the only Stephanie on the list with a ‘1’. “Sit, please.”

Stephanie sat as Tiffany placed the helmet carefully on her head. This one looked sleek and sexy, the lights arrayed in stripes. “What are you going to do with this?”

“We’re going to turn off that part of your mind that overthinks every little thing, so you can relax and enjoy for once.”

Stephanie stood up quickly and Tiffany jerked the helmet back. “Are you nuts? You can’t turn my brain off!”

“Not ‘off’, just ‘down’, and sure we can,” said Tiffany. “And then when the weekend is over we dial it back up again. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Then you do it.”

“Okay,” said Tiffany quickly, practically throwing herself into the chair.

“Hey!” said Rebecca. “It’s my turn!”

“But she told me to do it.“

“It’s my! Turn!”

“I don’t care who does it,” said Stephanie. “One of you get in that chair, now.”

Rebecca pushed Tiffany out of the chair and sat, smiling as Tiffany set the helmet in place. “Just a short one.”

Rebecca sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“Here you go, you big baby.” Tiffany pressed the button, and turned the dial just a little.

Rebecca gasped, as she always did, and moaned, as she always did. She giggled and waved, to no one. “Bye-bye.”

“Who’s she talking to?” asked Stephanie.

“Thermonuclear physics,” said Catherine. “She hated that class, and she used to teach it.” A ripple of laughter and a rumble of agreement came from the watching students. “She’s forgetting all the things that made her unhappy, that made it hard for her to enjoy her life. These five minutes will be like spending a lazy Saturday watching movies, with popcorn.”

Rebecca squirmed and moaned in the chair.

“She looks like she’s about to—”

Rebecca clutched the sides of the chair, groaning and shaking.

“I never did that watching movies, with or without popcorn,” said Stephanie.

“I said ‘like’, didn’t I?”

“Short fuse,” said Tiffany. “I have to go back to high school before that happens to me. Okay, Becky baby, time to come back up.”

“Hold on a second. You, Becky.” Stephanie waited until she had the woman’s attention. “What’s so special about nitrogen-14?”

Becky gulped, unprepared for a Spanish Inquisition. “It’s...only 14 years old?”

The watching students laughed.

“Can I bring her back up now?” asked Tiffany.

Becky-baby pouted. “You’re such a poop, Tiffie. Can’t I even get, like, one dance?”

“It’s someone else’s turn to dance, dear. Up you come.” She turned the knob in the other direction.

Rebecca moaned unhappily as her body stilled, her head slumping forward. Catherine kept a light hand on her shoulder just in case, but it wasn’t needed.

“What happened?” asked Stephanie.

“The fun going down is much less fun coming up,” said Tiffany. “I’m the only one who’s gone through that part and believe me, you don’t want to. I added a bit to make you sleep through it, it’s in the contract. We’ll bring you back up Sunday night, but you’ll wake up on Monday feeling like a million bucks.”

“She’ll wake up in about thirty seconds feeling like a thousand bucks,” added Catherine.

They stood and waited until Rebecca stirred, her head coming up to focus on the first person she saw, who happened to be Stephanie. “Wow,” she breathed. “You’re so lucky.”

“Do you remember my question?”

“Sure,” said Rebecca. “The helmet dims the light, not cause amnesia. Nitrogen-14 is unusual in that it has a total spin of 1 instead of the expected ½, under the Rutherford model. The issue wasn’t resolved until the discovery of the neutron in 1932 by Chadwick and Ivanenko.”

“So,” asked Tiffany, helmet in hand, “Ready for your Spring Break?”

“God, yes.” Stephanie looked back on the crowd watching. “You’re gonna make me come in front of all of them?”

Rebecca lifted a set of folding panels from the cart. “We brought a screen, if you prefer.”

“And a bunch of towels,” added Catherine.

“I prefer.”

Listening eagerly from the other side of the screen...

“Put the swimsuit over here, and strip below the waist.”

“What?”

“Do you really want to come in your pants? We’ll hold the towel if you’re shy but you’re all gonna make a mess."

They heard some rustling behind the screen.

“Now sit.” A brief pause as Stephanie sat. “And here we go.”

Stephanie moaned. “Oh, wow,” she said, her voice a bit high-pitched, “This is so cool! It’s so quiet in my head, I love it...I-Oh my god. Oh my god! Ohmigod ohmigod ohmi-hnnggeeee!”

“Holy shit,” said one of the guys.

“Hey, Steph, you okay?” called one of the ladies.

“Hey, Lacie! Oh my god, I’m great! What do I do with this?”

“Wipe yourself off and throw it in the box. No! Behind the—”

“You’ve all seen girl-parts before, haven’t you?” asked ‘Steph’ in a dim and confused tone. “I don’t understand.”

Some of the guys in the crowd snorted with suppressed amusement.

“Never mind,” said one of the Brain-Spa people. “Just remember to put on your swimsuit before you step out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Rebecca, she’s yours.” The listening audience caught a mumble. “Oh, yeah. Hey Steffi, gay or straight?”

“Straight,” said one of the guys. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“And it sounds like we’ve got a volunteer. Get up here, boyfriend.”

Steph-my-name-is-Stephanie stepped out from behind the screen in a very skimpy bathing suit, drawing a chorus of whistles from the guys, and some of the girls too. After her playful pose, Rebecca led her over to an open space in the room, with a large-screen TV. She put in a DVD and pressed play, turning the volume up a little. “Just to set the mood.”

The screen lit up with images of bikini-clad girls and boys in shorts, standing around on a beach somewhere drinking beer. Some music played somewhere and some of the girls started dancing, mostly with each other. Stephi decided to join them and Rebecca decided to keep her company.

From behind the screen a male voice started yelling, “Aahh! Aahh! Aahh!”

“She’s not the only one with a short fuse,” snarked one of the girls.

“And it sounds like we’ve got another volunteer. Get up here, snarky, so we can see how long you last. Stud alert, Rebecca!”

The boyfriend stepped out from behind the screen, looking pretty studly, his attention, what there was of it, fully on the dancing babes. He tried to move in on them but Stephie pushed him away, so she could keep dancing with Becky.

“Looks like maybe his girl isn’t as straight as he thought.”

“Ohmigod ohmigod ohmi-aaAAaaAAaaAA!”

“So she’s the one who makes that noise...”

Rebecca stepped back from the dance party, letting true love take its course with minimal chaperonage. Steph didn’t seem to mind, especially when another girl came over to join them.

“Next!”

A good long while later...

Rebecca came back to the command center, one of the few places free of party debris, not that there was much of it. One thing about letting a bunch of nerds loose on Spring Break, they were neater. Some things stayed constant, like Tiffany’s puzzle-solving skills.

Some things didn’t, like the contests they started doing as soon as the DVDs gave them the idea. Dry T-shirt. Wet T-shirt. Off T-shirt, as soon as they discovered that none of the Brain-Spa staff were there to stop them, exactly. Soon enough their little naughty ventures became a good bit more, the Brain-Spa process reducing their inhibitions better than the best alcohol ever, but the partners were prepared.

“How many more boxes of condoms do we have left?” asked Rebecca.

Tiffany checked. “Seven.”

“Still seven?” said Catherine. “You’re sure you’re giving them the lecture?”

“Not the whole lecture,” said Rebecca. “I had to dim it down a bit.“

“What are you telling them?”

“Her, mostly. I hand her the condom and say, ‘make sure he uses this, or in two days you’ll be smart and pregnant.’“

Tiffany and Catherine nodded. “Pithy.”

“It gets the point across, before their eyes glaze over and they get all feral. The men don’t argue. Proctor Jones and I have been counting the opened wrappers, too. One for one, so far. She keeps really good records.”

“But still, only one box opened?” said Catherine. “Spring Break is wasted on these guys.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen what I saw,” said Rebecca, but she didn’t make them beg, bargain, whine, or threaten. “They walked in together, but after a good long while he left and she didn’t. We went in and found her still lying on the bed, neatly covered up, moaning ‘wow’ over and over. They may be using only one an hour but it’s a very good hour.“

Tiffany snorted. “Probably took notes while watching their porn.”

“Where were these guys when I was in Grad School?” Catherine shook her head sadly. “They must study sex like I used to study Riemann Manifolds.“

“They were probably trying to figure out how to get into your Many-Folds, and never the twain did meet.“

“Pithy,” said Catherine again. “If you’re trying to cheer me up you’re not.”

“So does that mean it’s okay that I wasn’t trying?”

“No.”

“I made lists,” said Proctor Young, when it was all over. Sleeping students were everywhere, mostly in their own beds but not always.

The Brain-Spa ladies had their own technology to keep them awake and alert for the whole weekend, but the support staff couldn’t, since alertness was their product. They had to take it in shifts. The shifts could also have taken advantage of the Brain-Spa process for faster turnaround, but standing around watching other people have fun wasn’t all that attractive, so they didn’t.

“You took notes?” asked Tiffany. No one was supposed to be recording anything.

“It seemed prudent,” said Young. “I had hoped for more monogamy.”

“Our tech doesn’t cause amnesia.”

“Maybe not,” said Young, “But they seemed a bit...flightier than usual. This way they’ll know who and how often. Just in case.”

“Distribute the lists,” said Catherine. “Each person gets their own, in a sealed envelope. Shred your original notes. No records. It’s in the contract.” She looked at their current support. “Can I ask you to make sure that happens, Steve? I know it’s not what you were hired for.”

“No problem, Doc, it’ll be the most interesting thing I’ve seen this entire shift.” The students had learned early on to not come anywhere near the Brain-Spa ladies and their equipment.

“That reminds me,” said Rebecca, “What do we do with the leftover condoms?”

“There’s no such thing as a leftover condom,” said Catherine. “Just one that hasn’t been used yet.”

“Leave the open box,” said Tiffany. “Keep the rest. If this group is any indicator we’re going to need to keep a good supply on hand.”

Proctor Young made sure the doors were locked behind them as they left, and they all packed up and went their separate ways. “So what do we do now?”

“In a college town on a Sunday night?” said Catherine. “We’re lucky the streetlights are still on.”

“I don’t know,” said Tiffany, with a shrug. “What do you say we all go home and get stupid?”