The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Shaneika sat in the driver’s seat of her cab, munching on a hero sandwich—or at least, what she had always called a hero sandwich. All the customers she ever got called them “hoagies,” “grinders” or even “submarines.” All these different names confused her. She’d always called them heroes, and she always would. She pushed all unpleasant thoughts from her mind and relaxed herself. She was on her lunch break, and this was the time to relax. As she ate, she admired the hot young black men who walked by, even though they seemed highly disappointed by her glowing “off-duty” sign. The rain made a calming pitter-patter on the roof. Shaneika loved to drive, she liked people, and she knew Manhattan Island like the back of her hand. It seemed only natural that she should become a cabbie. She took a sip from her Dr. Pepper. Someone knocked on her window. She rolled it down a crack.

“Off duty, mista, can’t ya read da sign?”

“It’s alright, take your time, I can wait.” the man said. “It’s just that my groceries are getting wet.” He seemed like a nice enough guy. She let him in the back, but moved her rear-view mirror so she could watch him. He sat down in the back, set his grocery bag down in the seat next to him, and reached in. He pulled out a salami sandwich and a bag of mini-muffins. He ate a few of them, then offered her some. She declined. Since he himself had eaten some, she supposed they weren’t drugged, but Shaneika had her sandwich. The man shrugged and continued eating. He had a two-pint carton of chocolate milk in the bag, which he used to wash down his sandwich and muffins. He was a surprisingly quiet eater. The only thing she heard back there was the rustling of wrappings, which the man kept to a minimum. Shaneika began to relax again, and went back to her sandwich. She didn’t feel the snip of hair he discretely took from the bottom of one of her braids, and she never saw him slip it into a baggy for use later, so she never could have guessed what was in store for her. After about twenty minutes, she finished the sandwich and turned off the sign.

“Where to, mista?” she asked.

“The hotel on Ninth Street.” the man replied.

“Dat’s awfully fa from hea, mista.” Shaneika said. The man pulled out a wad of twenties and counted out ten of them. “Den again, I suppose we could get gas along da way.” she finished as he slipped the money into her hand. With her rent coming due, she damn sure wasn’t going to turn down two hundred dollars, especially in cash, which she wouldn’t have to report on her income tax. She pulled out of her parking spot and they headed off toward their destination. The man didn’t say much on the way, other than some assinine comment about a new hotel or something equally dull—at least, to her. They reached the hotel, and the man payed the fare as if he hadn’t given Shaneika the two hundred dollars, then walked inside before she could protest. He had payed in twenties, and had been seven fifty-three over, yet he hadn’t waited for her to make change. “Rich dunce.” she decided. Who else would throw away this much money?

Shaneika tossed and turned in the bed. Her dreams were full of jungle drums and strange, unearthly voices chanting in an ancient tongue. She woke up suddenly, gasping and panting. She felt as if she was being pulled by some invisible someone from far away. Without her permission, her feet slid out of bed, followed by the legs and the torso. Her legs forced her to walk forward. She tried to grab the doorjamb, but her arms would not obey her. Fear chilled her blood as she was transported outside, a prisoner of her own body. She found herself in her car. Her hands moved jerkily as her unseen puppeteer made her hotwire her own vehicle. Her body then manipulated the car’s controls, driving her to the hotel she had visited that afternoon. Her petrified mind could not figure out who or what could be doing this. No one stopped her as she walked into the lobby, then stopped at the elevator. She became very frightened at the sight of her own blank face in the reflective door, even as her finger pushed the “Up” button. She had no muscle control whatsoever. She could not cry out, she could not form expressions...hell, she couldn’t even blink on her own. Her puppeteer made her blink every fifteen seconds on the dot. Her body walked into the empty elevator when the door opened, and then turned around and pushed the 13 button, and her superstitious nature made her cringe inwardly, though she could give no outward reaction due to her out-of-control condition. She had no choice but to watch her own blank stare on the ride up. She reached the thirteenth floor, then the elevator stopped and let her out, then her body walked down the hall to room 1309. Fear chilled her again as she realized that the room’s numbers added up to 13. Misfortune lurked behind this door. Her hand formed a fist and knocked on the door. It came open, and Shaneika found the man she’d driven here this afternoon! He was holding a doll in his hand with a bit of her hair on its head. He manipulated the doll and she walked into the room. He manipulated it again and she removed the nightgown. She was becoming quite terrified indeed as she stood naked and helpless before this man. He manipulated her onto the bed, and then he lashed her down. She couldn’t struggle, couldn’t move because the doll still held firm its power over her. He put the doll down, and for a while, at least, she could move and speak on her own.

“Why have ya done dis?” she demanded.

“Because you’re exactly the girl I’ve been looking for, my dear Shaneika.” he said. “You see, I have a client with something of a fetish for Jamaicans.”

“Well, you can find yerself anoda girl, pipsqueak.” she snarled. “Yer not gettin’ dis one!”

“I beg to differ.” the man said. “The client asked for you by name, and although he could afford to buy you, he couldn’t afford the price I would charge without the special First Fuck Discount.” and as he said this, he began to rub the crotch of the doll with his finger. Shaneika began to feel the pleasure building within her as he fingered the doll. He made her come again and again, toying with her helpless body. The wet spot on the bed continued to grow. He played with her, sticking nails in the doll so she would cry out, giving her little food, depriving her of rest, sustaining her on bread and water when he did feed her, fucking her whenever he wasn’t tormenting her in one of the other ways. Finally she couldn’t stay awake any longer, and he put the next phase into action.

He tossed scented leaves into the stone bowl along with the coals, then, chanting an ancient Voodoo chant, he passed the doll through the smoke four times, once in each of the four directions. He continued to chant as he rubbed various oils on Shaneika’s body, and he could feel the patterns of force shifting and realigning. He had studied this ritual under a true voodoo priestess, and then practiced it on her, forcing her to commit suicide. He couldn’t have someone watching over him, ready to undo his arts, after all. He waved the priestess’s voodoo wand over Shaneika’s sleeping body, still chanting. He waved the doll over her then, and then the wand AND the doll. On and on he continued the ritual. When the first rays of morning shone on her well-oiled body, he concluded the ritual.

“Open your eyes, Shaneika.” he said. Her eyes came open. Her face was blank, her eyes were glazed. She was completely in his power now. She would now obey whoever held her doll. She could not move, speak or even think unless her Master commanded her to. He cut the leather on her wrists and ankles, then told her to get off the bed. She obeyed, just as she would always obey from this moment on. He put her on her hands and knees, then mounted her like the bitch she had been, in his opinion. He fucked her this way until he got tired, then after a rest, he proceeded to buttfuck her. After resting again, he forced the mindless slave to give him oral sex, then put her back in the bed and covered her up. He picked up the phone and dialed the number he had written in his appointment book. “Yes, could you connect me with Accounting? Paul Davis, please. Paul? It’s KB. Your...special order is ready. You have the payment? Good man. That’s right. Completely obedient. Any order, sir. I always assure the quality of my work. Right.” He typed a few keys on his computer, and sure enough, a sizeable sum had been transferred to his account. “Payment confirmed, Paul. Nice doing business with you, your package will be delivered to your condo at the agreed-upon time. Take care, bye-bye.” He crossed Paul Davis and Shaneika from his appointment book. His next customer was a man by the name of Nathan Simak. He had asked for a woman—any woman would do, as long as she fit his fat-fetish. Desperate men made great customers. He could charge more for these jobs, although he generally offered a discount for the privilige of fucking them first, he didn’t go for fat women, so he didn’t mention discounts to Nathan. This job was strictly a pocketbook thing. Maybe he would charge extra for having to look at the fat bitch.