The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Waking up from a good night’s rest, I felt a strange warmth between my legs. Was two days of sleep deprivation truly enough for a man to start seeing hallucinations?

No, there was definitely movement down there. As I struggled to open my eyes, I made out the curvy outline of Monica Navarro on her fours. The memories came flooding back to me: attending the galá, pinning the model down and hypnotizing her, treating her to my programming tapes on the way home and ordering her to give me a wake-up blowjob. Four women, all quite powerful in their own ways, had become mine in thirty-two hours. If there was an achievement worthy of a congratulatory blowjob, this was definitely it.

I ired the way a blissfully happy Monica slobbered on my cock, content to serve and obey. With one hand on my shaft, she took its entire length into her mouth as I turned my head. There, lying to my left on the bed, was Laura, my first acquisition. I kissed the half-awake beauty on the lips before delivering my first command of the day: “make us some breakfast.” She was helpless to obey, jumping out of bed with a sudden wave of energy to head to the kitchen.

As for my other two slaves, they were sadly far from my safehouse. I had left Julia Ashford to go back to the FBI for a debrief on her mind-numbingly boring ‘mission’. Anne Whitworth, on the other hand, was busy back at the family business, as she was wiring as many funds as possible to shell s spread across the Caribbean before we would all have to leave.

Yes, I wasn’t leaving any girl behind, I had decided. I was only truly in love with one, but the benefits the other three girls provided could not be ignored, whether it was transport, protection or cash. And in the case of all three, looks, an attribute they shared with my beloved Laura, who was currently preparing breakfast in my rudimentary kitchen. I hadn’t slept with Anne or Julia yet, but I grew excited at the prospect of putting the former’s great rack and the latter’s fierce personality to work.

As my right hand directed Laura to feed me a bite of pancake and my left groped her ass, I considered the only issue left for me to tackle: ports. The plan called for a perfectly legal getaway using Monica’s ‘borrowed’ jet, but that still required ing through airport customs. Mine and Laura’s ports would definitely be flagged by now. As for the rest, their chances of being discovered as of my harem and having their angelic faces displayed next to a terrorist’s on a TSA employee’s computer screen increased with every ing hour.

Another call was in order, I thought as I dialed my new ally. “Hey Oversight, this is probably the last thing I’ll need before I’m out of harm’s reach. Two things actually.”

“Fire at will,” said the distorted voice as I imagined him in a hideout much safer than mine, typing away at his array of massive computer screens.

“The first is fake ports for me and another four girls. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“So… you’re taking them all with you, huh? Well, I have bad news. Producing fake ports, especially in this quantity, is near impossible in the span of a day.” He paused for dramatic effect, leaving me to sigh in disappointment. “In LA, your only hope is a guy called David Davenport. No one else in Cali can provide you with five fakes so quickly. But whether he’ll accept the job, that’s a coin toss.”

“In that case, send me his address ASAP. Second thing is, I heard you have some great facilities in the region. I need you to take all my girls for a training course for most of today, after I’m done with the port business. I’ll give you the details later, just get ready to welcome them.

“Understood,” he replied before hanging up, not wishing to engage in even a second of conversation if it wasn’t crucial for my survival.

I approached David Davenport’s estate in Santa Ana with some trepidation, Laura following not far behind me in her loose-fitting jeans and crop top meant to attract as little attention as possible. In her arms, she was carrying a folder with photos of our group of five, in the hope that we would have our fake ports made for any exorbitant price that was asked of us. After all, Whitworth’s bank would cover every expense.

We reached Davenport’s neoclassical residence, or rather the barbed-wire fence surrounding it, almost exactly at noon. His guards were already well aware of our appointment, so they patted us down to check for weapons, taking special care of Laura once they noticed she wasn’t protesting one bit about the hands on her waist and ass. Two of the guards escorted us inside, and we were forced to take a sharp right turn as we were led not to his house, but to an adjacent warehouse that was just as well-maintained.

Opening the door, I found the forger waiting for us behind a large desk. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only one who had brought a bombshell with me to impress. Next to Davenport stood his gorgeous blonde wife, in cutoffs and a shirt tied just below a massive chest that would make any of my slaves blush. I ordered Laura to stay back as our guy stood up from his chair to shake hands with his potential client.

“Kirkland, pleased to meet you,” I introduced myself. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you, Mr. Davenport.” That part was true. In my time in the FBI, the name frequently popped up in relation to criminal cases but not with solid enough evidence to back any charges.

Davenport smiled at the remark. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same. On the contrary, this is the first time I hear of a Kirkland.”

“What can I say, I like to cover my tracks.” This was my first time being so honest to a criminal. “Allow me to provide you with the photos we need ports for.” I beckoned to Laura to come forward and present the folder. As soon as she was in Davenport’s line of sight, however, he grimaced.

“Do you want a port for her too?", he asked, and I nodded. “Of course.”

“Then the deal is off. I won’t get in trouble for her.” Of all the things that could derail the port deal, this was the last I could imagine.

“What? Are you serious?” I protested.

“I’m always serious in negotiations. I don’t know much about you, girl,” as he pointed to my slave, “but you’re in the crosshairs of some powerful people. I won’t take the risk to smuggle you out.” I tried to think of a reason why, and my mind landed on the mobster threats, a whole two days ago. It felt like an eternity since Laura had called the FBI, genuinely fearing for her well-being before I showed her how to care about nothing else but pleasing her Master. The mafia danger felt like a distant joke in comparison to what I’d had to go through since then.

“So you’re fine with making the rest of the ports?” It was a rhetorical question. If it was any other newly-acquired slave of mine, I would have no problem sacrificing her to get out, but Laura was the reason I was leaving the country in the first place! With a simple nod, Davenport nevertheless confirmed that she was the only hurdle.

As for Laura herself, she maintained her expressionless face throughout the meeting. Her brainwashing was so thorough by now, that if her Master asked her to jump off a cliff, she would ask “from what height?”

I reconsidered my strategy. Davenport was no longer a reliable source for everyone’s ports. But his beautiful wife standing next to him was certainly presenting a temptation.

“In that case, scratch Plan A. I just need a port for myself,” I bluffed, “and I’ll handle the rest of my group later. Give me a cost.”

“Fifty grand,” he replied bluntly.

’That’s ludicrous, you expect me to pay that?’ Thankfully, I kept my inner voice under control, and pretended that I was willing to pay. To a specific seller.

“I want the exchange to be in public, and with neither of us present. I’ll send one of my friends, and you’ll send your girl … What’s your name again?”

“Samantha,” the blonde said with a voice that was sweet as honey.

“I know a man of your resources can print these ports in no time. Two hours from now?”

“Samantha won’t be available. I can send someone else.” That was all the info I needed. Between now and two hours later, his naturally gifted wife would be leaving the premises to run errands. It wasn’t uncommon for criminals of his caliber to have their wifes run some jobs, but I had to confirm.

“On second thought … I’d like to rethink the clauses of this deal a little further. But I’ll return to you to arrange a new exchange.” Davenport responded with a puzzled look at my 180-degree turn, but he still seemed confident that he would get his money. Which, for someone like me with access to a rising film star, he imagined to be a lot.

With one hand on the wheel and another on Monica’s bare thigh next to me, I waited patiently for even a sign of Samantha to appear. The decision to bring Monica with me in the car had been to preserve the tradition of the latest recruit proving their loyalty by helping brainwash the next. Was it simply my good luck charm, or was I already implementing the first ‘rules for slaves’? I caught myself chuckling at the thought.

It was at that point that Samantha left the residence from the main door—her only option to leave, as a quick drive around the Davenports’ house had confirmed. I instantly stepped on the gas, crossing into the motorway with the intent of cutting off Samantha. She was headed to cross a road to our west, and so I swerved the car to turn right and stop in the middle of the pedestrian crossing. Samantha was now cut off from her route, and would undoubtedly look to the car to see who was so rude as to stop right at a crossing.

Instead, looking into the window she was met with the latest addition to my toolbox, a screen modified to shine so brightly that it could just as easily be called a projector. Though possibly the most effective method, it also happened to be the most dangerous, so I’d had to test it in front of Monica last night and fine-tune the details. Monica herself was now holding it as it displayed colors and patterns that the blonde didn’t even know how to describe. Pulsating shapes shifted and combined with each other, vibrant colors flashed on the screen, fractals kept expanding to consume her mind…

“Go, go, go!” Once I confirmed the screen was having its intended effect, with Samantha standing completely still and her mouth open, I ordered Monica to open the back door and shove the empty-headed blonde to the back seats of the car. Then, I drove off as fast as the engine allowed.

“That video basically fried her brain for the next fifteen minutes or so,” I explained to Monica once I saw the concern on her face for what we had just done. “Hey Samantha, take off your shirt,” I ordered with a commanding voice.

“Yes, Master.” The woman complied, and quickly undid the knot over her stomach to reveal her plentiful cleavage, barely held together by her black bra. I glanced at my rear-view mirror and flashed her a smile.

“Listen to me carefully, Samantha. From now on you hold no loyalty to your old husband. The only one you are loyal to is me. I’ll take you for some extra training, and here is what you will do tonight…”

For the next twenty minutes, I had a job no more prestigious than that of a bus driver: pick up Laura from the safehouse, Anne and a few suitcases of cash from the fashion house, and Julia from a dark alley where she couldn’t be tracked. It was at the last stop where I realized the logistical difficulties of having six people in the car, but an easy solution came to mind. “Samantha, it’s time to prove your loyalty. Get in here and give me your best titjob.”

“Yes, Master,” came the immediate response. Samantha practically jumped out of the car, opening the driver seat’s door and kneeling below the dashboard. Unclasping her bra, she revealed her two heavenly breasts and wasted no time in lowering my tros and fitting my dick between her mounds. Slowly, she started rubbing them together while I patted her head and tried my best to locate the gas pedal again. Keeping my eyes on the road while my dick was being treated to a deluxe titjob, by a married woman no less, was a near impossible task. In the end, however, I made it to the drop-off point where a friend of Oversight’s was waiting to take all five girls for the specialized training I had requested.

“Ooohh, that’s right, treat your whore good!” Samantha exclaimed as she rode her husband’s dick, mustering excitement she didn’t even know she previously had. David kept two firm hands on her hips as he thrust inside her, though he let his wife do most of the talking. “Sir, yes Sir, fill me with your manly cock, Sir!” As he felt himself approaching his release, David wondered what had gotten into his wife. They say not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but Samantha seemed more thrilled to have sex with him that night than she did during their honeymoon.

Truth be told, her role was always that of a trophy wife, a piece of arm candy he had spotted in a beauty pageant almost a decade ago, and whom he had enticed with expensive, over-the-top jewelry and vacations. They were never truly in love, but the arrangement had suited them both. Now, though, Samantha looked as if she was fucking the man of her dreams.

“Wait, I think I’m gonna…” David had no time to finish his sentence before he instead finished inside his wife. Samantha looked blissfully happy for a few seconds, before she dismounted him and skipped off to the bathroom. Is she getting ready for a second round? he asked himself, knowing it was too good to be true.

Samantha emerged from the bathroom, back in her lingerie and with a hand behind her back. David stood to take her in his arms again, but all of a sudden, she revealed her hand, brandishing the sharpest knife one could find in their kitchen’s drawers. “Samantha…” he spoke softly to her as he raised his arms in the air, knowing a ruse was up, but not what kind of ruse it was.

His wife walked closer and closer, until she held the knife less than an inch away from his throat. “Here is what’s going to happen, honey. On your office desk, I’ve left the photos of Kirkland’s five, as well as my own. You are going downstairs right now and printing these ports for all six of us.”

David was covered in cold sweat. “S-So this is what you were waiting for? You’ll betray me for a random man who has all the strength of a toothpick? A man who looks like he has his own bitch, no less.”

“I’m the one who’s holding the knife, so I’m making the calls in this house for one fucking time,” she said as she traced over his arteries with the edge of the knife. “So do as I say.”

He knew he had no choice but to play her game, if he wished to survive. It would be a defeat, but not a catastrophic one. With a heavy heart, Davenport walked down the stairs, always a quick stab away from his wife, and took to painstakingly printing all six ports.

My confidence reaching new heights, I had to pick up my slaves spread across LA for their tasks a second time. This time around, it was a simpler matter: four out of five were gathered in Oversight’s facilities for training, and they came out unable to stop chatting about how much fun they’d had. The last was still holed up in her Santa Ana house, not even blinking lest her soon-to-be ex-husband try something. As I pulled over, I could see Samantha on their front porch, holding the folder of freshly-printed ports in one hand, and threatening Davenport with the other. I had no desire to meet with him face-to-face again, so Samantha’s orders were to slowly back into my jeep while pointing her knife at him. With her inside, we were off to leave Los Angeles once and for all, with our own private jet no less.

The hour was almost 3 AM as I was cruising down the Santa Ana Freeway, Julia and Monica enjoying a makeout contest for my pleasure in the front seat and the rest of my slaves sitting in the back. It had only taken two days, give or take, for me to make peace with the natural tendency to brainwash every beauty I saw standing in my way. Really, it was the only logical outcome of wielding hypnotic powers, and I was eagerly waiting for the moment I could cross the border and enjoy the servitude and pleasure of my five slaves. The only thing separating me from that future was a relaxing flight and… a roadblock?

It wasn’t hard to spot the barriers and the distinctive lights of the police cars from a mile away, thanks to the sparse road this late in the night. I practiced my driving skills as I brought the car to an abrupt halt, maneuvering back and forth to start driving in the ‘wrong’ direction. As I did, however, more blue-and-red lights came into view, and the sound of blaring sirens became ever more pervasive. Trapped in the freeway, there was only one move left for me to make, and it was to drive off the freeway and straight into the greenery to my left. The incline was too steep, however, even for a jeep like mine. Soon, the wheels were stuck in the dirt, and I pounced on the steering wheel hoping it would somehow fix things, all while my slaves remained oblivious.

“Samantha, hide our ports!” I shouted to the back, hoping my slaves could at least avoid arrest and still leave the US. She obeyed, stuffing them inside her lace bra which provided plenty of real estate.

Officers started approaching me from every direction, their guns pointed straight at my face. Then, every door in the jeep started opening, with police officers pointing around with their pistols as they made sure I hadn’t booby-trapped my own car. As if I would do that. Not even the second-long delay Julia and Monica gave me, as the officers looked at their makeout contest in confusion, was enough for me to hatch an escape plan.

The arrest wasn’t fancy, and no officer listed off my rights. I was handcuffed, gagged, and had a bag placed over my head. I liked to always aim for the best-case scenario, but in this moment, it was exceedingly hard to find what that could be.