The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Your identification, please.”

The bored-looking woman behind the desk held out her hand to Irina, who imagined she could hear the woman’s foot tapping impatiently. She had her journalist credentials handy in the side pocket of her purse, and handed them over along with her state ID.

“I have a ten a.m. appointment with Professor Director Ospanova,” she reminded the clerk, who looked as if she could not possibly have cared less, but nevertheless picked up a phone and started a quiet conversation.

Irina took in the layout of the building foyer. The decor was quite elegant, though an old style, but it was clear to a trained eye where extra building work had been done to reinforce doors and windows. The two men in drab suits who had courteously opened the door for her on arrival obviously had awareness and poise a level above the regular rent-a-thug security.

The clerk replaced the phone. “Sit down,” she said flatly. “The Director will be along later.”

“Thank you so much.” Irina retrieved her documents with a smile that was conspicuously not returned, and found a seat on a hard wooden bench. An idle er-by might have assumed she was looking around at nothing in particular, but someone better-trained would have realized that was the impression she fully intended to give.

“Miss Rakushova?” A door had opened silently, and a tall woman with steel-gray hair in a bun stood beside Irina. “I am the Director.”

Irina rose, gracefully taking the offered hand. “Professor Director Ospanova. I’m so grateful for your time!”

“Your editor was very persuasive,” the Director said, shaking hands. Her grip was firm, but Irina felt skin that was surprisingly soft. “She spoke very highly of you.”

Irina just about managed to conceal her surprise. “Well, I’m sure she flatters me, but it’s kind of you to say that.” It was no secret among the older staff in the news room that Medina cordially disliked Irina personally, and it was only Irina’s instinct for a story and impressive web of connections that kept her employed.

“Shall we go to my office?” Without waiting for a reply, the Director turned and headed back through the door that another security person—this one a woman, but similarly serious and scrutinous—was holding open.

Irina followed the Director down a long parquet-floored corridor, painted the standard institutional gray, but with some surprisingly contemporary art prints hung at intervals.

“I’ve read some of your work, Miss Rakushova,” the Director remarked. “I very much enjoyed your exposé on agricultural fraud. I thought that it displayed considerable courage to investigate criminal behavior such as that.”

“You’re very kind,” Irina said, her shorter legs hurrying to keep pace with the Director. “And please, feel free to call me Irina, if you would like.”

“Very well, Irina. Is that what you are looking to write now, an exposé—about my Institute?” The Director turned to face Irina, her eyebrow raised.

Irina had been ambushed a number of times in her professional career, and while this one had been well-delivered, she didn’t allow herself to be rattled. “I believe it would be valuable for the public to hear your voice, Director. The Rozhan Psychiatric Institute has an excellent reputation, but psychiatry itself has a very mixed reputation among the public—no doubt, aggravated by popular movies! If I could assist you to explain how you help people, and puncture common myths in the process, I would consider the time well spent.”

The Director studied Irina for a few moments, then a smile touched her face. “Well said, Miss Rakushova—Irina.” She resumed her walk, with Irina quickly catching up. “I would appreciate the opportunity to review your piece before you publish, if only to help identify any inaccuracies. Your editor assured me that this would not be a problem.“

I bet she did, Irina thought, but kept a neutral expression. “Of course, we would welcome any contributions or clarifying questions to improve accuracy of the piece.“

“Indeed.” The Director produced a key from her coat pocket, and unlocked a door with a metal plate declaring ‘директор’. “Do come in, Irina.”

The Director’s office was surprisingly large, though without windows. Irina was ushered to a relatively comfortable chair in front of the antique desk, and the Director took her seat behind it.

“I am all yours, Irina.” She pulled off her glasses, and started to clean them. “Ask whatever you would like.”

“May I record our conversation?” Irina produced a small digital recorder from her purse. “Especially for technical subjects, I find it works better than shorthand.”

“Of course.” The Director indicated a free spot on the desk between them. Irina tuned the gain, and placed the recorder accordingly before delicately thumbing the switch. A green LED lit up.

“Director, the Rozhan Psychiatric Institute is reported to be one of the premier such establishments in the country. What would you say are contributing factors to your success—in a notably difficult business climate?”

“An interesting question, Irina.” The Director leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “If I were to pick one aspect of our treatments, the one closest to defining our approach, I would say ‘Direction’. It is easy, at some level, for a client to come to us and say, ‘I am broken; please fix me.’ Ah, but what is the ‘fix’?”

“Consider a pattern of betrayal.” The Director rose from her chair and started to pace back and forward. “Friends, loved ones, even pets—cast aside for maybe a moment of self-indulgence. This may manifest as a relatively insignificant behavior—being consistently late to pick up someone or something, implicitly declaring your time more important than theirs—or it could be something much more serious, such as repeatedly taking credit for something that they deserved.”

Irina nodded, following the Director’s narrative, but was unsure where she was going with this. When she finally started to compose her piece, she was going to have to do a lot of editing.

“It is no good to take someone and, metaphorically, ‘spin them around’—face them in the direction you want them to go. Even if they start off in that direction, the forces that existed before will, inevitably, pull them back to the original track.”

“I see what you mean,” Irina agreed. “It is hard to fight against someone’s nature—by the very definition of ‘nature’!” This was shaping up better than she had initially thought

“Quite so!” the Director smiled. “And so, for a behavioral change that will actually endure, our challenge is to change that intrinsic nature of the person.“

“I can’t imagine that’s an easy thing to do.” Irina noticed that the Director was looking at her closely, and shifted in her chair, somewhat uncomfortable being held in her gaze.

“I had a very instructive conversation with your editor,” the Director remarked, apparently out of nowhere. “A very intelligent woman. You may not realize it, but she thinks very highly of you, and thinks that you have some very real opportunities to take, and to use as a basis for growth.”

“That’s very generous of her,” mumbled Irina, trying to square this information with the image of the glaring, jealous harpy for whom she toiled.

There was a knock at the door behind Irina.

“Would you be so good...?” the Director asked, gesturing.

Irina obligingly rose from her seat, and turned to inspect the door. She figured out the double-catch system, and eased the heavy door open inwards.

The two women waiting outside were in dark scrubs, and both were quite heavy-set. They had brought a trolley with them, but it was currently empty.

Irina was about to turn back to the Director when she felt something push into her right buttock, stinging slightly. She winced.

“Director?” She turned to face the older woman, now directly behind her, with a smile on her face. “What is this?”

“They will take you for ission,” the Director explained, cheerfully. “I’ll come to see you when you are prepared.“

“‘ission’? ‘Prepared’? Director, I’m a journalist, not a patient! Hey...” Irina tried to steady herself on the wall, as her legs seemed to turn to rubber. “What’s... what’s happening?”

The two women came either side of Irina and, as the girl’s legs folded under her, guided her onto the trolley. They pulled a few straps over her to hold her in place, but with all her muscles turning into wet spaghetti, the girl had no ability to resist.

“Don’t... got to go back...” Irina mumbled, her mouth slipping out of her control.

“Ssshhh. Just go with them,” the Director soothed her, patting Irina’s hand. “I’ll see you soon.”

Stripped naked, Irina lolled in a skeletal chair in an industrial-looking bathroom. The chair had fasteners for arms and legs, but they were more useful for than restraint in Irina’s current state.

One of the women took a pair of clippers, powered them up, and started to run them through Irina’s hair.

“Hey,” Irina mumbled, “no...” She saw her copper bob start to fall to the floor in clumps.

The second woman picked up a smaller pair, and started to work over Irina’s bush.

It’s like being in prison, Irina thought. A tear leaked out of her eye. Despite her body being completely out of her control, she was still fully conscious, and indeed thinking furiously. What had her editor said to the Director? The editor was the only one who knew where Irina had gone. If she was indeed in on this, what were her intentions?

Irina’s hair now essentially gone, the two women took a hand-held blower, and blew the debris nto a corner where a vent sucked it away. The larger of the two then took a hose with a shower attachment, and started to play it over Irina. The water wasn’t cold, but if did have an unpleasant smell of disinfectant, and that aggravated the prison atmosphere that Irina was feeling.

Once she had been thoroughly washed, the women used a vent to blow hot air over Irina and quickly dry off her and the chair, before releasing her and carrying her back to a second trolley. Now, they slipped an adult diaper over her, and a short gown over her arms, before starting to fasten her into a comprehensive set of medical restraints attached to the trolley.

I’m not getting out of this in a hurry, am I? Irina reflected, as the women worked silently but efficiently. They seemed disinterested in Irina as a person, just as a task to be completed.

Finally satisfied with their work, they secured thin but tough plastic bracelets to Irina’s left wrist and right ankle, each bearing a barcode. They pushed the trolley out of the bathroom and into a freight elevator. They waited patiently as it crawled its way up, making alarming creaks, until the doors re-opened. Their destination was a room just around the corner from the elevator.

The Director was already there, beaming with happiness and anticipation as the trolley was wheeled into place in the sparsely equipped room and secured in place.

“I’ve been so looking forward to this, Irina,” she gushed. “Ever since your editor called, and it was clear what an opportunity was being presented. Such an interesting person and mind to analyze!”

The powerful muscle relaxant was starting to wear off, and Irina finally had sufficient control of her mouth.

“You’ve got to let me go!” she demanded. “You can’t just... kidnap me like this! I have rights! I’m not crazy, unlike the rest of your patients here. You know that!”

“Crazy?” mused the Director. “Surprisingly few of my patients are what you would call ‘crazy’. Misdirected, yes—that, after all is why they are here—but most are as rational as you or I.”

She inspected Irina’s fully immobilized left arm, and dabbed some antiseptic on it before putting a needle into place in the vein, connecting it to an i/v stand.

“No, Irina, your treatment plan has been agreed with your editor. We had a long discussion, and she was quite surprised—but, I would say, pleasantly so—about the range and reach of treatments that are possible here. She has ensured that your employer will cover the full cost of your stay, and you won’t have to pay a penny. So good of her, don’t you think?”

“What ‘treatment plan’?... ugh!” Irina had been trying to squirm out of the restraints, but they had been fastened by someone who knew exactly how they were supposed to work. “Get me out of this!”

“Be careful,” the Director warned her. “You might strain your muscles doing that.” She smiled. “You know, I can’t wait to read your article about your stay here. It’s always so interesting to see another’s perspective on one’s work, don’t you think?”

“If you want my perspective, just wait for my legal case against you for assault and false imprisonment!” Irina glared at her tormentor. “Ten years in jail should wipe that smile off your face.”

The Director appeared puzzled. “Really? With a signed and dated treatment consent form from you, co-signed by your editor?”

“I haven’t signed anything. And I sure as hell am not going to now! Forge what you want, I’ll be able to show it’s not me.”

“While I it that we might be post-dating it a little, it will be your genuine signature, written with your full and free consent. You don’t think that we would take such a legal risk, surely?”

The Director’s tone turned didactic. “In your studies, Irina, did you ever consider the distinction between psychiatry and psychology?”

Irina stared at her for a moment. “Someone told me once that psychiatrists make you feel bad but get you better, but psychologists are the opposite.”

The Director laughed. “Very good! An old one, but the old ones are often the best, aren’t they? Yes, lacking adequate tools for change, psychologists tend to try to make you happy with how you are. We psychiatrists have a much better idea of where to take you for happiness.“

She pressed her fingers to Irina’s wrist for a moment. “You feel quite happy now, don’t you?”

“Happy? I don’t know, everything’s fuzzy...” Irina shook her head. “Why am I here? This doesn’t make any sense. Why did Medina tell you—what did she tell you?“

“Ah, we’re becoming a little more garrulous,” the Director said approvingly. “Very good. It’s so nice to relax and talk, isn’t it? Nothing matters for now, we can have a friendly talk, and find out about each other. There’s so much I still don’t know about you!”

“There’s not much to know. I’m an open book!” Irina tried to throw her hands in the air to emphasize the point but didn’t get very far.

“And a fascinating book, I am sure. You know Irina, one of my more... colorful colleagues once noted that psychiatric treatment was like a sewer; what you get out of it depends on what you put into it. Indeed!” she nodded, noting Irina’s expression of disgust.

“Your editor was so helpful in sending material about you—she has taken quite the interest in your psychiatric welfare, you know!—but there is still much I would love to discover about you to maximize the effect of your treatment. Wouldn’t it be so lovely if you were to help me out?“

“Sure, why not, not like I’ve got anything else...” Irina was feeling very light headed. She barely reacted when the Director bent down to shine a pen light in her eyes.

“It does seem that the sodium amytal agrees with you. It’s nice to let yourself go and just talk, isn’t it? Are you feeling comfortable?”

“Very,” Irina confirmed drunkenly. There was a warm glow filling her now.

“It’s so interesting to see what makes my patients ‘tick’.” The Director adjusted the i/v to run faster. “And I think that now you’re quite ready to tell me.“

The LED on the side of the video camera pointed at Irina glowed green as the Director pressed RECORD.

Peeled open, layer by layer, the psychiatrically flayed Irina stared at the room’s unevenly-painted ceiling. She had been patiently led through the maze of her feelings and memories by the Director, but eventually the effects of the drug took her too deep within herself to respond any more. The i/v bag was nearly drained, and the Director looked carefully through the inventory in the room’s fridge before selecting a replacement.

“I imagine you didn’t anticipate your day turning out like this,” she murmured, changing the lines on Irina’s arm port before gently kissing the girl’s exposed forehead. “A shame about your lovely hair, but the institution has rules...”

One of the earlier attendants was standing in the corner of the room, patiently waiting. The Director briefly wondered how long she would wait if given no instructions, but realized that was the sulfurous imp within her speaking, and silently scolded it.

“There are some things,” she murmured close to Irina’s ear, “that breach all previous societal conditioning...”

She nodded at the attendant, who pulled on a pair of gloves and approached.

“Darsi here will show you what I mean.”

Darsi slid Irina’s diaper down, squeezed some lube onto her fingers and, without ceremony, slipped them into Irina’s slit. The girl gasped, the sudden sensation pulling her some way back from the depths of her consciousness.

“Our primitive senses are remarkably effective at overriding our thoughts, hmm?” The Director made a twirling gesture with her figure, which Darsi promptly emulated around Irina’s nub. This actually provoked a squeal, and the drugged girl tried to focus on Darsi’s imive face.

“You have to accept being led by your body—by your soul.” Darsi provoked Irina’s nub with a rapid back-and-forward movement that made the girl pull hard against her restraints, grinding her teeth.

“What’s... happening?” she gasped. Whatever was in the new i/v was reacting with the drug already in her system, and her vision was being swamped with swirling colors that she knew couldn’t be real, though the growing fire in her sex could not be anything else.

“Why, I’m teaching you,” the Director smiled, leaning over her. “Teaching you that I control everything that enters your body—and your mind. You are a pretty little vessel for me to fill. And, speaking of ‘fill’...”

The fingers withdrew from Irina’s sex, and she groaned with relief—a groan that turned into a squeal as they unceremoniously pushed into her starfish.

“A most unusual sensation, mmmh?” Strange feelings started to come from deep inside Irina as the fingers explored and stretched her in ways she had never experienced. “The anal massage can be very relaxing for an experienced patient, but it does require some adjustment of body and mind to get the greatest benefit.”

Irina’s ears were starting to ring, and it felt like the room was spinning.

“The psychedelics should be in effect now.” The Director said something to Darsi, who eased her fingers out of Irina but then immediately pushed something bulbous and rubbery deep inside Irina, making the girl squeak in discomfort again.

“Now you have some new experiences to reflect on, we’ll leave you alone with your dreams.” A heavy cover over Irina’s eyes blotted out all light, and headphones brought a thick curtain of silence around her.

Immobile, and with the psychedelic drugs starting to take hold, Irina felt herself on a roller coaster plunging into a swirling sea of dreams and colors...