The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Fatima was, of course, terrified. Her clandestine meeting with two close friends in the Underground had been, she thought, well out of sight of the government internal security apparatus. However, despite all cautionary measures—phones wrapped in foil, surveillance detection diversions on the route there, and choosing a basement room to make eavesdropping very difficult—ther had only been fifteen minutes of discussion before an unwelcome knock on the door.

Fatima, the smallest of the three, managed to get into a vent and escape out from the rear of the building, but she was unable to dodge the security guarding the perimeter. A Taser dart had brought her abruptly down onto the grass, allowing the police woman holding it to walk over in a leisurely fashion to where Fatima lay twitching, then poke her a couple of times with her stun baton, apparently just for fun.

Fatima had been cuffed, gagged, bundled into the back of a van with her two friends, and efficiently blindfolded. They had bounced along poorly maintained roads for half an hour, listening to each other’s muffled whimpers. At one point a sharp, ammoniac smell came through; someone cursed, and there was a dull ‘thump’ followed by a groan. Fatima didn’t know which of her friends was the victim, but for now she was just concentrating on herself. It was selfish, perhaps, but there was nothing she could do.

Fatima had been deeply focused on herself when the van stopped abruptly. She had only a moment to reorient before they were pulled out.

She could tell that they had been brought into a building, one with a hard wooden floor from the sound of their feet. After a short walk, she was pulled down two flights of stairs, one guard either side of her to stop her falling, then they stopped for a while, and there was a conversation in low tones. Fatima tried to eavesdrop, but her attention kept wandering back to focus on her situation. She had heard many stories of what happened in the basement of the Interior Security Ministry, and none of them had a happy ending. While she felt for her friends, she couldn’t help but pity herself as well.

The conversation stopped, and there was a sudden flurry of activity. Her wrists were uncuffed, which was a relief—but then, her clothes were briskly pulled off her, which was very far from reassuring. Naked, she stood shivering for a few minutes. The room she was in was warm, even the tiled floor, but that was no compensation for the fear inside her.

She hoped that she could find it within herself to be brave. Nobody else might ever know, but she would. It was the most slender of threads, but right now it was carrying her.

A pause, then the sound of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs, going away from her. She hoped that one pair of those feet belonged to the dog-faced woman who had tasered her—the further Fatima was from her, the better.

“We’re ready.”

A cheerful woman’s voice, but a very unwelcome message. Fatima felt hands, soft but firm, clasp her arms and guide her forwards.

They must have entered a new room; the temperature changed slightly, and there was a smell of antiseptic. Fatima paused, uncertain, but the hands urged her forwards.

Gentle pressure on her shoulders made her sit, feeling a paper-covered warm surface under her naked bottom. Her arms and legs were held, and she was swiveled around and pulled down onto her back. Straps started to tighten around her arms and legs, and more were placed across her body.

Well, this is it, she thought, in resignation. A plaything for the Ministry’s interrogators until they get tired of me, then a bullet in the back of the head, and a place in a burial pit.

She had the sudden, completely irrational thought that she might have left the oven on at home. Wouldn’t it be funny if her last material act on Earth was burning down her apartment block? Despite herself, she giggled behind her gag.

“Get that off her, please. And the blindfold.”

An authoritive voice, but not an unkind one. She gratefully spat out the gag as it was loosened, but kept her eyes closed even though the blindfold was lifted. She doubted that there was anything outside her eyelids that she wanted to see right now.

“You can open your eyes, darling. There’s nothing here to fear.”

The voice was warm, Fatima was feeling extremely isolated, and so some kind—any kind!—of human connection sounded very attractive. She cautiously opened her eyes.

The initial view was not reassuring. She appeared to have been secured on some kind of operating table, her arms held out to the side. Several people in medical garb were standing around her, apparently keen to apply their services—but, for some reason, they were waiting.

“Your reaction is quite normal. " Now, she could see her interlocutor. An older woman, gray in her hair, wearing eyeglasses.

Fatima rallied. “I didn’t expect the Ministry’s basement to be so... clean?”

Everyone around her exploded in laughter, and even Fatima found herself grinning—uneasily—at her own gallows humor.

“Quite so!” The woman gestured around herself. “What conclusions, then, could we draw? Perhaps, this establishment has but a ing acquaintance with the Ministry you imagine?”

She nodded at the women around her, whom Fatima now noticed—with increasing alarm—as being apparently scrubbed and prepared to conduct surgery.

“Um...” Her voice was already going squeaky, which she hated, and she tried to bring herself back down. “Could you tell me what’s going on? Please?”

“Oh, so polite! My darling, we’re going to get on famously.” The older woman stroked Fatima’s firmly-restrained arm. “Tell me... Fatima? Tell me what you understand of the interior security Ministry. I assure you, my dear, that this is not a trick question.”

At this point, Fatima took very few things at face value, but clearly some kind of answer was expected. “They... they make sure that the country is safe? They stop plots and... and things? I’m not sure about the details...” The last thing she was going to do was start to expound on their extensive and colorful record of internal oppression.

The woman chuckled. “Of course not. But, you know, once you start talking to journalists about what you are planning, even when you think you have disguised your identity, that information is unfortunately likely to leak out to other people. And, eventually, the security ministry. So, here you are.“

Fatima closed her eyes to hide her frustration. Apparently, her conversation with “Maria” two weeks ago had gone further, and leaked more information, than she had planned. She had known that “Maria” was a journalist, but had calculated that the benefit to the cause of spreading their word outweighed the risk. Apparently, she was not as good at math as she had thought.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” she said, resignedly. “Could we just get it over with? I don’t know anything really, certainly not anything worth spending valuable torturing time to obtain. Not to mention cleaning up whatever mess occurs in the process.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” said the woman, approaching the table. She examined Fatima’s left arm, swabbed an area, then took a line from an i/v stand and slid it into the vein. Fatima winced.

“I’m sorry, that probably stung: I prefer the larger cannulas, since they let us deliver the medicines more quickly. That was the worst part, I assure you.” She taped the line in place. “Let’s get her prepared please, ladies.”

The other women approached, and Fatima watched with alarm as they started to place electrodes across her body, a pressure cuff on her arm, and drapes across her arms and legs.

“What are you doing? Whatever it is, you don’t have to do this. I’ll say anything you want!”

“You would do, no doubt,” agreed the woman, now fastening a surgical mask across her own face. “Fear is a remarkably powerful motivator. Pain is, too, of course. But both are... imprecise.”

She sat down on a chair next to the table, apparently oblivious to the other womens’ preparations. “The Ministry asked for my help a while ago. I attended several of their interrogations in the basement of the Ministry building. As you observed, dear Fatima,” she smiled behind the mask, the corners of her eyes crinkling, “hardly a hygienic place! Their interrogators were effective, certainly, but their methods were unbearably crude. I was sure that I could do much better. And so,” she gestured around them, “here we are, in my Institute—the Rozhan Institute. I imagine you have heard of it?”

Fatima had, indeed heard of it. As with the Ministry, dark rumors surrounded it. She had not been aware of the connection between the two, but she had known one or two people who went into the Institute and were never seen to emerge. It did not take a great exercise of intellect to infer her prospects.

“Head up, please, Fatima.” She reflexively obeyed, and one of the attendants looped some tubing under her neck, placing a connector under her nose before taping it in place. “Just supplemental oxygen. You can breathe normally.”

Fatima had an overwhelming urge to pee in fear, but was—ironically—afraid to do so. “I’m scared,” she squeaked. “Please, whatever this is, don’t do it.”

“The unknown,” the woman agreed, “is perhaps the most frightening of all. That was one of the principles on which I founded this method of interrogation. Another was the importance of managing the biochemical reaction of the body—this is why we ister supplemental oxygen, to it, and fit you with all these sensors, to calibrate our treatment.”

“Seventy five, ninety nine percent, nineteen,” reported one of the masked women, consulting a monitor.

“Thank you, Nina.” The older woman tapped a setting into the electronic control of the i/v. “So, Fatima, with a combination of psychiatric and physical medicine, we open a gateway into our subject’s—I’m sorry, our patient’s—mind. And, with our understanding of the role of sexual stimulation in the nervous system and unconscious mind, we can direct it where we will.“

Despite the firmly applied restraints, and the warmth of the room, Fatima’s whole body was starting to shake—even her teeth were chattering. This, apparently, had been expected. One of the attending women took hold of Fatima’s hand and stroked it, murmuring reassuring words.

The older woman’s tone softened. “You’re on a roller-coaster of emotion, Fatima. You just need someone to take care of you. We can take very good care of you.“

Two masked women stood either side of Fatima, examining the gap in the drapes that had left access to Fatima’s sex wide open. One took a long, slender instrument and carefully slid it into Fatima’s slit.

“At some level, my dear, I think you’re rather going to enjoy this,” said the older woman, archly. “Though about now, I think the amytal drip will have successfully removed your higher brain functions. You’ll be my little kitten.”

Although Fatima could still hear the words clearly, they were starting to lose their meaning. She was becoming irrationally fascinated with the bright white-blue lights above the table shining down on her.

“Sixty three, ninety nine percent, fifteen,” came a voice.

“Very good, she is slowing down. Perfectly on time. Where are you, Fatima?”

“Fatima?” That was her name. Wasn’t it? “Bright lights...”

“Aren’t they pretty?” A masked face above her, sharp eyes framed by glasses. “You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you, Fatima? Pretty girls should have presents...”

There was a hum, and Fatima gasped as a thrilling pulse of pleasure shot through her.

“Say ‘thank you’, Fatima,” the voice purred.

“Thhhhhank you....” The pulse came again, and Fatima moaned with pleasure.

“You can tell me anything, can’t you, Fatima?” The face came closer, and the voice lowered. “Tell me about your friends, Fatima...”

“My friends...”

The Director quietly left her seat, making room for her nurse to take over the drip controller. Over the past two hours, Fatima had blissfully given up every single fact, memory, supposition and speculation in her mind, as the drugs and preparatory conditioning had worked their magic on her, and the nurses had applied their techniques and tools on her erogenous zones. The Ministry had given the Director a substantial list of questions, and she had successfully acquired answers to all of them—and more!

She beckoned Darsi over, and they huddled together in the corner of the room.

“Do you have everything, Director? Shall we wrap it up, now?”

“I do, but...” The Director looked over to the glazed-eyed girl, mumbling words to herself in between moans of happiness as her sex was gently played with. “I do so hate to cut things short. She is having such a lovely time, dear girl. It would be churlish to take her away too soon. Given her another half an hour of treatment, tapering off the hypnotic, then let her rest.”

“Very good, Director.” Darsi returned to the table and adjusted the drip control.

The Director sighed, removed her mask, and eased herself through the operating room door without making a sound. Once more, she thought, my approach has been fully vindicated. And, how humane!

Further down the corridor, she paused outside a door marked simply “WIPE”.

“My dear Fatima,” she murmured. “I do so hope you choose well.“

She had floated in a dreamy state for a while, enjoying the blissful pulses of pleasure that flowed through her body. She was vaguely aware of a conversation going on near her—one participant sounded rather like her, but she couldn’t sustain any interest in what was being said, and just let the words drift past her as she ired the lights above.

Slowly, she became aware that the conversation had changed, and now different people were talking. Were they talking to her? She blinked, feeling the fog in her mind start to lift.

A new face above her, a pretty woman in her thirties, surgical mask pulled down under her chin.

“Fatima? I’m Nina. How are you, darling? The Director said that you did very well.”

“Huh?” Fatima stared up at the woman. “Where am I?”

“We’ve been taking good care of you,” explained Nina blandly. “You should be feeling more like yourself, now.”

“Seventy, ninety eight, sixteen,” somebody else said. That sounded familiar.

Fatima tried to sit up, but she was still held firmly in place. Nina noticed the attempt, and placed her hand on Fatima’s chest.

“Don’t try to get up yet. You’ll be all dizzy.” She started to loosen the electrodes attached to Fatima. “We’re leaving the i/v in to give you some more fluids—the drugs can give you a real dry mouth.”

“Okay...” With nothing else to do, Fatima relaxed, and tried to what had happened.

“It was warm,” she mumbled. “I was dreaming...”

Nina smiled as she delicately prised the electrodes off Fatima. “Did you have nice dreams?”

“Very nice,” Fatima confirmed. “Very, very, very nice...” She drifted away for a few moments as she ed, and a smile crept onto her face.

“Did they feel like this?” Nina daubed some lubricant on her fingers, and curled them around Fatima’s sex, making the girl squeak.

“Ummm... Ohhh.... yes?” She started to pant, as Nina’s fingers started to play with her.

“I told you we’d been taking good care of you,” Nina said with a small smirk. “There’s no rush to get up, my dear. Just lie back and enjoy, but tell me if it gets too much...”

All Fatima could think about was what those fingers were doing to her. The vague memories of her arrest and journey were temporarily banished as her sexual desires took front seat...

“Director Ospanova! How nice to see you in person. Do come in.”

“Thank you, Medina.” The Director guided the hooded woman accompanying her through the apartment door. “Where shall we go?”

“Come into the parlour.” Medina led the way. The Director noted that she was in a silk house coat, but her hair and makeup were already on.

“Do take a seat.” Medina indicated the sofa, taking her own position in an armchair. Her eyes were locked on the hooded woman.

“Of course, you know Irina.” The Director slipped off the hood, revealing Irina’s close-cropped hair, and eyes that were fixed on Medina.

“I do indeed,” Medina purred. She rose from her seat and approached the frozen Irina like a cat in front of a mouse, watching Irina’s eyes follow her. She reached out with a finger and gently raised the girl’s chin. “Do you know me, Irina.”

“Mmmm... Mmmm... Mmmedina,” stammered Irina, her body shaking.

Medina turned to the Director. “I must congratulate you. I would be the first to it, I thought your claims about your treatment were optimistic. I never would have believed that this wild young mare could be so quickly and thoroughly gentled.”

“Thank you,” the Director smiled. She produced a padded envelope from her purse. “Here are the videos you asked for. I do hope you will enjoy them. There is also a copy of Irina’s signed ission statement, for your files.”

“And what do I owe you for this?” Medina asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Your company has already paid our fees, and indeed I must it to rather enjoying having Irina under my close, personal care.” The Director shrugged. “Maybe, from time to time, if my Institute comes up in a prospective story, I would appreciate a heads-up. But of course, if you have any further need of my Institute’s services, you have only to ask.”

“How wonderful!” Medina turned back to Irina. “Take your coat and shoes off, my dear, and give them back to the Director.”

“Yes, Medina.” Irina started to remove her flats, hands shaking.

“I felt it best not to attract attention from anyone who might recognize her face or clothes,” the Director explained, rising from her seat. “I left her original possessions in a parcel in the hall. The other items you need are in the envelope.”

“Very thoughtful.” Medina shook the Director’s hand. “Thank you—for everything. I hope to do business with you again!”

“And I with you.” The Director made her exit.

“Stand up, Irina.” Medina stood in front of her subject as Irina wobbled to her feet.

“Remove your dress.” Irina was wearing a djellaba-like garment, which she awkwardly wiggled out of, and let fall the carpet.

Medina was going to chastise her for the untidiness, but her attention was arrested by the chunky collar, breast covers, and chastity belt arrangement that had been hidden underneath. After the initial surprise, she started to ire the rigorous design of the items, which clearly kept Irina—or anybody else—from touching her major erogenous zones.

“Turn around, Irina...” The trembling girl obeyed instantly, showing that the breast covers and chastity belt linked to at a single point, secured by a small but chunky padlock. A similar lock fastened the collar.

Medina frowned in thought. " ‘The other items you will need’... " She opened the envelope, and fished around inside. First out was a small key ring, with two keys and an elaborate letter ‘I’ marked on its tab. Second out...

“Well, I think I know where this goes,” she said, amused. “Turn around again, Irina.” As the girl obeyed, she fastened a clip onto the front of the girl’s collar, and let a thin but strong chain run through her hand until she reached the leash handle.

“How thoughtful! You must remind me to write a lovely ‘thank you’ note for the Director. In fact,” she corrected herself, “you should write it for me.”

“Yes, Medina,” mumbled Irina, looking down her leash at Medina’s hand.

“Come!” Medina gave a gentle tug, and Irina followed her awkwardly through a ageway to a pair of double doors.

“For a long time, I never thought I’d be bringing you here,” Medina remarked, pausing at the doors. “Now, of course, I can hardly wait ...”

Medina’s bedroom was surprisingly tidy, her queen sized bed made and laid out as if she were showing her home.

“Kneel,” she commanded, and Irina sank to her knees.

“I don’t know how much you of your training,” she said, untying her robe, “but I know what was involved.” The robe fell to the floor, revealing Medina’s tanned body, in surprisingly good condition for her age. However, Irina’s attention was fixed on the harness around her middle, from which hung...

“Open wide for me, Irina.” Medina positioned herself in front of the kneeling girl, whose mouth deferentially opened.

“Take this for me.” She slowly eased the rubber phallus into Irina’s mouth, watching carefully. As the girl gagged, she withdrew a little and waited.”

“Suck on this , Irina. I know you know how to suck,” she said, a sly grin on her face.

Irina obeyed, a puppet for her mistress. Medina let her continue for a minute, then eased herself out.

“Normally I’d want to ride your little pussy with this,” she said, squeezing Irina’s cheek as the girl panted. “But your belt stops me. How sad!” She shed a theatrical tear. “Is there anywhere else I could put this, Irina?”

The girl’s body was shaking as Medina’s voice triggered memories and feelings inside her. She gasped something, a word...

“What was that, Irina?” Medina leaned closer, pinning the hypnotized girl with her stare.”

“Inside! My... bottom...” Irina squeaked.

“Well, if you insist...” Medina slapped the girl’s rear cheek.

“Lean on the bed, bottom in the air.”

“Yyyyes ..” Irina shuffled to the bed to obey.

There was a pause and crinkling as Medina prepared her artificial member. “I’m going to want a description of how this felt for you, Irina. Three to four hundred words. Write it like the desperate, horny slut you are.”

“Yes Medina...” Irina felt the tip of the dildo spread her cheeks, and shook harder.

“The things you will do for a story!” Medina pushed hard into her subordinate, hearing Irina cry out from beneath her...