The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The car coughed to a stop just before the border. The driver climbed out, stretching to relieve the cramps in her arms and legs, then opened up the rear door.

“Border.”

The three women in the back scrambled out, blinking in the weak sunshine. One of them opened the front enger door and nudged awake the seat occupant.

“Francine, we’re here.”

“Your bags.” The driver pulled two medium-sized bags from the trunk and dumped them onto the cracked concrete sidewalk. “Papers.” A plastic wallet with the girls’ ports, money, and other IDs.

“Thank you so much!” Hanna gushed, but the driver just grunted, and got back into the car.

Sabine, bag and wallet in hand, shepherded the bewildered Judy towards the border.

“Come on, girls. Freedom awaits.”

The border guard, already six hours into his shift, was almost grateful for something unusual to happen. Four girls in their twenties, Western by their dress, but all with close-cropped hair. They walked up to his booth next to the border gate.

“We are academics from several European universities,” one of them explained, slowly but clearly, in his language. “We were visiting this country on academic visas, but now need to leave.”

The guard took the four ports and verified the visa stamps and photos. He was puzzled by the short hair, but their facial features matched. With a grunt, he over- stamped the visas to mark their exit, and handed back the ports.

“Armenia border check there.” He pointed at the other side of the gate. “Go.”

The four girls took their belongings and walked the thirty yards to the next booth, where a slightly better dressed border guard with different national insignia was patiently waiting.

“Shaven heads?”

“Not just their heads but, believe me, Alexis, that’s still far from the weirdest thing about all this.“

Once through immigration, Sabine had found a pay phone, and called a number that was highlighted in Judy’s diary as her local . It had turned out to be a liaison officer at her country’s embassy in Yerevan. After a very confused discussion, when the officer had insisted on speaking to Judy—only to discovery that Judy had no idea who they were—they had agreed to get someone over to the border and pick up the girls.

The embassy maintained a secure two bedroom apartment in the city, and placed the four girls there along with a security officer. In the meantime, the liaison officer Goshia was talking with her boss—the embassy’s undercover chief of foreign intelligence.

“Judy didn’t recognize your voice?”

“Not just that, Alexis. Even when we meet, she showed almost no recognition of me. We spent two full days together before she went, briefing her on the underground movement, but now it’s like she only ed me in the street, once or twice. And she has no idea of any kind about her mission.“

“What do you think?” Alexis kept her tone neutral, but Goshia heard the suspicion and frustration behind it.

“They all tell the same story—well, apart from Judy—and it does make some sense. They decided to leave early because of the local underground troubles—I had a signal from Judy confirming that plan—but then they had their van stolen with their phones and laptops, so couldn’t anyone. Some local health institution—they were vague about this—took them in and pretended they were patients until the local troubles died down, then sent them on their way.”

“We picked up this from one of their national newspapers today,” Alexis said, ing a printed article over the desk. “Does that look like them?”

The photo accompanying the article was a little grainy, but the four girls’ facts were clear enough. Goshia skimmed the article.

“I see they don’t name the institution, for some reason... but the story fits what the girls told us, nearly exactly.”

“Suspiciously exactly. And we still don’t know what the Hell happened to Judy’s memory.” Alexis smacked her hand on the table in frustration.

“The only thing the girls said about that was that she might have hit her head, but nobody saw it.”

“I’d like to grill those pups to within an inch of their lives, but that would attract more attention than I want this to get.” Alexis tapped her foot. “What the heck. Send the three of them on their way, while we figure out what to do with Forgetful Judy.”

“There’s something else...” Goshia said hesitantly.

Alexis groaned. “Go on.”

“We have cameras in the apartment, with night vision, and the rooms are wired for sound. It sometimes comes in useful when we’re securing assets there.”

“They’ve been talking? What did they say?” Alexis leaned forward.

“It’s not so much what they said...” Goshia opened an app on her phone and pushed it over to her boss.

Alexis’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my.” She checked the second clip. ”Both pairs? I was fairly sure that Judy didn’t swing that way.“

“She didn’t. Neither did at least two of the others. But, ummm, apparently she does now. In hindsight, Hanna was particularly insistent that she be the one to ‘look after’ Judy.“

“And how. That’s not just experimentation—they’re clearly experienced at it. Well, that’s all we need.” Alexis closed her eyes briefly. “I’m getting a headache. We’ll talk again in the morning, once I’ve figured out what the Hell is going on.”

“May I borrow your newspaper?”

“Hmm?” Usha turned to see a solid-looking woman, dressed dowdily, standing beside her café table.

“I am interested in that article.” The woman indicated the picture of the four foreign girls on the back page.

“Oh, certainly.” Usha ed the paper over, briefly hiding her table from her view, and allowing the other woman to drop two fast-dissolving tablets into her drink.

“Thank you. I will return it shortly.” The woman walked back to her own table.

Usha had read the article, and internally had a lot of questions about it. As the regional head of the resistance, she had met clandestinely with Judy shortly after the girl arrived, discussing practical ways that Judy’s organization could the rebellion. When Judy’s group had gone missing, Usha had feared the worst—but, apparently they had been hidden, and then ed in their departure.

Usha didn’t believe in good fortune, and was already worried about a couple of her cells having been busted by the security ministry, but currently there didn’t seem to be anything for her to do about it. She took a long drink of her lemonade, making a face at its cool tartness. Maybe it was time to hand over the reins...

Her head was aching. She opened her eyes and saw painfully bright lights, so quickly shut them again. Was she hung over?

“She’s awake. Usha, can you hear me?”

“Hmm?” She squinted, barely letting any of the uncomfortable light into her eyes. The vague impression of a face hidden behind glasses and a surgical mask.

“You were in an accident,” the face explained. “What do you ?”

“Café?” That much, she ed.

“You’re in hospital. Try not to move.” Now she could feel something under her nose, and things stuck to her chest. She squinted to the side and saw her arm with an i/v in it, secured to a padded rest.

Despite the headache, little alarm bells were going off. Apart from her head, she didn’t feel injured.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked. She tried moving her arms and legs, but although she could feel them fine, something was holding them in place. “What accident?“

“Don’t stress yourself,” the woman urged her. Now Usha could make out more of her features despite the surgical mask—an older face, and the way she talked wasn’t as abrupt as most doctors of Usha’s acquaintance.

“I don’t believe you. I don’t an accident.” Usha tried to look around, but all she could see was the operating table and monitors she was secured to, and several other masked women in scrubs busy all around her. “What is this?”

The older woman paused, then pulled down her mask and smiled at Usha. Somehow, this was more intimidating than before.

“You’re a smart lady, Usha. Unfortunately, not smart enough to notice Darsi dropping roofies in your lemonade. You were very cooperative after that, allowing her to drive you here. We had to wait for the effects to wear off before we could begin—we don’t want to mix medicines unnecessarily.”

“This isn’t the Ministry, is it?” Usha knew quite a lot about what went on in the basement of the Ministry, though had no desire to update her knowledge.

“Quite correct. This is my psychiatric Institute; you may call me Director. And, although I do do some work for the Ministry—which is how I discovered you, my dear Usha—this is very much on my own time and interests. The Ministry has no idea who you are, or that you are with me.”

Usha paused, trying to make sense of the situation. She couldn’t ignore her physical predicament.

“What do you want from me? Is this some kind of game that you’re playing with the Ministry?” She rolled her eyes. “They may not be as smart as you but, believe me, they are relentless, and will eventually take you.“

“Perhaps,” shrugged the Director. “Nevertheless, there is a certain information asymmetry between us which I fully intend to exploit, and you, my dear Usha, are going to help me widen the gap.”

Usha drummed her fingers—practically, the only body parts she could move—for a few moments while she thought about how the Director had acquired this knowledge. “Fatima’s cell, I assume?”

“Partly,” the Director itted. “I had a small clue about you from the investigations of Irina, the journalist, but I got much more than I expected when I talked to young Judy, the ‘student’ whom you know.”

Despite the coolness of the room, Usha found herself perspiring. This ‘Director’ knew entirely too much already. If the Ministry knew what she did...

“They don’t know,” the Director assured her, apparently reading her mind. “I was careful to hold back certain parts of Fatima’s information from the Ministry, and they know nothing of Judy. Of course,” she giggled, “Judy doesn’t either, any more...”

“No, Usha, to the best of my knowledge, the Ministry knows nothing about you. And no one else knows that you are here, with me.” She smiled warmly. “We have all the time in the world to talk.“

Usha looked down at her restrained, wired and draped body, then at the line running into her arm. “What do you have in mind?” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “An adult to adult conversation?”

“Eventually, yes,” the Director agreed. “First, though, I need to know everything that you do. And, while I’m sure you’d be forthcoming with most information, I need to make sure that you don’t hold anything back.“

She gestured down the table. “This is Nina. You’re very fortunate to be treated by her.” A masked woman walked up to Usha’s side, the corners of her eyes crinkled in a smile.

“Hello, Usha. We’re going to get to know each other very well.” She opened a small gap in the drapes over Usha’s mound, then retrieved a long thin tool from a trolley and gently probed underneath.

Usha suddenly thought she had been struck by lightning in her sex. Momentarily unable to speak, she gasped in shock like a landed fish. The bolt of pure sexual stimulation was unlike anything she’d experienced.

Finally, she found her voice. “You’re going to sexually stimulate my knowledge from me? You’re crazy!“

The Director sighed. “So little imagination! I’m surprised you managed to become such a pivotal figure in the resistance.” Her voice was starting to sound distant, and her face was blurring. Usha tried to rally herself to hear what was being said. “We’re going to take such good care of you. You’re in good hands, just relax and let yourself go. All you need do is listen to me. Two people talking, listening, while Nina makes you feel so, so good...”

“Sixty, ninety nine, fourteen,” said someone.

The Director loomed over Usha, now re-masked, and backlit by an impossibly bright blue-light white. “Come with me, Usha. Come to bliss.”

The last coherent thought Usha had, was that if Fatima had been acquired by this woman, she must have told her absolutely everything...

Usha’s questioning lasted a little more than two hours, Nina having to go a little easier in the second hour as the older woman’s psychological tolerance of extreme sexual stimulation was significant less than the younger Fatima or Judy. She was prone to start to dissociate and babble nonsense, despite all the ive treatment. The Director made some notes about this, resolving to investigate biochemical methods that might help the stability of the interface.

Finally, however, the last piece of information left Usha’s lips, and the Director pushed back her stool.

“So helpful, my darling. You can just rest for now. Won’t that be nice?”

She turned to Nina, who had put down her instruments and was stretching, grateful for the break. “This is going to take me a while to go through, Nina. Eventually, I’d like her placed in an isolation room for recovery, but I think it would be nice if you... ‘looked after’ Usha for a little longer, don’t you? After all, she has been so helpful to us.“

Nina giggled behind her mask. “Certainly, Director. I think we can have quite the time together.” She turned to one of the other nurses. “Can you help me get her legs into the stirrups, please?“

The Director returned to the glassy-eyed Usha. “You’re so fortunate, my darling. Very few people get to experience Nina’s full repertoire. Even under the remaining amytal, you’ll find that it... sticks with you.” She patted the woman’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.“

Nina re-appeared. “We’ll give you some more oxygen...” She twisted a knob next to the bed. “That should increase your physical tolerance, at least. And now, we don’t have to worry about understanding you.”

“What...” Usha’s confused query was cut off by Nina pressing a mask over Usha’s face.

“This will relax you for me, Usha. Breathe normally.” She watched carefully as the woman inhaled the relaxant, her eyes dilated, and her muscle tone slowly relaxed. “That’s right...” She slipped a blindfold over Usha’s eyes. “Now you can concentrate on your important senses.“

As everything went dark, the drugged Usha felt some things start to slide inside her. They went slowly, but pushed deeper and deeper until they finally seated. Her relaxed muscles proved no obstacle.

She heard Nina’s voice, close to her ear. “You’re all mine, now.”

Without any more warning, her whole body lit up...

Usha woke staring at the ceiling. The room around her was eerily quiet—no beeping, hums, voices, or even traffic noise.

She looked down and was not surprised to see herself in medical restraints. While some of her recent memory was still very fuzzy, the initial discussion with the Director was quite clear. And, troubling.

If the Director indeed had had Fatima and Judy in her hands, it was reasonable to assume that she knew everything that those two had known—and now, doubtless, everything that Usha knew. She, like Judy before her, had no illusions about her ability to resist a drug-driven questioning, especially by a psychiatrist.

Her body felt very strange: different. As if, someone had switched out everything below her neck for something that looked the same, but wasn’t.

What did the Director want with her, and her knowledge? If she was indeed keeping the Ministry away from Usha—and Usha had no reason to doubt this—what was her end game?

She had been turning over her thoughts for an hour or more before the Director appeared beside her bed, now dressed in regular clothes with the obligatory white coat on top.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she offered, taking a seat next to Usha. “How do you feel?”

Usha glared at her. “Not well-disposed to you.“

The Director looked disappointed. “Well, gratitude might have been too much to hope for, but I would have thought you would have had at least some relief that you’re not currently in the basement of the Ministry, being worked over by Besla and her team. Or, would you like me to give them a call?”

Usha closed her eyes, briefly, trying to manage her emotions. “No, I don’t want that. I doubt that you do, either.”

“You see, we are starting to understand one another.” The Doctor polished her glasses. “Now, it seems only fair that, since you told me so much during our previous time together, I tell you at least some of what I am thinking. Is that acceptable?”

Usha was a pragmatist—her role demanded it—and also, despite herself, curious. “Very well. What are you thinking?“

“From what I understand of such things, your movement is well designed in structure. The cell concept is a cliché, but of course it is a cliché for a reason—it has worked well across movements for decades. Your aims are quite clear—overturn the repressive apparatus of the government, and restore freedom of speech. But your marketing, my dear! Oh, your marketing and publicity leaves so much to be desired.“

“I don’t appreciate your patronizing,” Usha snapped.

The Director shrugged. “Nevertheless, it is true. How do you expect to generate popular pressure on the government, when the populace barely knows that you exist, let alone what you want to change?”

“It’s not as if we can take out a half page ment in the newspaper!” Usha rolled her eyes. “You clearly don’t understand what a difficult environment we’re operating in.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The Director replaced her glasses. “Imagine, for me, a situation where you were able to influence the stories in the news. Not all of them, not even overtly, but you could affect what was reported, and how.”

“But... but the news organizations are subordinate to the Ministry!” Usha protested. “At best, they’d refuse; more likely, they’d report us!”

“That’s certainly what the Ministry believes,” chuckled the Director, “which is why they are so lax in actually checking details in stories. But, with an understanding of popular psychology, and the ability to coordinate stories and actions between certain parts of the media and the underground, you would be surprised at the possible effects.”

Usha tried to digest this. “Without trying to be too self-centered—do I have a role here?”

“Of course you do, my dear Usha,” the Director beamed. “Who else could come out of the shadows to lead the revolution? We just need your secure communications to be able to coordinate with and direct the underground initially—of course, I now have those details. Once the time is right, you appear and lead the group to victory.”

“And, in the meantime?” Usha shook her wrists in their restraints to make her point.

“Ah, now we must come to a decision. If I may state the obvious, you now know too much to be allowed out of our control. Agreed?”

Usha bit her tongue. “Agreed.”

“We could leave you here in restraints, and keep you sedated, but of course that isn’t good for you physically. Now, I do have an alternate option that I would like you to consider.” She paused.

“Go on,” said Usha, with misgivings.

“One of my more profitable sidelines is training women to provide, ahem, shall we say ‘recreational intimacy’ for the more well-off national and international single women. We typically have between two and four groups being trained at any time, and it would be no problem to introduce an additional participant .While we do need to keep you tranquilized, you would remain sufficiently physically active, and I understand that the training is quite enjoyable.” The Director raised an eyebrow. “Might we interest you in participating? The time should just fly by, and you would emerge with an additional set of skills.“

“You want me to... Are you nuts? Heck, no.” Usha shook her head. “A harem? That’s just perverse!”

The Director sighed. “That just leaves us with confinement incommunicado. I’m afraid you’re going to find it rather boring. You’ll be responsible for your own exercise. We’ll provide TV, and maybe a few books, but I suspect that you will find the lack of socialization rather wearing after a while.”

She stood up. “Well, it’s your choice. We will prepare your room. Just : if you ever change your mind, the training group will be waiting.”

The Director walked back to her office, sat down behind her desk with a sigh, and dialed a number from her desk phone.

“Medina? How are you, my dear?”

“Director!” Medina’s breathing came in gasps. “So nice to hear from you!”

The Director paused, with a smirk on her face. “Am I.... interrupting anything, Medina?” She checked her wristwatch. “A nooner, perhaps?“

Medina gave gasping laugh. “Why... would you... That’s it, Irina, that’s it... possibly...”

“I’ll drop by your office this afternoon,” said the Director. She added, archly. “In a couple of hours, if you’ll be done by then...”