The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Madame Deputy Prime Minister! Welcome! Please come in.”

Usha smiled, shyly, as the Director beckoned her through the secure entry of the Institute.

“Thank you... Director.” She was wearing what looked like an expensive twin-set and skirt, not flashy, but the Director’s eye could see the quality of the materials and finish. Clearly, executive power was working out for her.

“We haven’t met since your nomination and confirmation. My congratulations on your elevation! Our nation is finally in good hands.”

“Very kind of you.” Usha adjusted her purse strap. “And, of course, I must congratulate you in turn. Your plan was clearly carried through immaculately. I, personally, appreciate the prompt actions to release those confined in the Ministry.” She took the visitor’s seat. “Since I agreed to the plan, and,”—she indicated herself—“clearly benefited from it, it would be churlish to complain about how it started.“

“I’m so glad that you understand,” beamed the Director. “How are things in government, may I ask?”

“While I’m sure that you understand I can’t go into too much detail, there does seem to be significant progress towards agreement on the amended constitution. Really, though, that is the Prime Minister’s effort; I’m mostly a coordinator and facilitator for the discussions.”

“I’m sure that you are being modest.” The Director spread her hands. “How may I be of assistance?”

“I felt that I should come back here.” Usha looked around. “There’s some unfinished business, some...” Her voice tailed off, and a confused expression took over her face.

“Oh, I think I can help,” the Director said, standing. “Is this what you are looking for?“

Usha stared at the crystal that now hung, swinging gently, on a thin golden chain from the Director’s hand. Her body stiffened, and her eyes went wide.

“Look deep inside it, Usha. Look for the lights...” The crystal swung back and forth. “There’s something inside, deep inside, that you are looking for. Look deeper inside... Nothing else matters, just the lights... That’s right...”

Nina approached from behind, pushed down the hem of Usha’s skirt, and slid a needle into the woman’s left cheek. She didn’t even react.

“Keep looking, Usha, it’s deep inside, you just need to find it. Let yourself go, sink into the crystal... Nothing in your mind, just the lights...”

The Director kept up the soothing, monotonous tone until she saw the tell-tale dreaminess of the hypnotic drug in Usha’s eyes, then changed direction.

“Now you can let go, Usha. Leave your conscious self deep, deep inside the crystal. Let go your body... That’s right,” she soothed, as she saw the woman’s shoulders slump. “Let yourself do whatever I say.”

She placed the crystal and its chain back in her pocket, then gently placed her hands on Usha’s shoulders, looking directly into the woman’s eyes. “Go with Nina. She will take care of you. You Nina looking after you, don’t you? I’ll take good care of the crystal.”

Usha nodded obediently, ively following the smiling Nina out of the room.

The Director sat back at her desk, with a satisfied sigh. Implanting the crystal as a trigger to descend Usha into a hypnotic trance had been remarkably easy in Usha’s confused and unsuspecting state. She had also been carefully conditioned to feel a growing need to return to the Institute, the longer she was away, and the Director was gratified to see how well that had worked.

Now, for the fun part.

She walked into the room to find Nina in the final stages of securing the now-naked Usha into the Chair. This time, however, Usha’s vision and hearing were unobscured, and the Director positioned herself in front of the woman’s face.

“It’s so relaxing, being held, isn’t it, Usha?” she murmured. “Letting your body go loose, knowing that I’ve got you...”

The probes silently pushed into Usha’s holes, making her gasp, but the Director held her gaze and kept talking.

“Held in place, with nothing to worry about, nothing to think about, just the pleasure that your body can experience...”

The pulsing started on Usha’s clamped breasts, progressing downward to her sex. The Director watched for the tremors across the woman’s body, carefully timing her words to hit the rhythm provided.

“Safe with your friends, your true friends, the ones that only want the best for you, who care for you, who give you everything that you need...”

Usha sighed deeply, her body relaxing further, implicitly surrendering to the sensations. The Director smiled to herself, and kept going.

“Who share everything with you, and you everything with them...” She watched carefully for the reaction when she added, “like the bond negotiations...", simultaneously increasing the stimulation a notch.

With what remained of her train of thought shunted onto an entirely new branch line, Usha didn’t hesitate before mumbling “Bonds... three billion euros... difficult agreeing coupon... Next week we plan to announce at four percent, but finance thinks we are too optimistic...”

“Oh, you’re so helpful, so sharing!” the Director gushed, tweaking the stimulation on the woman’s breasts. “Tell me more, darling...”

Nina, watching the performance, smiled to herself as Usha moaned and wriggled from a particularly deep stimulation. You haven’t seen anything yet, darling.

With a full update of the government negotiations to date, the Director istered a second dose of medicine to the captured Usha, then retreated to let the stimulation work its spell in peace.

“What are you thinking, Director?” Nina and her boss were huddled in the corner of the room, talking quietly, way out of Usha’s rapidly-decreasing awareness.

“I need to implant some more thoughts at the deepest layer of her subconscious. That should be straight forward.” The Director considered her notes. “Once that is done, however, we need to map those thoughts to very strong associations with primitive sexual desires.” She smiled. “Can you handle that part, Nina?”

Nina giggled. “I think I can handle her just fine, Director...“

Usha was drifting in her abstract thoughts, but something started to pull at her.

“Tick... Tick... Tick...”

A slow but precise best, prompting increasing awareness. She opened her eyes—or, so she thought—but everything was dark. There was just the slow ticking, and the pulses of pleasure that continued to service her.

“Usha...” She blinked, and saw a pair of eyes above her. Just the eyes.

“We are in the deepest layers of your mind,” the voice whispered. “Time has no meaning. The world has no meaning here. It is just you... and us.“

As if on cue, a powerful wave of stimulation seized Usha, making her gasp in desire and frustration.

“Here, your thoughts, your very kind is naked to my eye. Anything I say becomes your thought. Anything I desire becomes your belief.”

All concept of resistance buried by the hypnotic drugs and trance, the words slipped smoothly from the Director’s hidden lips directly into Usha’s mind.

“Isn’t this intimate?” the voice whispered. “Your most secret thoughts in the palm of my hand...” Another, impossibly powerful surge shook Usha’s body. “Your secret places under my total control...“

“Your most secret thoughts, those things that no one else must know. You know how important the Institute is, all it does to protect the country—but you know that no one else can find out.” Another body-shaking thrill. “You know what wonderful care the Institute takes of you—but that must always stay hidden.”

“You know that the Institute will always be a part of you, hidden in the deepest layer of your mind, but always watching. You must secretly protect the Institute, with all your power, and help it grow...”

The voice grew in authority. “When I count back from five, you will lose all conscious awareness, leaving your mind totally open to me. Five... Four... Three... Two... One...”

“Come with me, Usha.”

Usha opened her still-drugged eyes to see a familiar face before her. Nina’s smile, and her outstretched hand.

“Let me help you up...” She guided the unsteady, and now unbound Nina, off the Chair to stand swaying on the floor.

“Do you like what you see, Usha?” Only now did it that Nina was proudly naked. With her spare hand, she stroked her bush, then ran her fingers through Usha’s.

“I...” Words failed Usha, but Nina put her finger on Usha’s lips, and shushed her.

“Come with me, Usha.” With a firm hand, she guided Usha out of the dark room, through a door into a pink-lit bedroom. There, she gently but firmly pushed Usha onto her back on the bed.

“You know that the Institute takes good care of you, don’t you, Usha?” she crooned, opening her basket. “Addresses your every need...” She withdraw a complex- looking tool and slid a cover over it. “Let me show you what I mean...”

Outside the room, the Director listened to the shrill cries of confused ecstasy, smiling to herself. Perhaps, soon, it would be time to put herself in Nina’s creative hands. First, however, there was a lingering ministerial issue to address. She was looking forward to Irina’s return to the Institute...

“I’m so glad that you approve!”

“Hmm?” Usha gave a start. Had she just dropped off? She blinked, refocusing on the Director in front of her. The Director was discretely tucking something back into her jacket pocket, but that didn’t matter.

“Are you all right, my dear?” The Director sounded kind, but concerned. “I think maybe, you were somewhere else for a moment?”

Usha tried to gather herself. “I apologize, Director. It has been a long week, I’m afraid.”

“I quite understand,” soothed the Director. “They do work you so hard. I’m very appreciative that you took the time to come and visit us.“

“Yes...” Usha rubbed he eyes. “Thank you for your hospitality, Director.”

“Oh, you must know that you are welcome here at any time,” the Director smiled, rising from her chair. Usha unconsciously followed the Director’s actions.

“ that we are always happy—delighted—to receive any of your colleagues who you think could benefit from our help.” The Director guided Usha out to the lobby. “Have a lovely day, Madame.“

Now Minister of Communications, in recognition—really, payback—for all of the critical work her news organization had done in planting and playing up the stories that had fueled and driven the revolution, Medina was enjoying her new countryside dacha. The previous ministerial owner, part of the toppled government, had no more need of it—having been sent off to one of the repurposed “re-education” outdoor facilities.

The dacha itself was not large; even the well-maintained garden was not extensive, but it sat on a large plot of wooded land, and had gated access to ensure that the occupier was not unnecessarily bothered. This was the third time that Medina had come out here for the weekend, and the second time that she had brought Irina, who was now officially her “Personal Assistant”—though many in her Ministry would have been surprised to learn quite how personal. Last visit, Irina had been left back at the Institute for a couple of days of training reinforcement, as the Director had recommended.

Now, however, Medina had spent a relaxing afternoon wandering around the misty, damp garden and deadheading the rose bushes. She was now relaxing by the fire in her robe with a glass of heady Georgian red wine. Irina was in the well-appointed kitchen making the steamed lamb dumplings that Medina favored as a snack for the colder fall evenings. Normally fulfilling her ‘personal’ duties in the nude, Medina had conceded Irina’s need for an apron in the kitchen as a practicality—though she was considering having Irina lie on the low, heavy wooden living room table and serve the dumplings from her own bare body.

She took another appreciative sip from the wine, and put her feet up on a small ottoman. This was the life! No more newsroom staff to harry and snap at when they failed to meet deadline. A whole ministry to run according to her whims! And, a servile Irina at her beck and call.

She made it four pages further into the novel she had started reading when her eyelids started to feel heavy. Too long a day? The wine? Never mind, just a little snooze would be perfect now...

The buzz of the gate bell went unheard by the fast-asleep Medina, but Irina came into the room from the kitchen and obediently pressed the ‘Enter’ button. She took the book from Medina’s limp hands, carefully placing a bookmark at the open page, and sat quietly next to her sleeping mistress.

A tap at the door of the dacha roused her, and she opened it to find Darsi and Nina smiling at her.

“Is she sleeping?” Darsi asked.

“Yes. I put the medicine in her wine as I was told by the Director.” Irina bowed her head.

“Very good girl,” Nina assured her, patting Irina’s bare bottom. “You take such good care of her.“

Darsi meanwhile was squatting by the oblivious Medina, checking her breathing and pulse. Satisfied, she produced a syringe, and injected the contents into Medina’s thigh.

“There! That will keep you in Dreamland until the Director is ready for you.” She scooped up Medina in her arms and carried her to the car waiting outside.

“We will bring her back tomorrow morning,” Nina promised. “Just look after the dacha while your mistress is away. And that she must not know that this has happened.“

Everything was black when Medina woke, and she couldn’t move. She felt very woozy, as if she were drunk.

“Where’m I?” she mumbled. Her tongue felt tingly and strange.

“In a dream...” It was a musical voice, almost artificial. “In my dream. In my dreams, anything can happen.“

Medina gasped as her breasts suddenly tingled, feeling her nipples go erect. Now, she was becoming aware of a growing hotness from her pussy.

“In my dreams, I control the horizontal and the vertical. I control your body. I control your mind. I control you. Tell me how that makes you feel...“

Medina groaned. “’m so horny... want to fuck...” She strained, but her hands failed to move towards her slit no matter how hard she summoned them. “Lemme fuck...”

“You like to fuck, don’t you?” The voice was amused. “What a slut you are. I know how you like to play with Irina.“

A slick finger pushed inside Medina’s starfish, and started to massage her internally. She drew in a long, shuddering breath at the strange sensations, then the pulses going through her breasts suddenly doubled in strength and she cried out.

“Shall we stop?” The voice sounded amused, but Medina’s head was starting to swim, and it was difficult for her to find words.

“I... I... can’t...”

“Oh, my darling, you can. Let me show you.” Medina gave a squeal as a second finger pushed in, stretching her, and giving more power to the massage.

“You’re finding it hard to think, aren’t you, Medina?” the voice observed. “All your thoughts swimming around your head, lost, with nowhere to go...” Now Medina felt like her whole body was starting to spin. “As I take you over, you will find it impossible to resist.” Something metallic stroked the lips of her sex, making them tingle. ”Quite impossible...“

The drugs were pulling out Medina’s last anchors of sanity and control. Her mouth started to run away from her.

“Got to go... Got to find... pussy, pussy on fire... losing myself...”

“Ah, Medina, you are already lost,” the voice purred. “And I have found you... There is no resistance, there is just you, in the palm of my hand, as I take all your thoughts from your mind.”

The last conscious thought Medina had was an image of Irina’s face...

The Director stood and stretched, her lower back starting to cramp after more than an hour in her seat extracting information from Medina’s helplessly open mind. Her subject had just started the inevitable slide into incoherence as the various drugs in her system fought for control, and the Director knew from experience that it was better not to push in those circumstances.

“I think we can stop here,” she sighed, looking down on Medina’s restrained body. “Thank you, Nina.”

“Of course, Director.” Nina carefully adjusted the angle of the metal probe whose handle stuck out of between Medina’s cheeks, and slowly but firmly pulled until it popped out, provoking a whimper from the barely-sensible woman. “She had quite the work-out, didn’t she?”

“So did you, apparently!” Nina was remarkably strong, but the Director could clearly see the perspiration on her forehead from the sustained work of manipulation.

“She’s going to be sore in the morning,” Nina observed, peeling off her gloves. “We should give Irina some analgesic ointment to apply once we return her.” She rubbed her nose, which had been itching. “Did you get everything you needed from her?”

“Sufficient,” the Director judged. “There are several issues that I need to follow up, since I don’t understand the implications well enough. Still,” she shrugged, “we can always do this again.”

“When do you want to transport her back?” Nina yawned—it was well past midnight, and she was feeling the effects of the long day. Still, the substantial “restorative treatments” government grant to the Institute had already resulted in a very healthy bonus in Nina’s bank , and she was happy to work hard to benefit even more from the next one.

The Director checked Medina’s vital signs, then consulted her own watch. “Let’s give her another hour for the amytal and psychedelic to metabolize. I don’t want to sedate her for travel with much of those left in her system. We’ll use a suppository—that should keep her down for a while, and bring her back slowly. From her perspective, given the Versed we istered early on, it should feel like a deep, dreamless sleep.”

She chuckled. “But oh, Medina, the things that happened to you! You wouldn’t believe me if I told you...”

“Madame?”

“Hmm?” Usha looked up, belatedly realizing that she had been staring at her office desk.

Leila, her assistant, was standing in front of her, a look of concern on her face. “Are you okay, Madame? It looked like you were miles away.”

Usha blinked, pulling herself back to reality. “Thank you, Leila. I was just thinking about something.”

“Can I help?” Leila offered. “You do have a lot on your plate, Madame, and I worry about you. Was about it the visit to the Institute?”

Usha managed a smile, and patted Leila’s hand. “You’re very kind, Leila, and I’m fortunate to have an assistant as hard-working and caring as you.” She paused. “I can’t really discuss the matter with you, I’m afraid, but I can reassure you that it’s nothing bad.”

“Very good, Madame.” Leila consulted her notes. “The new interior minister is trying to ensure that they’ve addressed all the former—ahem—‘staff’ of the ministry. They still have records of a couple of people whose fate was unknown, no-one seeming to know where they are, including the lead official—someone known as ‘Besla’. They think that the Institute might have them as patients? But the Institute is standing behind its confidentiality rules.”

Usha nodded. “Obviously, the Institute does important work, and we can’t ride roughshod over the privacy principles that our new government promoted. But, if the interior minister will let me have the names they are interested in, I will see if the Institute is at least willing to confirm whether they’ve never seen some of them.“

An image of the Director rose in her mind, unbidden, and suddenly she felt herself get wet. She tried to keep her composure.

Medina slowly rose out of sleep, from a warm dream about being slowly and lovingly fingered, to realize eventually that the dream had been borrowing heavily from reality.

“Irina?” she murmured, picking up the girl’s familiar scent and warmth.

The fingers slid out of her, almost guiltily.

“Yes, Medina?”

Medina opened her eyes to see the familiar aged wooden beams of the dacha above her bed. It was smaller than the one in her apartment, but felt somehow cosier, and richer.

“Don’t stop.” She gave a sigh.

“Yes, Medina.” The attentions resumed.

This was the life, indeed. Beholden to no-one, in complete control of her destiny, pampered with the benefits that signalled real power and influence... Medina was already feeling horny, but these thoughts suddenly triggered such a surge of heat that she rolled over, straddling Irina, and gazed down at her beautiful, skilled, subservient little sexual pet.

“Make me come, Irina. Make me come like a train! Don’t stop until I beg you”

As Irina obliged, and Medina started to climb the mountain of climax, an image of the Director rose into her mind, unbidden.

Minister Sholpan descended the staircase into the basement of the Interior Ministry building. With each step, she fancied that she heard the stomping of jackboots on cracked stone from the building’s former occupants. Today, however, the stairs had been re-faced with fresh tile, the ominous battleship-gray walls of the stairway were painted an institutional off-white (“apple white!” her decorator had insisted), and she was wearing smart but practical pumps with a business suit instead of a stained apron.

She stopped at the bottom and took a breath. There was an unmistakable scent of fresh paint, colored with a note of antiseptic. Listening, she marveled at the relative silence, compared to what she imagined from before. Instead of screams, grunts, hard whacks of wood or leather on skin, there were just the creaks and clanks of the building’s heating system, some humming from the newly installed electrical s, and a muffled murmuring of voices.

This was so much more civilized! Sholpan had received the job of Interior Minister with some misgivings, given the reputation of the previous occupant—and the fate of her, and her staff—but with the relatively free hand she had been granted, and some remarkably good technical advice, she had achieved a transformation in the Ministry that few would have believed.

There were still “guests” in the cells and rooms down here, of course. No self-preserving government can tolerate subversion, and Sholpan’s particular reputation of being enthusiastically in of free speech merely made it much easier for her Ministry to identify and follow potential trouble makers. However, the days of people vanishing into the basement of the Ministry never to be seen again were long ed. With the new equipment and techniques helpfully supplied by the Rozhan Institute, the “discussions” held with Ministry guests tended to be much more amicable, and remarkably quick.

As before, it was not unusual for out-spoken citizens to get a late night or early morning visit by a few Ministry representatives. However, instead of hoods and shackles, they would be politely invited to come along to the Ministry, with a promise of being returned a few hours later—a promise that was generally kept.

Sholpan peered into the main interrogation room. The guest on the table in there had meekly turned up at the Ministry after a request from Sholpan herself, and had spent the past two hours providing extremely helpful information. Careful istration of a amnesiac before the questioning would ensure that she had only the vaguest memory of the process. Now, as a reward for her helpfulness, she was being carefully guided along the crest of a climax. Sholpan nodded, approvingly.

There were, of course, some guests who simply couldn’t be safely released. Instead of the camps, however, they would be secured in the memory wipe room for however long it took to erase the troublesome information. There were three guests in there at the moment, one of them due to be released and returned tomorrow. The Ministry usually sent them home with a Ministry assistant who would stay with them for a day or two until they adjusted back to society.

All in all, it was quite possibly the most successful and humane Interior Ministry anywhere. Sholpan reflected, ruefully, that the achievement would be unlikely to be recognized anywhere else—nevertheless, she was delivering unparalleled security for the nation, and the Prime Minister was suitably grateful.

She walked back upstairs to her office. There was an appointment on her calendar in an hour, and she was very much looking forward to it.