The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ophir trudged wearily out of the main door of the anonymous, though well-secured, Tel Aviv office. It had been a long day. She had arrived back at her apartment yesterday evening, after a complex journey out of Lebanon where she had to get her organization to pick her up at the border and sneak her back through Immigration; she had been shattered both mentally and physically. A long, hot shower; raiding the sparse contents of her fridge to quell the worst of her hunger pangs: and then, a single bottle of Maccabee beer had been sufficient to put her out like a light.

Her dreams had been confusing, again. Once more, the dark eyes surrounded by red had been staring down at her, and she had tried to move away, but been pinned by paralysis. She had jerked awake, panting and sweating, and had to change out of her sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts before showering again, this time with lukewarm water. Sleep had come, eventually, but had been uneasy.

When her alarm fired at 6am, her secure mobile phone had already accumulated a series of messages from her boss, her boss’s boss, two of her friends in the department, and about five new calendar events for the day. She had made it to the office in a hastily-ironed suit and blouse by 7:45am, and now, ten hours later, she felt as if she had been run over by a truck.

The debrief had not gone well, of course. Losing 75% of a kidon team—her boss confirmed that Naomi and the van had vanished as well—would have been bad enough, but that it was apparently due to treachery from the team lead was enough to cause a hive of angry wasps in business suits to swarm around demanding action, investigations, possibly trials, and definitely retaliation. Ophir had been grilled by four or five different interrogator teams, been thoroughly poked and prodded by a medical team to the point where she was having flashbacks to the Black Chamber, and had spent a fruitless hour looking at satellite overheads trying to figure out from back tracing her route where Saira’s base might be.

She blushed when she ed recounting what had happened to her—and Talia—in the Black Chamber. The interrogators had been extremely confused that her captors had, according to Ophir, not tried to question her at all. Had they been waiting for her to show signs of breaking? Had treacherous Chaya given them all the information they needed? Wouldn’t they at least have wanted to corroborate Chaya’s , if so? It was all viewed as very unsatisfactory, not to mention embarrassing for the organization. While Ophir privately felt that she deserved credit—seizing an opportunity to escape, and getting the word out on what had happened, apparently evading any chase—and that the team’s capture could not possibly have been her fault, her boss’s boss, Miranda, had been icily civil to her all day, which Ophir knew was a really bad sign.

The issue of the trackers had caused considerable concern. There had been a sustained effort after the disappearance to unify tracking logs across the various teams in, around, and over the city, and they had confirmed Talia’s tracker movement, along with Ophir and Chaya moving to the cafe. However, after that, Ophir and Chaya had apparently moved back to the van with Naomi, and driven back to a busy nightclub area. All their trackers had gone dark simultaneously, and Talia’s an hour later. The van had not appeared on any camera footage they could find, and had apparently vanished. Ophir’s repeated assertion that she couldn’t anything after drinking coffee in the cafe while watching the building opposite was eventually accepted, but grudgingly. There were ominous hints about a psychiatric evaluation in her near future. She had heard third hand s of these, and had no desire to participate.

It was almost a relief when she was pulled into the office of Sara, her boss, as the day was drawing to a close.

“Ophir, I’m so sorry about today. You have my full confidence, and I’m very glad that you got yourself away from Saira. Without you, to we would have had nothing to go on.”

Ophir had snorted, amusing Sara.

“I know that it feels as if you’re under a microscope right now. Try to understand the worries that the higher-ups have right now; I know that they have left in various huffs of indignation, but hopefully little of this will stick to you personally.” Ophir silently noted Sara’s use of ‘little’ as distinct from ‘none’.

“You’re still due a bunch of leave—you me nagging you about this last month, don’t you?—so, you might as well take the next week off. As long as you keep an eye on your secure comms in case there are any follow-up questions, I’m quite happy for you to go somewhere sunny with room service, to recover from what sounds like quite an ordeal.”

Sara, married to a rabbi and always modestly dressed, had looked quite uncomfortable as Ophir reluctantly detailed what had happened in the chamber, and clearly empathized with her abused subordinate. Obviously, with Ophir’s tracker missing, there was no way she could go back into the field just now—and with the apparent compromise of several trackers at once, no doubt the organization’s tech section was going to be pulling a few all-nighters.

Ophir sighed, inhaling the traffic fumes, and texted her friend Sophie. “ISAACS 7PM—SHOTS”

Sophie must have been waiting, because the reply was nearly instantaneous. “FKIN A—CU THERE”. She had done a rotation with an American covert team in Cairo, and picked up a number of bad habits, not least her language. Ophir wouldn’t have had her any other way.

She smiled in relief. At least, one thing was going right today. She was glad that she hadn’t chosen to drive to the office, because there was no way she’d be fit to drive back...

The calf hung blissfully in her harness. The stimulation cycle was running for her sex at the moment, and she gave little grunts of pleasure as the probe teased her. Meanwhile, the sleeves wrapped around her legs were making her leg muscles twitch—the Maid had explained that they would help keep her legs strong so she could stand when needed.

It was a pleasant routine, spending most of the time in the harness listening to soft music. She would sometimes hum along to a tune that she particularly enjoyed as the suction pulled at her steadily-growing breasts. It didn’t occur to her to talk to the other calves in their stalls—what would she say? Her attendants were similarly silent, though they did treat her well. They were very careful in checking her skin when she was periodically lowered for washing, and took their time placing the suction cups back on her nipples and the plugs in her lower parts after cleaning those areas.

The tube in her nose had bothered her a little at first, but eventually she got used to it. She could feel when it was feeding her, because it became warm where it was taped on her cheek. It made her stomach feel nice and full, and she never felt hungry or thirsty.

What she looked forward to was the visits of the Maid. She loved the Maid. The Maid was often very happy with her, praising her for producing so much milk. She would stroke the calf’s cheeks, and sometimes have her lowered to the floor so she could inspect her breasts and skin. She would also sometimes tell the attendants to run a stronger stimulation cycle for the calf, and stand there watching the calf as she wriggled and moaned with pleasure in the harness.

Sometimes the Maid would nuzzle her as she hung in the harness, and whisper things into her ears. She couldn’t really understand them, but somehow they made her feel warm and tingly across her body. There were even times, when she was in full flow, when the Maid would gently remove one of the suction cups and place her soft mouth around the calf’s breast, slowly sucking at it, until the calf would nearly moo in sheer pleasure.

The calf was happy. She knew no other state.

The Implanter, now in her comfortable scrubs rather than her formal robes, scrutinized the small, pale, blond-haired drone reclining in the modified dentist’s chair in front of her. Dressed in a modest gown, the drone stared straight ahead, apparently incurious about anything going on around her.

“This is going to help you retain the training,” she explained to the blank-faced girl as she slid an I/V into the girl’s arm. “And this”—a plump metal and rubber plug trailing several wires—“will help you enjoy it. Amuse-toi.” She lubed the plug, and pushed it into place under the drone’s gown, with barely any reaction. After a week in the hands of the Black Chamber, this was scarcely surprising.

The Implanter looked closely into the drone’s eyes. She was tracking the Implanter’s face, but lazily, as if she knew she ought to, but it was too hard work.

“Quite vacant,” she murmured, picking up a headset and adjusting it. While she had seen the effects of Oblivion numerous times, its efficacy never failed to impress her. Saira’s neurochemical expertise was second to none in her field.

The drone didn’t twitch as the Implanter secured the headset over her eyes and ears. Briefly, the Implanter wondered if she’d simply sit there and starve to death if nobody told her otherwise.

She pulled up the controller app on her tablet, and selected the agreed program, with French as the audio stream.

“‘Acolyte of Asherah’ ,” she said to the oblivious drone, a certain disdain in her voice. “The consolation prize. Still, the things you will see, and do! We can only hope that you execute your duties with enough diligence to be promoted.” She tapped the “START” button, verified that the first few seconds were as she expected—darkness, chains, glistening steel—and set the tablet aside.

“If only I had had more time to work on your chef,” she said, with a sigh. The drone was, of course, oblivious. “Such a simple implantation, there was no challenge at all.” She leaned over the drone, and touched her exposed forehead with her tongue. “Wouldn’t you enjoy spending some personal time with me? Just think how I could re-shape your mind.” She shook her head, and sat back in her seat.

Nevertheless, she found it amusing to be working for Saira. At first, they had been ignorant of each other—then, briefly, mortal enemies. The Implanter’s skills in hypnosis, and her knowledge of psychology and brain physiology, had made her highly in demand as a questioner-for-hire across the region’s better-funded covert groups. When rumors of Saira had started to spread, the Implanter had been wary—when second hand reports of her effectiveness had fed back to the Implanter, alarm bells had started to ring.

Fortuitously, each of them had tried to embed a spy in the other’s camp at approximately the same time. Both intruders having been discovered, that resulted in a face-to-face negotiation, where it rapidly became clear that each had skills complementary to the other. The two spies were returned, suitable modified, as demonstrators, and their organizations had rapidly merged.

For now, at least, they fed off each other, and their t organization had caught fire, dominating the region. In the back of her mind, the Implanter recognized that eventually she and Saira would have to clash again—and this time, for keeps. For the winner, the spoils—for the loser, mindless subjugation.

Anaïs, the DGSE agent on door duty, peered at the Ring camera display. She did a double take, and picked up her radio.

“Chef, it’s Amelie! She’s at the door!“

There was a pause, presumably as her boss tried to digest the news. With their previous commander missing for nearly two weeks, and no sign, or even hint, about where she had gone, a new commander had flown over from a base in Turkey to oversee closing down of local operations. The last thing they had expected was the previous commander ringing the doorbell.

“Let her in—but be careful!”

“Bien.” Anaïs unlocked the door bolt, then twisted the catch back and eased the door open just enough to see her former commander’s face. “Amelie?“

“I need to come here!” Amelie said, her eyes twitching. “I need to give you this!” She waved an envelope in her left hand.

Anaïs made a judgement call. The envelope was so slim that it couldn’t possibly endanger the safe house, and it was clearly Amelie out there, based on her appearance and voice. She opened the door wider, indicated Amelie to come into the vestibule, and closed the door behind her.

They stood for a moment, facing each other. Anaïs took in Amelie’s confused demeanor, long loose clothing, and her long absence. She moved forward to embrace her commander.

“Missed you...” She felt metal under Amelie’s loose dress. “Bomb!” Her reflexes propelled her to the vestibule corner, while concurrently her brain realized that this would not make a jot of difference.

Amelie stood still, confusion evident on her face. There was a tense pause.

When Amelie failed to detonate, Anaïs slowly approached her. “May I cut your dress?”

Amelie nodded dumbly.

Anaïs unlocked her razor-sharp folding knife, and slit Amelie’s dress at the shoulders and sleeves. The dress remnants fluttered to the floor. She stepped back, out of reflex, as she saw the black leather and chromed steel that had been hidden underneath.

“What the hell...?”

She went back onto the radio. ”Chef, this is weird. She’s wearing this bizarre corset underneath her dress. It doesn’t look dangerous, but...” She was briefly lost for words, and put the radio down. “Amelie, what is this?“

Amelie looked confused. “I don’t know? I needed to come here.” There was a pause, and her eyes lost focus. Anaïs heard a faint buzzing noise, that ran for about ten seconds; when it stopped, Amelie re-focused on her, while letting out a small moan.

Anaïs cautiously approached Amelie, carefully scrutinizing the leather and steel garment she was wearing. Several padlocks around the garment implied that it would be quite hard to remove.

“Crap.” She went back on the radio. “Chef, are you seeing this? It still doesn’t look dangerous, but I’m going to need some help. Can you get someone here with, I don’t know, some bolt cutters?”

As she waited, she tried to engage Amelie in conversation, but the woman appeared to be a blank. She wasn’t able to describe what had happened to he, other than that “they” had brought her to this district, and she knew she had to come to this house. She didn’t appear to recognize Anaïs at all.

Elise finally showed up with a long-handled pair of bolt cutters, retrieved from the garage. Between the two of them, they managed to snap the hardened steel clasps of the padlocks around Amelie. Then, it was a matter of careful un-zipping and un-buttoning various fastenings until the corset started to peel off.

Elise was removing the corset from Amelie’s rear, when Amelie gave a gasp—Elise looked down to see a metal protrusion coming out of the corset, buried in Amelie’s butt. She swore quietly, and eased it out slowly until with a small “pop” it dropped out. Looking at its thickness, her eyes watered.

The corset dropped to the floor, but Anaïs noticed something protruding from between Amelie’s legs. She tentatively touched it, then jerked her hand away when it started buzzing. Amelie moaned, and fingered the protrusion, clearly enjoying the sensation.

“What the hell?” Once the buzzing stopped, Anaïs reached back tentatively, and gave it a gentle pull. Its bulbous shaft came out of Amelie in a series of jerks as each swelling was pulled past her opening. Finally getting it out altogether, she put it on the small table in the vestibule, and stood back to look at her former boss. Amelie stared back at her blankly.

Her boss arrived from upstairs. “What the hell is going on?” She looked at Amelie, then the corset, then the probes. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I don’t think so,” said Anaïs grimly. “I don’t know what’s been done to her, but she doesn’t appear to recognize or anything.”

“Well, this sucks. And no sign of Candide?” Amelie’s small, blonde secretary had vanished at the same time as her boss.

“Nothing. Just this envelope.” Anaïs handed it over.

Her boss peered in, and pulled out a plastic case. “A DVD, by the look of it. Do we have any laptops with DVD slots any more?”

“No,” confirmed Elise. “I can go down the electronics store and get a USB drive though.”

“Do that.” Her boss scrutinized Amelie. “Okay, I’m going to give her something to make her sleep, and get a doctor over her from the consulate. I want to know what the hell happened to her.”

A sacrificial laptop had been checked for any classified material, disconnected from any network, then the USB drive plugged in, and the DVD loaded.

“It’s just a series of video clips,” Anaïs reported, clicking through several directories. “Unless there’s something hidden—we’ll need an IT expert to check it out.”

“Well, it’s a read-only drive, so I’m not worried about corrupting anything,” her boss said, peering over her shoulder. “What’s the first one?”

Anaïs obligingly double-clicked the first clip, which was about ten minutes of playtime. The drive hummed and clicked, then the video player app started up and the opening screen appeared.

“What the...?” muttered Anaïs.

“Oh... my...” Elise gulped. “Somebody tell me that’s not Amelie.”

“I’m afraid it is,” their boss said, grimly. The blonde woman in the video was strapped to a table and gagged, legs held wide in the air, while a black-cloaked figure worked hard with their head between the woman’s legs. Another black-clad figure was fastening clips around the woman’s bare breasts. The sound left very little to the imagination.

“Is it all like that?” Anaïs skipped forward until the scene changed. Here, Amelie was bent over a bench while someone was vigorously attending to her behind with a long purple strap-on. “Okay, that’s... worse.”

“Any sign of Candide on the videos?” her boss asked, tentatively.

“I’m going to have to watch them all, though sped up,” said Anaïs, making a face. “But I’m telling you now, I’m keeping the sound off.”

Her boss sighed. “Okay, take notes please. Thank you for doing this.”

She walked upstairs to the bedroom where Amelie, dosed with sleeping tablets, was fast asleep in one of the narrow beds.

“What the hell happened, Amelie? And where did your memory go?”

Ophir read the opening page of the fifth chapter of her book for the third time. She simply could not focus, and gave up. Looking around the pool area, where she was soaking up the sun on a lounger, people splashed and laughed in the clear blue water, while the hotel lifeguard chatted with a couple of young blonde things, from judging by their accents.

Ophir picked up her cocktail and took a long sip, enjoying the cool sweetness. This should have been an idyllic stay, but something had been nagging at her, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what. An expensive, exclusive hotel; beautiful weather at the beachside town; well away from all the troubles at work, but she was missing something.

She had been here two nights so far, and Sara had kept her promise to minimize any work requests, so Ophir had slept in, swum a lot, gone for a sunset run on the beach, and even spent some time shopping in the local bazaar—an activity which normally she detested, but for now she had tried it out as a break from her normal activities. She had found a lovely set of wrist bangles, set with little aquamarine stones, and impulsively purchased them—something she’d never normally have done. Still, it felt like there was an itch inside her head that she couldn’t scratch.

She pulled out her personal phone—blessedly free of any work apps—and scrolled her Instagram feed, for want of anything better to do. The usual cute cat pictures, her tanned and disgustingly wiry friends posing in mountainous scenery... and then a photo, apparently random, of a woman in a black chador and veil; apparently taken in a market, the sea of colorful clothing of vendors and buyers around her, but the crisp outlines of her clothing making her stand out as if she had been Photoshopped into the picture.

It was as if her heart stopped—or maybe time stopped. She stared at her phone, the scroll frozen. Images rushed through her head in a waterfall, too fast for her to take in anything beyond colors and shapes, but she suddenly felt herself get very wet. Instinctively, she flicked her towel across her lower body.

“Miss?” The lifeguard was leaning over her. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Hmm?” Ophir looked up.

“It looked as if you ed out briefly,” the lifeguard explained, reaching for her wrist. “Has this happened to you before?”

“Oh!” Ophir mentally scrambled to regain her footing. “Yes, I’m sorry—this happens from time to time, for a few seconds. It’s quite normal, but it does freak people out.” She gave him her best smile. “Thank you so much for looking out for me.”

“Well, you’re welcome, of course.” The lifeguard let go of her wrist. “Your heart is really racing, you know. I’m not a doctor, but if I were you, I’d get myself checked out.”

“Thank you; yes, I’ll do that.” She waited until he had returned to the two frauleins, and then switched to the flights app on her phone. She now knew where she had to go.