The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

CHAPTER SIX

The Spoils of Victory

Nikki, Erika, Cathi, Debbie, Susan and Kim picked up the shaving brushes and curiously examined them. They were just standard shaving brushes—thick, soft camel hair, but the tips of the brushes were firm enough to feel a stick when pushed into flesh. Neither team really knew what they were for, and I wasn’t going to explicitly tell them—but the general instruction would be more than enough.

It was in fact, an old Japanese trick. In Japan, beside the geisha, there is another class of women, barely known in the West, a small cadre of courtesans trained for the sexual pleasure of the elite. The training began at age twelve and continued until age seventeen. The part of the training that I was introducing involved a diabolical form of sexual torture that the Japanese girls were subjected to between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Naked, a group of ten to twenty-five Japanese teenagers would march into a room where an equal number of fully clothed and much older women, mainly in their fifties, the high priestesses of the training center, would be sitting in a squatting position. The girls would prostrate themselves on their hands and knees, their buttocks facing the older women—which means, among other things, the girls couldn’t see what the older women were doing. Then, reaching between the legs of the girls, the older women would separate the labia of their pussies, and begin gently stroking the girl’s clitoris with the brushes.

The sensation of this was beyond excruciating. As their clits became erect and their pussy juices began to flow, the brushes would become soaked and somewhat firmer, increasing the sensation. The points of the brushes would every now and then stick into their clits, further stimulating them. The girls couldn’t really see the women tormenting them, and this disassociation mixed in the submissive posture induced a feeling of helplessness that helped them let go of their feelings. AND, the desperate cries and groans of their peers—most of whom they had known from infancy—all around them added the peer pressure element that always works so well.

Terrified, the girls would writhe and moan under the ministration of the older women. The final element was the technique of the priestesses—they would stroke the clit, and nothing else. The girls vaginas would expand and quiver, longing for the penetration that would lead to ultimate satisfaction, but the older women would not let that happen. Instead, stroking only their hard little female nubs, they would bring the girls to just the point of orgasm—then keep them there.

Balanced on that razor edge of sexual agony, the girls would grimace, moan and plead for release, tears streaming down their eyes, their young hips quivering and gyrating as they reached for the satisfaction that was there, just out of reach. For five, ten, fifteen minutes the women would keep the young girls hanging, then with a decisive lick of the brush, push them over the edge to the gasping, thunderous orgasm that would leave them stretched out on the floor, exhausted and covered with sweat. For the rest of their initiation, this would be a daily event, until they were sent out to their respective brothels for the use of the men, who would find a completely uninhibited pleasure/slave at their disposal.

The brushes they used were actually cashmere, but I couldn’t find any, so I settled for camel hair shaving brushes, which were perfectly sufficient.

AND, the priestesses were a highly trained and experienced band of professionals, while my girls hadn’t a clue what they were supposed to do. Still, I gave the Red Sneakers only simple instructions—stand behind your opponent, and begin stroking her clit with the brush. I figured that the girls would catch on as they progressed.

Kim Flowers, always aggressive, dived right into it. Pulling up a chair, she sat down behind Cynthia Houtz’s ample body, stretched out on the ropes. Reaching between her legs, she expertly separated her labia. Cynthia’s already tumenescent clit popped into view, pink and pulsating, as Kim brought the brush to bear. First sticking the sharp little ends of the brush into her clit, which got a spasm and squeal from Cynthia, she then repositioned the brush and gently led it down from the base to the tip of Cynthia’s clit.

Cynthia had no idea of what was coming—the look of surprise on her face was followed by the wide-opening of her eyes—then her mouth opened as a pink flush went across her cheeks. She made no sound, but the loud gasp of air that she exhaled could be heard by the entire crowd, which had grown very, very silent. Kim continued to stroke Cynthia’s clit, keeping up with the slow but increasing movements of her hips.

Cathi, sitting behind her sister Judi, was hesitant at first—the combination of lesbian and incest behavior was not really her inclination—

but a few jolts from the earrings, along with some coaching and encouragement brought her around. Sitting behind her sister, she began stroking her clit with the brush, first clumsily, then firmly as her confidence in the activity grew. Judi responded with a slight but ever increasing gyration of her hips, and I noticed a faint smile on her face that grew as she got more excited.

A malicious grin on her face, Erika Coons pulled her chair up behind Jodi Babler—then, reached around, grabbed Jodi’s nipples with thumb and forefinger, and viciously pulled and twisted on them. Jodi for once was silent, her face a mask of pain and concentration as she writhed and moaned, her nipples becoming erect and bright under the pulling. Finally, sitting down, Erika reached between Jodi’s legs, grabbed a hold of her clit, and gave it a good downward yank, which got a yelp out of Jodi. Then, taking the brush, she first stuck the sharp ends into Jodi’s sensitive little nub, then began stroking her, up and down, sideways and back ways, making sure that the ends of the brush reached between the hood of the clit and the clit itself.

Watching Jodi, I realized that like most mean people, she also had a deep well of insecurity in her, and had just as little resistance to humiliation as she did to pain. She resisted the sensations as long as she could, but soon her hips began to wiggle, and soft gasps came out of her mouth as the excruciating sensation of the brush on her clit became unbearable. Sobbing hard, she began a marvelous display of sexual agony in front of a completely unsympathetic crowd.

“OH MY GOD!”

I jumped in my chair as the shout echoed off the walls of the gym, unsure at first who it had come from. Looking down the line, I saw Nikki Maenpaa standing with a look of puzzlement on her face. In front of her was Vicki Anderson, wide-eyed, her big ass and hips quivering. I quick looked at the monitors, wondering if the earrings had malfunctioned, but everything was nominal. Looking up again, I watched as Nikki brought her brush up to Vicki’s clit, and lightly stroked it.

“OH MY GOD!”

So that was it all along. No malfunction – in her tiny little pussy, Vicki simply had an extraordinarily sensitive clit. Nikki realized this at the same time, and, with a strange smile on her face, settled down in her chair and began stroking Vicki’s clit with a whisper-light action. Vicki, her eyes as wide as saucers, took in the powerful sensations. Her hips began to shake as the trembling in her body increased gradually. I checked the monitor – when her orgasm came, it would be like an atom bomb.

Susan Delaney had no trouble finding Ellen Arndorfer’s clit in her nearly hairless little pussy. Separating Ellen’s labia, the pink little nub, already as hard as a pebble, made an easy target as Susan began a light stroking action, first down, then up and down. As always, Ellen was stoic, but her breathing increased quickly, and then, the first of the girls to do so, she began a low, erotic groaning. Her tiny little hips began describing a circle; her perfectly toned gymnasts muscles flexed and unflexed in the restraints, and for the first time in all the years I had known her – she smiled.

Debbie Binder, with her usual shyness, was tentative with her first touches to Cynthia Andrews genitals, and in that lush, luxurious mass of pubic hair, had trouble finding her clit. I was about to send a coach when she found it, and, with uncharacteristic aggressiveness, gave it a little tweak, to which Cynthia responded with a light squeal. Maneuvering the brush into position, Debbie began a light brushing action on Cynthia’s clit, which at first got little response from her. But as she got more confidence and began a firmer stroke Cynthia responded first with hip movements, then with sighs, then with groans. While she gave worried glances at the boys watching her with wide eyes, her inhibitions were definitely fading under the constant, persistent stimulation of her clit. Her long limbs pulled luxuriantly at the restraints, her long blond hair began to swing back and forth, and a light pink flush began to spread from her belly to her small, pert breasts, the little pink nipples becoming darker and redder.

“Ummm...” she groaned.

And on it went. Manipulating the earrings, I kept sending pleasure jolts to the six girls using the brushes with soft, knowing strokes on the genitals of their helpless sisters. Every time they got a response out of their victim, I gave them another pleasure jolt at ever higher power levels, which motivated them to stroke the clit in front of them even harder. Soon the brushes became slick with pussy juice, which increased the sensation on the clits of the poor girls hanging in the restraints. Moans, groans, gasps and sighs began to fill the gym, since the crowd had grown very silent indeed. Hips moved first sideways, then forward and backward; nipples grew hard, stiff and began to darken, and muscles become ever more sculpted and defined as the girls began to involuntarily tense themselves for the final release. The brushes were working perfectly. Stimulating their clits,and only their clits had the desired effect of both intense physical pleasure and the intense frustration of an empty vagina, wet walls slapping together in their desperation to have something hard filling them up. There would be no relief for them there, but looking at the time, I realized that I had to finish things – there was a regular basketball game due to start in only three hours. With some jolts to the earrings, I manipulated the six torturers to finish off their poor, suffering sex toys.

With a cue from Biff, the boys in the crowd began encouraging the girls with a steady chant of “cum, cum, cum..”, backed up by a band member using a drum. The six torturers began thrashing the hung girls clits with hard, decisive strokes of the brush. The result was inevitable.

The first girl to reach orgasm was tiny little Ellen Arndorfer. Her perfect little body suddenly going as tense as a spring, loud gasps suddenly erupted, increasing in volume to a thrilling crescendo. A huge smile spread across her pixie face as the release came to her and then slowly faded, her once taut muscles relaxing. As she relaxed, to my surprise, Susan Delaney, her clit-stroker, also suddenly came in a paroxysm of loud sighs, squirming on the chair as her pussy, without any stimulation at all, suddenly burst into orgasm. I smiled; while unexpected, it was a welcome side effect of the earrings.

Next, Judi Metzger and Cynthia Andrews reached orgasm, practically at the same time, their soft cries creating an interesting harmony as their nude, alluring bodies shook and trembled. Vicki Anderson came next, loudly, her voice screaming as big, powerful Nikki firmly stroked her tiny, supersensitive clit. Vicki was unusually verbal when she came, her cries of “Oh God” and “I’m cumming” echoing off the hard walls of the gymnasium.

That left only Cynthia Houtz and Jodi Babler to endure their final humiliation in front of the boys. Each time one of the girls came, it brought a big cheer out of the crowd, along with applause, whistles and hoots. Cynthia Houtz, thinking of how she would have to face all those boys in the days to come, tried desperately to suppress her orgasm, but under the now expert teasing of Kim Flowers, it was no use. Gritting her teeth, her face twisted in a grimace as the powerful force of her orgasm suddenly seized control of her body, and a frantic trembling of her entire body was followed by a long loud cry of pleasure, her big boobs slapping against each other as the orgasm tore through her body.

Erika Coons put the final touches on things. As Jodi Babler’s body began to quiver in the start of her orgasm, she suddenly licked her middle finder and shoved it up to the hilt into Jodi’s tiny, pink little asshole. Shrieking in pain, pleasure and humiliation, Jodi let out a long, loud “Ooooohhhhhhh!” as her lush female body shook and quivered, the orgasm tearing into her senses as she stared at the video and still cameras capturing every moment of her powerful orgasm for history. Fresh tears burst out of her as the implications of that sunk in, and fresh spasms broke out as Erika, with a skill I never knew she had, began twisting the finger in her ass and stroking her clit even harder with the brush. Unwillingly, Jodi Babler broke into a series of multiple orgasms in front of the cheering crowd, cumming again and again until Erika finally released her to collapse into exhaustion.

And then it was over. Released from their bonds, the Blue Sneakers hung sweaty and exhausted in the arms of the Red Sneakers. In front of the cheering crowd, Biff announced the girls by name one more time, and had them take a group bow in front of the crowd, who cheered their lungs out. Powering up the Blue Sneakers earrings, I once again brought them under control, and manipulated them into big smiles for the crowd.

As the crowd dispersed, I went back to my station in the dark coaches office and manipulated the girls into taking showers and getting dressed. Electro-shocking them into slackness, I sent them on their way through what was now night to whatever fate awaited them. I kept the transceiver on for as long as I could.

But there was a range limit. By the time the last of the girls was at least eight hundred yards from the transmitter, the earrings ceased to function. By the time they all got home, they would be completely back under their own control, to deal with what had happened in their own way.

The interesting part of the experiment was about to begin.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Uproar

The big failure in most psychological experiments is to have them take place in a laboratory, insulated from the rest of the world. This leads to skewed and ultimately useless data—individual behavior takes place only in the context of society, in a hierarchy of effects that get weaker as the distance from subject to subject gets farther. Ignoring the sociological effects of individual behavior is a big mistake. From the beginning, I knew the most interesting part of the experiment would take place the next day, when the story of what had happened got around, the videos and pictures were viewed, and the reaction began in a ripple effect from those who had viewed it to those who had heard about it, passing from the student body onto the adults, then the civil authority figures, and finally even the families of the girls, after which, the flow would come back to the girls, to be repeated in that cycle.

In particular, I wanted to see if the sociological response degraded the conditioning, and if so, how fast.

That evening was filled with parties and crowds at the bars, all telling the story of what had happened. Videos were shown at the parties, and the first pictures began to appear on the Web within two hours of the event.

The next day, the uproar began.

First, the student union and different student groups registered their horror over what had happened. Then, the school administration. Then, the parents. There were angry editorials in the school newspaper, demonstrations by the female activist groups, an official investigation by the school administration, helped by both the campus and town police.

But nobody was ever accused of a crime, or any other conclusions ever reached about what had happened. The mind control devices I had devised were perfect – they could manipulate entire crowds without ever being traced back to their source.

Cynthia Houtz disappeared from campus, never to be seen again..

Judi and Cathi Metzger, to my surprise, started a sister act at one of the local nudie bars.

Cynthia Andrews was pulled out of school by her ultra-religious parents. Last I heard, she was attending a community college far away.

Ellen Arndorfer wasn’t seen for a few days, but then I saw her walking around campus with a new boyfriend on her arms. It later turned out she considered her performance the best thing that ever happened to her.

Kim Flowers, ever popular, became more so, and also found a new boyfriend.

Debbie Binder continued at school – when asked about the event, she wouldn’t talk, just smile.

At first a pariah with her equally snooty sorority sisters, Susan Delaney actually suggested a repeat performance of the whole thing as a fundraiser. She was booed down, but not easily intimidated, stayed with the sorority and in school.

Jodi Babler’s white trash parents blamed her for the whole thing, and refused to send her to another college. With nowhere else to go, she stayed in school, enduring for her final two years the lewd looks and catcalls of the boys. Crushing her arrogance is something that, to this day, I’m very proud of.

Erika Coons transferred to another school the next semester, but she had been planning that for some time, so I don’t really know what effect the event had on her.

Vicki Anderson was at first so ashamed of what had happened that she wouldn’t even leave her dorm room – but, with a sympathetic boy’s encouragement, she came out of her shell to find herself the object of what I can only call the awestruck hero worship of every boy on campus. She had a powerful female eros, and the boys responded to that with what I can only call pagan delight. She had a lot of fun in her final two years at school.

And, in a clear proof of Chaos Theory, the routine at the university, disrupted for almost four days, snapped back in a surprisingly short time. The event became one of the legends of the university.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Denouement

Two weeks after the event, I was in a coffee shop on the campus strip when Nikki Maenpaa suddenly sat down by me. After the naked basketball game, Nikki had enjoyed what she considered the best gift the world could give her, unlimited male attention. I had made careful notes of that in my logbook, and was continuing the longitudinal part of the experiment with that data. In some ways I had been disappointed – such a spectacular, unexpected display of what can be called anti-social behavior by a large group of people had had no real, lasting effect on the sociological form. Life now continued pretty much as it had before the event. My mind control device, while effective, had no real effect on the world as a whole, and I was speculating on the implications of that when Nikki suddenly sat down at my table.

“So when do we see the boys do it?” she asked.

“What?” I replied.

“The boys”, she said. “A basketball game, or better yet, a naked wrestling match. Fair is fair”.

A cold feeling went down my spine. Nikki, never the brightest bulb on the marquee, had nevertheless been the one to figure out what had happened—and that I was behind it.

In fact, it turned out that she had known from the minute I had her try on her earrings. She had even disassembled them at home, and immediately figured out how they worked. It was only then that I remembered that her dad was a radio repairman. At first I was evasive, but she nailed me on the facts that she had...

...and I had no choice but to ‘fess up to the rest.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

“You give the girls a show.” she replied.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Get a group of boys to play a naked basketball game for the girls. Or better yet, a naked wrestling match. Then, a nice show like we gave you”. She leaned in towards me and whispered “I want to see some mass cock-sucking by these guys”.

“What guys?” I asked. She then gave me a list of boys she wanted to see. See naked, whipped, and sexually tortured.

“You’re serious” I asked.

“Very”, she replied. “And this fall semester”.

I thought about this. The group dynamic of a mind-control experiment like that posed some interesting complications. Males are more resistant than females to mind-control techniques. Their earlobes aren’t as sensitive, and the effect of testosterone, the male hormone, is to increase energy, perception and alertness. And while it may be easy enough to get them to perform naked in front of a crowd of hooting girls, getting them to sexually torture each other would be very, very difficult, the natural revulsion to homosexual behavior being very strong in males. And I knew the guys on Nikki’s list; none of them were homos.

But as I thought about it, the more intriguing the idea became. Sure, it would be difficult, but if it could be done, that would increase the accomplishment. AND – until and unless there were major changes in the structure of American society, men would be the primary decision makers, and manipulating their minds would always be more valuable than manipulating female minds.

In fact...it could be a billion-dollar idea...

I thought long and hard. Then I looked at Nikki. “Can do”, I said.

Nikki smiled at me.