The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tampa, FL

August, 2022

“…and here’s where we put the enlarged jacuzzi hot tub!” Ashley giggled, leading the camera crew out onto the sorority house’s backyard deck. As the nubile young blonde skipped through the sliding doors, the cameraman briefly panned to film her tight little rear end, flexing away under Ashley’s tiny bikini bottom.

Outside, the sky was clear blue, with the hot sun directly overhead. The sorority house’s deck was massive, wide enough to host a hundred people, if not more. There were plenty of lean, almost-naked young women sunbathing on lawn chairs, their bodies gleaming from oil. To camera left, the pool-sized hot tub was chugging away, frothing bubbles and steam as if it were determined to boil. Inside the hot tub, twenty more young women in string bikinis were relaxing and chatting. All merrily waved to the camera.

“See?” trilled Ashley. “Our Omni Gamma Rho House is now the envy of the whole campus!”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” agreed Dave Silvers, the host of AHSH (America’s Hottest Sorority House). “You girls sure did put the prize money to best use!”

“Yeah!!!” cried Ashley and her sisters. The young women broke out into wild cheers.

Dr. Bruce Grainley grinned to himself, leaning back in his chair. The young, bikini-clad lovies of AHSH danced about on his computer screen, laughing and drinking from plastic red cups as a party montage began. There were plenty of jiggling rears and bouncing breasts and flat, toned tummies in the frame, just the way that Bruce liked-

“Bruce!”

The young man jumped. From across the Physics Shop workroom, Dr. McAlister was beaconing. Bruce quickly minimized his streaming app and yanked the earbuds from his ears. He guiltily glanced around. Had anyone seen his laptop screen?

It didn’t look as if anyone had. There were about five other assistant-level physicists working in the Physics Shop at the moment, all of them absorbed in their work. Bruce hoped that he’d looked just as busy.

“My gracious, Bruce, come on!” Dr. McAlister repeated. “You’re late!”

“Yeah, sorry, boss,” Bruce mumbled, scooping up his computer, paper notebook, and travel mug as quickly as he could.

Dr. McAlister led Bruce down the corridors of Wilson Dynamic Laboratories, a smaller scientific research house. WDL was a private R&D technology company, funded with multiple grants from the US Department of Energy and other interested corporations. There were about thirty scientists at work under WDL’s roof, most of them junior chemists and physicists, freshly-graduated from the Ivy Leagues.

Like Bruce. Bruce was a mere twenty-five years old, his Stanford PhD less than six months old. Bruce was skinny and lanky, but not awkward. He rarely ate enough, but despite his scarecrow-like appearance, he was fairly handsome… that is, if you could look past Bruce’s thick glasses and shaggy haircut.

“Hmm, yes, here we are…” Dr. McAlister grumbled, arriving at the door for Test Lab 7. He began searching his pockets for his ID card.

Bruce eyed his boss. Dr. James McAlister was one of the two directors at WDL, one of the two bigwigs who decided how the precious funding should be spent. Consequently, Bruce and his fellow bootlickers were always trying to keep on McAlister’s good side. McAlister was notoriously young for such a powerful scientist. At only forty years old, he was well-built, with solid shoulders and a stock frame. His hair was thinning a little, and for reasons no-one could comprehend, Doc McAlister had decided to compensate by growing a ratty little ponytail. Bruce thought that the ponytail looked ridiculous.

As always, McAlister wore a scientist’s white lab coat… which was entirely unnecessary, as WDL developed technology. But the older scientist liked how the lab coat made him look intelligent. Absolutely no-one else at WDL shared this opinion.

As Dr. McAlister ransacked his coat pockets, loud rap music began approaching from down the hallway.

Soon, Kevin the Mail Guy, appeared, pushing his cart before him. Kevin was a heavy-set African American, always easygoing, except that he didn’t believe in earbuds. He kept his smartphone tucked in his back pocket, and listened to offensive rap music on phone’s speaker wherever he went. Bruce flinched at today’s lyrics:

I GOTS THEM HO’S, THEY SUCK MY COCK

I PLAY THAT SHIT, I LIKE TO ROCK

SO FUCK THAT HO, SHE GOT THE HITS

I SMACK HER ASS, I SUCK THEM TITS

YEEEEEEAH BOY!!!

“Kevin!” frowned Dr. McAlister. “Gracious, can you turn that down? Or off?”

“Sure, professor,” Kevin promised, not reaching for his phone. “You need help?”

“I… uh… Yeah.” The senior scientist looked embarrassed. “You have the keycard?”

“Naw,” said Kevin, and he banged once on the door to Test Lab 7 with his fist. The door popped open.

“Lock’s busted,” he said in explanation.

“Oh,” replied Dr. McAlister. “Er, thanks.”

Kevin ambled away, still broadcasting his rap. Dr. McAlister and Bruce slipped into the test lab.

The lab was a cluttered room, with metal storage shelves lining the far wall. Every last shelf was crammed full of electrical equipment; some equipment was fully-built, other pieces were in various states of assembly. Wheeled carts with more still more equipment on them were pushed into the far corner. In the center of the room was an open space, with two chairs facing one another. A worktable was set up in the back.

Waiting in the lab were two young men. Slouched at the worktable was Bruce’s colleague, Dr. Phil Namartin. Phil was Bruce’s age, also a recently-hired physicist. Bruce thought that Phil was Taiwanese…? …but he wasn’t sure. Phil was tapping away at his laptop, looking disgruntled. Sitting in one of the center chairs was a very young man, wearing a Tampa U muscle shirt and a dull expression on his piglike face. Bruce had never seen this fellow before.

“Very well, very well, gentlemen, let’s get started…” Dr. McAlister said, already sliding one of the wheeled carts into the center of the room. On the cart was what looked like an older laptop, except that there was a computer tablet attached to the back of the laptop’s screen. Several wires ran between the laptop and tablet, and a very thick power cord ran from the device to a dedicated electrical plug in the wall. Bruce could also see additional exposed electric circuitry strapped to the device’s side.

Dr. McAlister pointed the tablet screen directly at the Tampa U kid, then sat behind the device’s keyboard. “Phil, show Bruce how to monitor the power consumption graphs?” the senior scientist instructed.

“Yessir,” Phil acknowledged.

Now McAlister nodded at the Tampa U kid. “Hello, young man! Thank you for volunteering for our little experiment. Now, before we begin, did you submit all of your evaluation paperwork…?”

Bruce sat down next to Phil. “Dude,” Bruce murmured, “what the fuck is going on?”

Phil nodded at the modified laptop. “That device is a concentration enhancer, broh. Its something McAlister is working on for the Department of Education. It generates a neural stimulation field, or some such shit, and projects the field toward the volunteer. There’s also a visual pattern on the tablet screen for the volunteer to use as a focus point.”

“…okay,” was Bruce’s only comment.

“Yeah, I know, broh,” Phil grumbled. “That device probably represents, what, two hundred thou of grant money? Sheesh. They could have sunk that two hundred thou towards any other fucking project and WDL would be better off.” Phil shook his head. “But McAlister loooooooves this gizmo. Loves it. He calls it Brainwave.”

“Must be nice to be a director and waste money on your own bullshit projects,” Bruce opined.

Phil pointed at Bruce’s own computer. “Alright, alright, get to work before McAlister yells at us again, broh. Tie your laptop into Test Room 7’s Wi-Fi, surf to the lab server, then go to the device menus.”

Bruce hurried through these instructions. Soon, he was looking at a live graph of the Brainwave device’s power levels. The graph showed a steady 20 AMP / 120 Volts. Boring.

Ugh, this is what I have to watch?” he grumbled. “I might as well monitor the thermostat.”

“Whatever, broh,” Phil grumbled back, typing away on his own laptop.

“Now then, gentlemen, let’s begin,” Dr. McAlister announced. He picked up a clipboard. To the volunteer, he instructed, “Chuck, just look into Brainwave’s screen, okay?”

“Is it safe?” Chuck asked warily.

“Perfectly,” promised McAlister, and flipped a large master switch. The Brainwave device came on, making a low humming noise. Its tablet screen activated, although Bruce couldn’t see its display image from where he was sitting.

But immediately, the graph display on Bruce’s own laptop went crazy. The power consumption line on the graph shot upwards and kept climbing.

“Whoa,” Bruce muttered. “Jesus, this thing sucks in a lot of power…”

“Now then, Chuck,” Dr. McAlister said casually. “What is your major at Tampa U, again?”

“Uh, Physical Education.”

“Very well. So look directly into the screen, please. I’m going to read you a passage, Chuck, and all I want you to is to just listen to it. Are you ready?” Dr. McAlister cleared his throat. “’The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’” he said regally. “You got that, Chuck?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Very good.” Mr. McAlister picked up a second clipboard. “Now, I’m going to ask you to verbally solve some word problems, okay?” He cleared his throat again. “If apples cost five dollars a bushel and bananas cost three dollars a bushel, then how much can…”

Bruce listened, confused. “So this… machine makes you smarter?” he muttered to Phil.

“No, broh,” Phil corrected him. “I told you: It’s a concentration enhancer. It heightens concentration. If you’re subjected to the neural field, it makes it easier for you to focus on mental tasks.”

Still gazing into the tablet screen, Chuck said, “So then the answer would be… a profit of one hundred fifty?”

“Exactly right!” Dr. McAlister crowed, making notes. “Gracious, Chuck, that is excellent. Now if apples went up to six dollars a bushel…”

Bruce let out a low whistle. “Fuck me,” he said in admiration. “Now the dumb jock can do math. Jesus, this thing would make me a super genius. Where was this machine when I was taking the SAT’s?”

Phil nodded. “I know, right?”

With little hesitation, Chuck declared, “You’d get one-sixty in profit this time.”

“Gracious, Chuck, that’s excellent!” Dr. McAlister smiled.

The verbal math quiz went on for another few minutes; Chuck passed with flying colors.

Dr. McAlister set down his clipboard. “Now, one last question, Chuck. Do you remember the quotation I read to you earlier in this session?”

Chuck didn’t even blink. “’The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’” he replied confidently.

“Holy shit…” Bruce muttered under his breath.

Dr. McAlister was clearly pleased. He snapped off the Brainwave device and then personally escorted Chuck out into the hallway, praising the young lad the whole time. “Reset for the next experiments, gentlemen,” were his last instructions to Bruce and Phil.

Bruce hopped up and approached Brainwave with a reverent look on his face. “This thing is a genius ray,” he said in admiration. “It can make morons a million times smarter.”

“No, no, broh, I told you that’s not what it does,” scowled Phil. He moved to fuss over Brainwave’s keyboard himself. “Although… Hmm. I s’pose you could use it for…”

The sound of blaring, offensive rap music was approaching from down the hall.

“Hey, I got an idea,” Phil mused. “Do me a favor, broh, call Kevin the Mail Guy in here, will ya?”

Bruce gave his colleague a sideways glance.

“Its fine, its fine, just do it,” scoffed Phil. He was tinkering with Brainwave’s power levels.

So Bruce poked his head outside, and yelled for Kevin. The good-natured Mail Guy was soon strolling into the lab. He tapped on his phone to mute its offensive soundtrack.

“What’s up, fellas?” he asked.

“Kevin, look here,” ordered Phil, pointing at the device’s screen. He hit the master switch.

Now the laptop hummed a little louder. The tablet screen lit up. Kevin was staring into it, and immediately his face went slack.

“Now Kevin,” Phil instructed, using an authoritative tone, “you are playing your music too loudly. You should use earbuds when in the office.”

Kevin didn’t respond.

With a smirk, Phil killed the power on the device. The screen faded. Kevin blinked a few times.

“I… uh… What’s up, fellas?” he asked innocently.

“Nothing, broh, nothing,” Phil said easily. “Bruce and I were just sayin’ ‘hi’.”

“Oh, okay,” shrugged Kevin. “Listen, you two fellas need to clean out your office mailboxes, hear? They’re getting overloaded.”

The African American reached for his phone. Then he paused.

“What’s up, Kev?” Bruce dared to ask.

Kevin looked thoughtful.

“You know…” he said slowly, “I’m probably playing my music too loudly. I should use earbuds when in the office. Hmm.”

Then, without turning on his music, Kevin returned to his mail cart.

“Holy fuck!” Bruce almost yelled. “You’re telling me… Brainwave is also a Jedi Mind Trick machine?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” smirked Phil. “Personally, I think Kevin’s just really suggestible. But who knows?” He grinned. “Why don’t you look into the screen, broh, and let’s see what it can do to you?”

“Uh, no,” Bruce said quickly. “No, I’m good. Real good.” He paused. “You think McAlister knows that you can…?”

“Jack up the power consumption to amplify the neural field and turn the subject’s brain into mush?” Phil drawled. “Naw, McAlister’s a clueless idiot. Otherwise, he’d be selling this thing to the Pentagon, not the Department of Education.”

Phil shot Bruce a dangerous glance. “Hey, you better not tell anyone about this, hear me? I was just screwing around. I don’t want to get fired or sued if WDL finds out we brainwashed Kevin. Okay, broh?”

“Yeah, dude, of course,” Bruce promised. “No problem.”

“Good,” said Phil. “Okay, let me show you how to reset…”

That afternoon, Bruce made excuses to remain on Dr. McAlister’s testing team. He helped McAlister and Phil test Brainwave on six more college student volunteers, all of which showed increased cognitive performance while staring into the device. Dr. McAlister was quite pleased.

The experiments lasted until four in the afternoon. When the last test subject left, Bruce volunteered to fill out all the filing paperwork, which guaranteed he would be at his desk for another three hours at least.

“Whatever, broh, its your time,” Phill scoffed at him.

Bruce paid Phil no mind. The young physicist worked into the evening, ignoring the janitor’s staff as they vacuumed the carpets.

When Bruce was certain that he was the last WDL scientist in the building, he shut down his own computer. He cleared off his desk, taking care to pack up the few personal items that lived with him at work.

Then Bruce made a beeline for Test Lab 7. The door popped open when he banged it with his fist.

In a flash, Bruce had seized the Brainwave prototype. There was a folded electrical schematic underneath the machine with “BRAINWAVE, J. McAlister” written on the side. After a moment’s thought, Bruce grabbed that, too. He stuffed both device and blueprints into his backpack, slung the pack onto his shoulders, and slipped back out into the hallway.

A security alarm went off.

Swearing to himself, Bruce hurried down the corridor. As he flew down a stairwell, he passed a surprised WDL security guard who was heading upstairs.

“Excuse me, sir,” cried the guard, “but we’ve just had an alert in TL 7. Sir? Sir, wait right there! Sir! Stop!!!”

Bruce ignored the man. He reached the bottom of the stairs, shoved open an emergency fire door and dashed outside into the warm night air.

And within minutes, Bruce was in his car, screeching out of the WDL parking lot.