The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’m dreaming… I think…

No, wait.

My thoughts begin to form themselves. I’m lying down somewhere. Somewhere cold. Where am I?

I force my eyes open. I’m on a floor. A stone floor. Oh, right, this is the floor of Bratt’s lavish office. I’m lying here on the floor next to the bed.

Above me are four bare feet. I squint, remembering. Those feet belong to Tuck and Bratt. Right.

Right.

Fuck me.

I was hypnotized, I was totally fucking hypnotized by Bratt. I can remember it all so clearly now. Earlier, he did this… thing… where he pointed his finger all over the place and it confused me. And then he said something loud, and the next thing I knew, I was asleep and in his power. I literally went into a trance in under a second. How the fuck did he do that?

I shiver. This floor is freezing.

Then, I was trotted out into the Recording Studio, where I made a total ass of myself on live radio. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Oh no, then I was mesmerized to thinking of Bratt and then Tuck were my—gack!—masters, and I fucked them both within an inch of their lives.

Oh, my stomach is churning. I want to barf.

Like never before, I thank the Good Lord that I am on the pill. That fucker Tuck better not have any STDs.

I hear the soft snores of both men, on the bed above me.

Feeling wobbly like you wouldn’t believe, I climb to my feet. There, on the rumpled mattress, are the shock jocks of Atlanta’s afternoon. Tuck and Bratt are lying on their backs, both passed out in after-sex sleep. Bratt is still wearing his black button-down shirt; otherwise, the boys are naked. Tuck is drooling heavily out of the side of his mouth.

I sneer in disgust at both of these monkeys. Unbelievable pigs. They operate the world’s most chauvinistic radio program with the merest competence, mesmerize their pretty young staff to be a mindless harem, and think they are kings of the world.

I hate them. I hate them both.

I scowl, looking about. I’m nude myself. Where are my clothes?

I search my memory. I vaguely recall… I took off my top and bra while in the Recording Studio. Oh God. Where my shorts, panties, and shoes are, I have no idea.

Fuck me.

I rub my forehead, wondering what to do. My body feels like it was licked by a dinosaur; I am sticky and smelly all over. Especially down by my vagina and butt.

I shiver in the air conditioning. I need clothes.

As tempted as I am to grab Tuck’s shirt and pants, I just can’t stomach their smell. So I go to the office door and poke my head out into the corridor.

There, in Cubicle City, are the rest of the “Tuck and Bratt” staffers, working away. Most of them are semi-naked. I guess I can walk around in my birthday suit, at least long enough to find my own clothes.

I step out, still embarrassed as the girls look up and see my nakedness. “Hi,” I say feebly.

But no-one seems shocked. I guess these poor girls have been hypnotized to think its natural for women to be nude in the workplace.

I gotta get to the Recording Studio. The only way to get there is through the Reception Area.

Taking a deep breath, I walk briskly, entering Reception in a few strides. Of course, the building’s snack guys are there, restocking our vending machines. I go bright red as they stare at me.

“Eyes down, buds,” I mutter angrily. They comply, shocked at the situation.

“Oh, hey, Jessica,” our receptionist says, unperturbed at my nudity. “You got a call. Just after the show started.” She holds up a piece of paper.

I struggle to read her handwriting: 11:30—Jessica: Horace called. Your mom collapsed. Rushed to hospital.

Without asking permission, I seize the receptionist’s phone and ignore her glare. My fingers flying, I dial home. No response.

Luckily, I’ve memorized the number for Mom’s doctor. The doc isn’t in, but her nurse is.

“Hi, Jessica, how are you?” the nurse asks. Her voice is heavy, as if she’s about to deliver really bad news.

“How’s my mom?” I cry. My guts are twisting up within me.

“One sec, let me call the hospital,” the nurse tells me, and I hear the phone being set down. There is some muted conversation in the background. I wait, trembling in fear.

Finally, the nurse picks up. “Your mom’s resting, Jessica,” says the nurse. “She collapsed this morning and had to be rushed into intensive care for emergency treatment.”

I begin sobbing in relief.

“Jessica?” the nurse asks.

I mumble thanks and hang up.

The snack guys and receptionist watch me with distain, probably thinking, The naked lady is going crazy.

I drop to my knees, cradling my face in my hands, weeping uncontrollably. I can’t take this. I can’t. My life has become a piled-up wreck of unsolvable problems. Mom’s cancer… The medical bills… My impounded car… No money… My stupid slacker brothers…

And most of all? Tuck and Bratt. Fucking Tuck and Fucking Bratt. While I was their entranced plaything, my mother nearly died and I never knew. What if she had passed? What if my last chance to say good-bye, to hug her, was lost because I was bewitched into humping those two…

My fear and despair spill over into rage. Thick, seething, uncontainable rage. I grind my teeth.

Ignoring the stares of everyone, I rise to my feet and storm back to Bratt’s office.

Tuck and Bratt are still comatose on the bed. My eyes blazing, I lean over them and grab them by the balls. Tuck in my left hand. Bratt in my right.

Then I squeeze.

Both men jump as if electrocuted. They scream, and Bratt’s scream is surprisingly high and girl-like. I don’t care. Making sure I’ve got their attention, I squeeze again.

“Fuuuuuuuck!” screeches Tuck. He wildly kicks at me, missing. Bratt tries to roll away.

Stupid fools. Now I REALLY squeeze.

They howl in pain, writhing in agony. Good. I grin slightly, letting my hatred take control of the situation.

“Now listen up, dickheads,” I hiss, making sure both men at looking directly at me. “As the only qualified member of the ‘Tuck and Bratt’ staff, I’m making some recommendations on how to improve the show. Listen good.”

“Jesus Christ!” wails Tuck. He stares at his manhood, compressed within my clenched fist. His eyes are actually welling with tears. “Jesus Christ!”

“Jessica, listen to me,” Bratt says quickly, his voice warbling. “Look into my eyes, Toots, and when I count from one to—“

I squeeze my fists again, and this time maintain the pressure. Tuck and Bratt scream again, bucking and flailing. But they can’t break my iron grip.

“That shit doesn’t work anymore,” I tell Bratt levelly. “In fact, after today, you’re never gonna do hypnosis again.”

Tuck is babbling quietly, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You stupid cunt!!!” cries Bratt. “You’re so fired! And… you’re sued! You’re fucking sued, you hear me?”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You two,” I say angrily. “You’re the stupidest pair of dickheads I’ve met in a long, long, looooooooooong time. You know why?”

Bratt gazes at me, afraid. “Why?” he asks fearfully.

“You morons hypnotized me on live radio,” I tell him. “So when I go to the police and tell them I was hypnotized and then raped here, what do you think is gonna happen next? What happens when the cops start interviewing the other girls?”

Neither man responds. For once, they have nothing to say.

“Yeah,” I growl. “You two shits are fucked. Totally fucked. Like, decades in prison for sex crimes. I hope your rectums enjoy getting resized.”

Suddenly the air stinks; I think Tuck is shitting himself.