The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Bernard

I entered the Atrium with measured steps, the overhead lights casting dramatic shadows across the polished floor. I was fuming. Wendy and Olivia had found Lenore on the rooftop, unconscious, and no sign of the others. I had to do my best to hide my anger in front of my newly acquired women, though it didn’t really matter.

The three women followed behind me, Dr. Maren Kephart with her severe gray hair and clinical gaze, Dr. Elodie Thorne’s petite form moving with newfound purpose, and Dr. Saira Callen, her wedding ring still on her finger though its significance had long been erased from her mind. They carried their weapons with varying degrees of competence. Kephart held hers like she’d studied the manual, while Thorne’s grip betrayed her unfamiliarity with firearms.

What fascinated me most was the complete absence of grief in their expressions. Duncan Mercer’s body wasn’t even cold, yet these women who had belonged to him just minutes ago now looked at me with the same devotion, the same eager-to-please attentiveness. The human brain truly was remarkable in its malleability.

Three men stood by the main doors: Dr. Hoffman and Dr. Reyes, both unremarkable researchers whose names I’d bothered to remember only because they’d been on my list of potential problems. The third was Tristan Grimaud, his lanky frame unmistakable even from a distance. Beside him stood Portia Fletcher, her fingers intertwined with his, both of them wide-eyed at our approach.

“Leaving so soon?” I called out, allowing a note of amusement to color my voice despite my irritation. “I suppose the gunshots were rather alarming.” I sighed theatrically, adjusting my grip on my weapon. “I had hoped to keep things quiet tonight. My apologies for the disruption, gentlemen. But since you’re already here, already trying to leave…” I smiled pleasantly. “I’m afraid things will have to get messy. Again.”

“Bernard?” Kaori’s muffled voice came from the radio on my belt. I plucked the device from its clip and brought it to my lips.

“Speak.”

“No sign of the others, sir,” she reported. “I don’t think they’re still around the building...”

I gritted my teeth, fighting back the urge to hurl the radio against the wall. “Understood.”

I took a deep breath, channeling the rage that threatened to overtake me into something cold and controlled. My women watched me anxiously, their expressions a mixture of concern and determination to somehow make this right. They didn’t speak. They knew better.

My attention returned to the small group by the doors. Portia was visibly trembling, clinging to Tristan as if he could somehow protect her. Tristan himself appeared oddly calm, almost detached, though his eyes betrayed a rapid calculation of odds. The other two men looked like they might soil themselves at any moment.

I stepped closer to Tristan and Portia, allowing myself a small smirk despite my simmering frustration. “Well, at least there’s one woman I won’t be losing tonight.”

Tristan’s eyes met Portia’s, a silent communication passing between them. Something intimate and profound. Her face crumpled.

“Please,” she begged, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please don’t—”

I raised my gun and shot Tristan directly between the eyes. His body crumpled to the floor with a satisfying thud. Without looking at my women, I gestured toward Hoffman and Reyes. “Take care of them.”

They obeyed instantly. Kephart’s shot was clean and efficient, dropping Hoffman where he stood. Thorne and Callen were less precise, requiring multiple attempts before Reyes finally collapsed in a spreading pool of blood.

Portia’s scream echoed through the Atrium as she fell to her knees beside Tristan’s body, cradling his head in her lap, staring at his vacant face with horror. Thorne and Callen moved toward her, but I held up a hand to stop them.

“Give her a moment,” I said, watching Portia with clinical interest. “A minute in zombie-mode and she’ll join us.”

Portia didn’t seem to hear me. She stared at her dead owner’s face, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling slightly.

I raised the radio again. “Lenore, Silvra, find the remaining male scientists, and eliminate them. No exceptions.”

“Yes, sir,” Silvra’s voice came through immediately.

“With pleasure,” Lenore added, a hint of dark humor in her tone.

I knelt beside Portia, watching the fascinating transition taking place. Then came the small gasp I’d been waiting for.

I grasped her wrist firmly. “I own you now.”

She blinked, tears still glistening on her lashes. A shy smile formed on her lips as she looked up at me. “Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “I belong to you now.”

I ran my finger along her cheek, collecting her tears, then brought it to my mouth, tasting the salt with a soft laugh. “Go wait in the cafeteria.”

She rose obediently, still a bit unsteady, and walked away without a backward glance at Tristan’s body.

“Come,” I told my other women, gesturing for them to follow. I checked my watch. “We have work to do.”