The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A week after our little tête-à-tête with Blake Warren, the Majestic Woman sex tape hits the Internet. To say that it is a popular download would be a bit of an understatement, any site on which the video appears, any site on which the video is rumored to appear, almost immediately crashes under the weight of eager clicks from all over the world.

After several days of this churning chaos Google decides to host the damned thing, just to get things back to normal. All these site crashes are not good for their business either. Even though there is hardly a second in the whole seven hours that doesn’t violate the company’s “Terms of Usage”, they make an exception.

And what an exception. The video shows the powerless superheroine being stripped, beaten, fucked, and mind-fucked by her nameless, faceless tormentor, ending with a blow to the face that looks as if it could have broken her jaw.

There was a brief statement that accompanied the video wherever it popped up, and eventually Google provides access to that as well:

What you are about to see is a sample of the enslavement and degradation of Majestic Woman, who was once one of the most powerful people to walk the face of the earth. But here she is anything but powerful. She is anything but majestic. She is a slave.

Her master whores her out to anyone that can pay the price. The only thing that saves her from suffocating under pile of male flesh is the asking price that her pimp has set: $100 million dollars.

$100 million dollars to have Majestic Woman completely at your mercy. $100 million dollars to have Majestic Woman grovel at your feet. $100 million dollars to fuck that “Majestic” cunt. Or any other orifice you desire. All. Night. Long. So if you have a hundred great big ones to spare, and you happen to be passing through Dubai, why not stop by and let her show you a “super” good time.

“This is ‘Action-9 News at 10’ the ‘Desert Jewel’s’ most award-winning news source. Good evening, I’m Dan Simpkins along with Gloria Morales, Gloria?”

“Thanks, Dan. At the top of the news again tonight are the shattering revelations about Portal City’s own Majestic Woman. Just hours ago Portal City PD released a series of 911 and other calls related to Majestic Woman that all have a common theme. Here is a typical one:”

“...um, officer, so I was watching the, uh, the tape...I’m not proud of that...but...anyway, when she took off her uniform I recognized her immediately. It was my neighbor, Cynthia Royal. Um, I mean, not that I’ve seen Cynthia naked or anything...”

Gloria is annoyed. She has specifically told the sound engineers to edit out that last bit. “There are literally dozens of calls like this, all pointing to this ‘Cynthia Royal’ as Majestic Woman’s secret identity. Police have cordoned off Ms. Royal’s house and have been questioning neighbors. It is apparent that no one in the neighborhood has seen Ms. Royal since shortly before Majestic Woman’s disappearance. Dan?“

“Thanks, Gloria. After the break we will share some interviews with some of those callers, including the woman who may have taught Majestic Woman how to ‘shake her booty’.”

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, DAN?", Gloria shouts as the “On Air” sign stitches off.

Producer Bill Crestly tries to intervene. “Don’t blame Dan, Glory. It was on the teleprompter. I allowed it.”

“Well then, fuck you all!” Gloria shouts, “If there is not an apology after the break, and I mean right after the break. I will NOT be sitting in that chair!” She points to her familiar place behind the on-set news desk.

Now Dan unwisely pipes up, “Look, Glory, sex sells. Majestic Woman herself figured that out months ago. I don’t see the prob—”

“The problem, DAN, is that I won’t sell it. Besides, the very point of that interview that you mocked is that Majestic Woman may be acting under duress. Ah, fuck it, I’m out of here.” She begins to remove her mike and walk off.

Bill heads her off, “Look, Glory, you’re right. We’ll apologize. But not right after the break. That would cut into the interview time, right? You don’t want us to have to cut the interview, do you?”

The main interview was done by Gloria’s protégée, the woman Glory wants to replace her as anchor when she retires next year. The interview was good, really good, a scoop that could go national, but only if the whole thing gets air-time.

“Alright, Bill. But tomorrow night’s newscast STARTS with a lengthy apology out of DAN’s fat, smarmy mouth, or I swear I’ll walk off the set ON-AIR. Got it?”

“Sure, Glory, got it. THIRTY SECONDS, EVERYONE!”

Gloria waits for the cue and begins, “Some of those Majestic Woman police callers agreed to talk to us on-camera. Tonight we’ll start with a local dance instructor who may have a stunning revelation. Our own Stephanie Jenkins has this report.”

“Thank you, Gloria. Today I sat down with local dance instructor Yasmin Shadid, who wanted to share details of her encounters with the mysterious Ms. Royal:”

“So, Ms. Shadid—”

“Yasmin, please.”

“Yasmin. How do you know Cynthia Royal?”

“Last fall she was a student in one of my dance classes.”

“And what class was that?”

“Um, Erotic Belly Dancing.”

“This woman, a woman who you believe is Majestic Woman, was taking a class called ‘Erotic Belly Dancing’.”

“Um, that’s, that’s right, Stephanie.”

“And how exactly did you come to believe your, ah, student was Majestic Woman?”

“One of my other former students called me after she saw the Majestic Woman sex tape on the web. She asked me to watch to see if I thought it was Cynthia. So I did. It happens in the first 3 minutes. It’s weird, but before she took off the uniform I would have laughed at anyone who said that Cynthia was Majestic Woman.”

“So in your ‘Erotic Dance’ class, you’ve seen Ms. Royal naked.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point. It’s like there is something about the uniform itself that changes the way she looks.”

“I see. So what were your impressions of Ms. Royal?”

“Well, she was one of the most naturally talented students I’ve ever had, but she almost didn’t make it into the class.”

“Why is that?”

“Stephanie, for this class I always conduct screening interviews with the students, for lots of reasons, but one of the most important is to try to identify abuse victims who are being forced to take a ‘sexy’ class by their abuser. At first Cynthia came off exactly like one of those poor girls.”

“You thought she was being abused.”

“I thought it was a possibility. She told me that she signed up for the class because her boyfriend ‘wanted her to’. That is a big red flag to me. Nine out of ten times that means she’s being forced. Between that and the metal collar she had locked around her neck, I had a really bad feeling.”

“The same metal collar as in the video? The one that was used to chain her to the floor?”

“It looked the same to me, Stephanie.”

“But you let her in the class anyway?”

“She told me it wasn’t like it sounded, so I gave her another chance to convince me. She gave a better answer the second time. But Stephanie, after seeing that video I think I made a mistake. I think somehow she really was being abused. I think if the ‘$100 million prostitute’ stuff is right, then she is being forced into it. I think this ‘boyfriend’ who wanted her in my dance class was abusing her then and now.”

Gloria’s hunch was right. The interview went viral, then national, then global. There’s even an oddball report from a sex shop owner in Nez Pierce, Washington, identifying Cynthia Royal as Majestic Woman. It would have been discounted as self-promotion, except that his 911 call turns out to have been the very first, predating all the Portal City calls, He made the call only minutes after Google posted the sex tape at 2:00 am Pacific Time.

In the wake of these reports, there are more interviews with “experts”, but they all seem to agree that Majestic Woman is not a free agent. A smaller circle of experts is called upon to comment on the curious effect caused by removing the uniform. It’s all wild speculation and the most cogent among the experts freely admit this.

“Look, she can lift a diesel locomotive. How does she do that? Not with the physical body she appears to have! She flies through the air. How? Are there invisible strings holding her up? So now you are asking me why she looks so different in the uniform when the best facial recognition programs can’t find a difference in the before-and-after faces to eight decimal places? I. Don’t. Know. And anyone who tells you that they DO know is full of it.“

Of the two stories, though, the “slave whore” angle is clearly causing the most buzz. It’s having an effect everywhere. For example, in the Legion of Heroes. In order to keep the entire LoH from storming Dubai, Blake has to reveal that Majestic Woman was acting undercover. In order to convince them of that, he has to reveal that he himself was the source of the video, as well as being the abusive male subject of the video.

They all know how close Blake and Cynthia are, so that mollifies most of them, especially Sadie, but Claud is still seething about it. Sadie may no longer be blaming herself, but Claud knows that if he had been closer to Earth, the world would not have had to wait for over a month to find out that Majestic Woman was truly missing. He wants to go on “stake out” duty over Dubai to protect her. Blake convinces him not to do it. He argues that Power Man’s radar signature would be too hard to hide, that he would not be stealthy enough. So Claud agrees to stay away.

Of course, no one is trying to prevent the Amazons from attacking Dubai. Themiscyra goes onto a full war footing overnight. After the video broke, Hippolyta asked her military Chief of Staff, her sister Antiope, to come up with a plan to take Dubai and perform a massive search and rescue operation. It is General Kalliope and her commando team who come up with the amazing blitzkrieg plan to move all 75,000 Amazon warriors across some of the most sensitive airspace in the world in a matter of hours. And damn if it isn’t doable, too.

All the Amazon Queendom needs is the “Go” from Hippolyta, but Hippolyta is not convinced yet. This operation would blow the lid off of the existence and location of the Amazons. She would do that for her daughter, but only if her daughter is really in danger. She has visions of confronting her angry daughter in the smoking ruins of Dubai, and finding out that her daughter had actually been living happily as the world’s most expensive whore. Hippolyta needs a sign. I’m going to give her one.

“Good evening, this is Newshour on the BBC World Service, I’m Rachel Hawthorne. Tonight we will be devoting the entire hour to an unprecedented live telephone interview with Majestic Woman, who will be calling us from Dubai. Our BBC production staff are just waiting on the signal that she is on the line...There. Hallo, Majestic Woman, are you there?”

“Yes, Rachel, good evening from Dubai.”

“Good evening, Majestic Woman, and welcome to the programme. Or...may I call you Ms. Royal?”

“HA! Call me Cynthia. I guess the lid is pretty thoroughly blown off of my secret identity by now.”

“Then are you admitting to the legitimacy of the so called ‘sex tape’ as well?”

“Um, yes, Rachel. It’s legitimate.”

“And the rest? The text that accompanies that video claims that you are now one of the millions of women involved in the worldwide sex trade.”

“At the very high end of it, yes.”

“100 million US dollars per night, if the text is accurate.”

“Yes. That is the asking price...100 million.”

“Cynthia, the video is...disturbing...to say the least. I am sure that you know that most women in the sex trade perform under duress. Most prostitutes are forced into prostitution. Are we to believe that you are actually consenting to do the things that you are seen to do, or, I should say, have done to you, in that video?“

“...Rachel, I’m...I’m a pretty tough broad. I can take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.”

“Cynthia, I am not asking if you can take the abuse. I am asking if you are consenting to this of your own free will. I am asking if you are doing it willingly. As you must know by now, there are reports out of your old hometown of Portal City in the US that raise serious questions about whether or not you are under some sinister influence. What do you have to say about all that?”

“...Um...Rachel...Of...Of course, N-n-n-no one is...is ffforcing me...to...to do anything. Remember...I’m, I’m banking m-millions here.”

The subject is rattled. Rachel’s instincts take over. She moves in for the kill.

“That raises an important point, Cynthia. So you are claiming that this...endeavour is an equal partnership between yourself and your, ah, handler, Mr. Ibrahim Beg?”

“Um...sure...equal...fifty-fifty.”

«Got her! Forgive me, Ms. Royal. This is for your own good.»

“Then perhaps you can explain reports from our sources that show 9 staggeringly large deposits, ranging in size from $50 million to $100 million, all to numbered accounts around the world, all traceable to Mr. Beg, but no such deposits traceable to yourself. It doesn’t seem, Cynthia, as if you are making any money out of this at all.”

“Maybe...maybe I’m just...b-b-better at c-c-covering my tracks.”

“Ms. Royal, are you alright? You sound very nervous, almost distraught. Are you in fact a free agent and equal partner in the...actions we all saw on this video?”

“I’m not...nobody’s making...Oh no, NO! PLEASE! NOT THAT!”

There is an audible dial tone. It is quickly cut off and replaced by stunned silence.

Rachel, shaken to her core, finally fills the dead air by stating the obvious. “Our telephone connection with ‘Majestic Woman’ Cynthia Royal has been disconnected. Our staff are working to reestablish the call now.”

But they never do.

It’s 11:00 am in Themiscyra. Operation Angels’ Vengeance is scheduled to execute in only 14 more hours. The “Gods” can’t let that happen. They can’t let the Amazons announce themselves and Themiscyra to the modern world. So the Gods are coming out into the open instead. Now they take action, as I expected. But even I couldn’t have guessed how they would act.

At the same time, it’s noon in Dubai. It’s going to happen now. It’s G-day Number 2. Annette and Greg are, again, not sleeping. Annette is wearing the bike lock and cable, but is nonetheless using Majestic Woman’s athletic Amazon body to great advantage in her efforts to please her man. Suddenly the cable snaps and Majestic Woman’s powers flow back into her. Before either of them can think, the Shield of Athena expels Greg’s Ibrahim Beg penis from Annette’s Majestic Woman vagina. They look at each other for just a second wondering what the hell happened. It is their last second together.

The two-story apartment and everything in it explodes. Majestic Woman’s naked, invulnerable body is awash in the gore that used to be the body housing Greg Wolfe’s consciousness. As Annette realizes her husband is dead, her face contorts into a mask of terror. As she begins to scream, I swap Cindi back into her body. The “Chosen of the Gods” must now face the “Wrath of the Gods”.

In Falkirk, Annette is still a screaming, sobbing wreck. I have to get her together fast. When it’s time to swap her back, Annette will have to be ready to act.

In broad daylight, 163 stories above the streets of Dubai, Majestic Woman is being drawn out to meet her “Gods”. Unlike their last meeting, 73 years ago in Themiscyra, the “Gods” are not happy with her. They are not in a giving mood. They are angry and they want her to know it.

I’m trying to do too many things at once. First I’m trying to get everyone in Dubai, every businessman with a smart phone, every tourist with a camera, every news crew in the city, everyone, to record the spectacle that is taking place in the air above them. Remember, my first objective is to bring these bastards out of hiding.

Besides that, I have to help Annette get her act together, she is the only person other than Cindi who knows how to operate as Majestic Woman in that body. And Cindi is already lost in the “glamour of the Gods”. She can’t help it. If it were me I would be just as awestruck. Annette is the only one who can act now, but she can’t while she’s screaming and crying about poor Greg.

And then, on top of all that, I have to keep track of where all the players are on the board. I have to figure out a way for everyone (except the “Gods”) to survive. I can’t think about that now, but the more the “Gods” draw her out into the open sky with them the worse it looks for Cindi.

I’m looking at the scene now through a news cameraman with a zoom lens. I almost feel like I’m right below Cindi and the “Gods”. I’m also touching Cindi’s mind, lightly, lightly. I don’t want to get drawn into the secondhand glamour spell.

OH SHIT! They’re talking about TAKING HER POWERS AWAY! Time’s up. This shit is going down now.

“Annette, baby, you have to pull yourself together. You have to do it NOW, or Greg will have died for nothing!”

That sobers her up pretty quickly. But I don’t have time for a pep talk. Instead I absolutely flood her with warmth and love and confidence. It’s something I would not have known how to do nine months ago. Just one more reason to be thankful that I have Cindi in my life, now that I am on the verge of losing her.

Annette is doing better. She knows what the plan is. She knows what she has to do. She has a two-second window before the glamour overtakes her. But with super-speed, super-strength, and flight, one might accomplish amazing things in two seconds. That’s what I’m counting on.

A dazzled, frightened Cindi is still being lectured by the “Gods” for the way she has disgraced them. They haven’t started removing her powers yet.

When I swap Annette back into Cindi’s body she wastes not a second, not a millisecond, before acting. She flies in a tight arc that ends with her flying through the line of “Gods” confronting her. She got them. She got all five of them.

Now, suddenly, the “invisible string” is cut. Covered in alien gore as well as human, Annette is plummeting to her death. Cynthia’s body has no super strength, no invulnerability, no ability to fly. I always saw this as the most likely scenario after the death of the bastard “gods”, but the original plan called for me to swap “the tool of the gods”, Cindi, back into her now-helpless body and let her die.

Clearly that isn’t going to work for me now. Since I stopped living in denial, since I fell in love, since I brought Cindi into the plan, I have done this calculation a thousand times: square root of 2-times-d-over-a. Thank you, Isaac Newton. It always comes out the same. 13 seconds. I have 13 seconds to decide between Cindi and Annette, who will live and who will die.

But, sadly, it doesn’t take nearly that long. “Submissive” Annette demands, with all the firmness of a Roman emperor, to be allowed to join her husband in death. And so she does.

I know that you only have my word on that, that she begged me...no, that she compelled me to let her die. But it’s true whether you believe me or not.

I’ve spoken at some length about Greg Wolfe. Let me take some time to give a brief elegy of Annette Dubois Wolfe.

Annette Jolie Dubois was born and raised in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in the USA. Later in life she was fond of telling people of her hometown, “It’s pronounced just like it’s spelled: BAH-TAWN ROOZH, LOO-ZANA.” At age 8 she met her best friend for life, Julia Charlotte Crosby of Falkirk, Western Australia. They met in their first Jovan Farmer Trust “Summer Program for Girls” event, a very effective cover for getting young Ten Thousanders together. They resolved to stay loyal pen pals, and, wonder of wonders, they actually did. Much of what drew them together was the thrill they shared in the real life adventures of the Legion of Heroes, most particularly the adventures of their favorite hero, Majestic Woman.

At age 18 she and Julia both accepted Jovan Farmer Trust fine arts scholarships to Corpus Christi College at the University of Oxford. They’ve often said that neither of them would have made it through austere, stuffy Oxford without the other. While there Annette met (with my help) and fell in love with (all by herself, but I would have insisted had she not) Rhodes Scholar and “boy genius” Greg Wolfe. Greg had somehow (with my help) turned his high school investment club in Adelaide into a multimillion US dollar concern, well on the way to it’s first billion. After 4 years, Annette and Greg graduated and married on the same day. There was not a dry eye in the house. Shortly thereafter, much to Julia’s delight, I moved them to their current home in Falkirk.

The astute reader may recall that outside the door of Greg and Annette’s penthouse there was one other door in the short hallway. That was the door to Annette’s studio, which is actually somewhat larger than the apartment itself. Her favorite medium was clay; she loved the feel of it in her hands. Her sculptures explode with joy and warmth.

Although the circumstances were horrifying and sad, Annette died much as she lived, with great passion and love. May she rest in peace.

A week later two dozen of us, the Wolfes, the Duboises, the eight of us from Falkirk, gathered around an unmarked memorial in my park in Falkirk. It’s strange in that it can’t mention Greg and Annette by name, since they are still “alive”. It is six feet tall, in the shape of that once-world’s-tallest-building, complete with ruined wreckage at the top. At its base there is this small inscription: “To the true heroes of Dubai. You will live in our hearts forever.” Cindi and I intend to live up to the letter of that promise.

Meanwhile in Themicyra back on G-day 2, hundreds of delivery drivers, construction workers, repairmen, and others suddenly notice that everyone around them is a young attractive woman. And that they are all dressed in desert camo and jump boots, all busily preparing for something...big. The city is literally filled with them. How could they not have noticed before? Somewhat more slowly most of them are starting to notice that they have not been paid for the goods or services they were providing.

The women of Themiscyra are not yet taking notice of this growing hubbub. Instead they are amazed by the giant silver cylinder that has suddenly appeared in the midst of the southwest quadrant of the city. A giant skyscraper on the site of Stinky Pond. It is easily they tallest building in the world, and none of them has ever noticed it at all, except as an apparent shimmer of hot air. The glamour of the gods at work again.

As the weeks go by, teams of scientists descend on the Themiscyra Tower, trying to unlock its secrets. They all know that it will be the work of hundreds of years, but they can’t wait to begin.

Equally eagerly, teeming hordes of lawyers descend on Themiscyra City Hall, demanding back payment for dozens of years, if not centuries of unpaid bills. They are at least somewhat surprised to find the Hippolyta ready for them, taking them to a huge library of accounting ledgers dating back literally thousands of years, detailing every single item that was ever delivered or provided to Themiscyra without payment. They are equally shocked by her promise to find some way to pay it all back.

“Now if you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I am mourning my daughter.” Only now do they notice that she is dressed in black from head to toe. Only weeks later do they realize that the apparently-mid-twenties-aged Queen/Mayor is the mother of the apparently-mid-twenties-aged superherione who martyred herself in Dubai.

Crime scene investigators in Dubai have an amazing amount of video evidence of the events there, as I intended. All the video footage clearly shows the five “gods cum aliens” that Majestic Woman killed. They all have that classic “National Enquirer alien” shape: hairless, gray skin, childlike bodies, huge heads, and huge dark eyes.

Not surprisingly a great deal of the video footage makes it to the internet. So the “Greek Gods” were real! So the “National Enquirer Space Aliens” were real! So they were really the same thing!

Eventually the press stops calling them “Greek Gods” and just calls them “Alien Gods”, as if that were really any better.

The investigators are puzzled by the bloody remains on that street in Dubai. There is a great deal more blood, bone, and tissue than can be accounted for just by Majestic Woman’s body. That is not the puzzler since 6 bodies fell to the ground. The puzzler is that all the tissue is human, at least according to the DNA analysis. There are strange mutations in 5 of the 6 strains. The 6th strain is clearly normal human and female, Majestic Woman.

A seventh strain of DNA is found in the wreckage of the penthouse, and in trace amounts in the mess on the street. Eventually it is identified as Ibrahim Beg, the “pimp” who was helping Majestic Woman run the secret LoH operation that killed them both in a blaze of heroic glory.

The investigators, now aided by the Wraith, begin to believe that these were not aliens at all, but some far future offshoot of humanity. The press has stopped calling them “Alien Gods” and started calling them “Time Travelling Gods”.

In their fourth week, the team of researchers at the Themiscyra Tower become crime scene investigators themselves, after the first of several sets of the gruesome half-eaten human remains are found in the building. After that story breaks, no one calls the bastards any kind of “Gods” anymore. It is a matter of days before someone comes up with the name that sticks. Small grey human-like creatures from the future with a taste for human flesh? H.G. Wells once had a name for them. He called them “Morlocks”. That is what we call them even today.

In Falkirk, Australia, sometime during all this, a twelve thousand year old immortal spirit pledges his literally undying love to a twenty-five hundred year old homeless mind. I beg—beg—her to marry me, to make me the happiest immortal spirit in the world, never to part throughout all eternity. After the briefest of heart-stopping pauses she answers by leaping into my arms and tackling me with a scorching kiss.