The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There’s a theory of human behaviour that people are who they seem to be. It’s based on the idea that the human mind is not nearly as committed to objective reality as is commonly believed. Nor is the image we have of ourselves as solid as we would like to think. Instead, our mind constantly updates our model of the world and our place in it based on the sensory inputs available to us.

I was concerned with this subject matter was not out of academic interest. But frustration. I’d finally managed to score a hot girlfriend and although she was smart and sweet, she had one flaw: she wasn’t putting out. No matter how patient I was, nothing was happening. So you might say, suck it up or break up with her if you don’t like it. But you’d be wrong, because you haven’t seen this girl. She’s, like, so hot. No, I had a better idea.

It was a risky plan. And I knew very well how wrong it was. When I started thinking about it I didn’t really believe I’d follow through on it. Since a single hardware or software malfunction could spell doom. I planned just to distract myself from my frustration. But I was seriously researching all the equipment and I found myself clicking ‘buy’. I splurged on the very best stuff. The bill was shocking. Was I really doing this? There was no room for failure, because she was going to, shall we say, really dislike my plan.

I don’t want to give the impression that I didn’t have any compunction about this or that I didn’t feel profound unease about the possibility that things turned south. Having planned for every eventuality and having purchased everything I needed, I thought, fuck it, I’m doing this. I assured myself that if everything went well my girlfriend would eventually come around to my point of view.

On our Friday night film night I spiked her drink. I waited for her to become sleepy and when I was sure she was unconscious I sprang into action. I dressed her up as the person I wanted her to be. Appearance is everything!

I got her the most high-heeled black leather boots I could find. They went up to just below her knees and were extended by stocking to just above. The stockings were held up by leather thigh garters. These were in turn fixed together with a short chain so she could only take small, dainty steps. She had to look both sexy and elegant.

She would only be balancing on the very tips of her toes. Because she wasn’t used to this at all and I didn’t want her to break something, I reinforced her boots with some padded, stainless-steel ballet splints with straps to lock around her legs. I double-cuffed her upper arms together behind her back and crossed her lower arms up at her nape and chained them to a broad, steel choker, padded on the inside. I put her in a tight corset and half-cup shelf bra, tied with straps to her choker. These accented her figure, because remember, appearance is everything!

Next I lubed up a chunky vaginal sex toy and a bulging anal vibrator, slowly worked them in, and activated them. They might have been a bit too big—they only just fit. With these monsters at work inside her it was sure her mind would always be on sex. I locked a simple, but comfy chastity belt to her corset to prevent the toys from dislodging. (A weird name I think if used this way, maybe ‘unchastity belt’ would be better.) I only unlocked it once a day for ablutions—and whenever I needed my dick wet. I covered her crotch and bum, barely, with a black ruffled micro-skirt.

I found these pea-sized nipple vibrators that with a lot of effort I worked inside her nipples. They looked like elegantly curved shield piercings from the outside. They pulsed and vibrated and made her boobs shake a little when she stood still. Imagine what vibrating tits will do for a titfuck!

I put a large dildo gag down into her mouth and down her throat, so she’d get used to cock in her mouth. The choker’s padding accommodated and covered the bulge in her neck. I covered her mouth with a snug facemask that went from below her chin to the bridge of her nose. She could still breathe comfortably, but the mask stuck to her skin by a mild adhesive and I locked it fast behind her head, so it wouldn’t even dislodge if someone accidentally knocked against it. Pre-pandemic this would not have been a feasible disguise, but now it was the most normal look in the world.

The only substantive piece of clothing she got was a long-sleeved hoodie with the most ironic message I could find printed on it: “I love the sound you make when you shut up”. I cut out a small square in the upper back of it for her arms and a similar square in the back of a little rucksack. I sewed them together carefully. This way no one would notice the bulge of her arms on her back. There was room in the rucksack too for a bluetooth-enabled phone, a power supply, and an inductive charger for all her electronic equipment.

The empty sleeves I filled with a pair of prosthetic arms I’d attached to her shoulders and secured with straps to her chest harness and choker. They felt lifelike to the touch, so that no one ought to suspect anything immediately if they grabbed an arm. I stuffed the sleeves into the muff of the hoodie and tied them together inside so they wouldn’t fall out.

The hoodie was cropped to show her tummy and didn’t zip up fully, to show her enviable cleavage. I wanted people to see the hot piece of ass that she was. I wanted her to see them see that. I wanted her to feel all eyes drawn to her. The garters and straps were neither on display nor fully hidden, so that people would have to do a double-take on her and hopefully cast repeated glances her way to make sure they were seeing correctly, while not shocking them so much that they looked away in embarrassment. That way she’d always feel like she was the centre of attention. And with my arm draped around her shoulders or discreetly fondling her bum she’d feel like my private little hussy. Because appearance is everything!

Most importantly, I gave her the best pair of noise cancelling earplugs money could buy. They were pretty much like hearing aids except that they did the exact opposite, blocking all sound from the outside world. They did this by snugly covering the entire ear with a thin layer of sea-through latex foam. They were compact, waterproof, and wireless. Covered by her hair they were all but invisible. She probably didn’t even notice them herself and if she did she soon forgot they were there. I connected them via bluetooth to the phone in her rucksack, which had some very clever software installed on it. The goal was for her to perceive herself being perceived by everyone else as I would like to perceive her. Sound complicated? To put it differently: appearance is everything!

What the earplugs were programmed to do was let through all sounds except human voices. So far not so different from ordinary hearing aids. What set hers apart is she could still hear people speak but not what they actually said. Instead, a deepfake algorithm left the voices intact, but altered what they said. The algorithm had access to a near-unlimited corpus of real human conversation on the internet. It automatically generated realistic speech in the voice of the speaker that was consistent with the context. It also had to fit with a number of messages pre-programmed by me. The gist of which were fairly simple: She is my sexy fucktoy slut of a girlfriend. To be my devoted, sex-obsessed and always available plaything is her deepest longing and only meaning in life. Her body is built for sex and is my property alone.

She’d never notice the discrepancy: the earplugs were lightweight and unobtrusive. All voices sounded 100% natural and the more she heard a certain voice the more true to nature the deepfake algorithm could approximate the simulation.

So when two men on the street were negotiating the price of a newspaper it might have sounded to her as:

—Wow did you see that sexy slut?

—Her boyfriend is so lucky to be able to fuck such a pretty little tartlet every day.

—I bet her pussy so easily gets wet for him.

—No, I bet it’s just constantly wet for him!

—No, certainly she’s constantly dripping sex-juices down her thigh!

—Yeah I can see it glistening from here.

—She looks made for fucking her boyfriend.

—Her body was sculpted for that very purpose.

—Such a whore!

When she woke up I read confusion, then fury in her eyes and she wildly tested her restraints, which did exactly nothing. All parts of her outfit were strapped together tightly and everything held. Her efforts were barely even visible. I probably only saw because I knew exactly what state I’d put her in. Struggling must have been very tiring, because she soon ceased. She would have hung head, if the choker had allowed it. I helped her onto her feet and supported her as she nearly toppled. When she managed to stand she looked like a work of art. Her chest and face were blushing from arousal. I put my hand on one of her boobs and felt it hum. I stroked her inner thigh and she closed her eyes as if concentrating on resisting me. I’d never know what exactly was going through her head at that moment. I hoped it wasn’t too bad, but I was more focussed on what she would become.

I led her to the full body-length mirrors I was installing all around the house. I wanted her to admire herself whenever we were at home. I saw her shocked eyes roam her entire body. I wanted her to absorb her new look. Her self-image was central, because, don’t forget, appearance is everything.

We left the house and walked around the city for hours. I hooked her fake arm around mine to support her as she took small, mincing steps while she got used to balancing on her toes. I talked to her the entire time. Her earplugs made sure she didn’t hear my casual chitchat at all. Instead, she heard a twisted, x-rated version of it. Gradually it would burrow deeper and deeper into her brain, constructing a brand-new self-image in her mind. As I reminisced about our first date (a rather frustrating affair for me involving expensive dinner, roller-skating, and not even a kiss) all she heard was this:

—Remember our first date? It was magical. You later told me you nearly orgasmed on the spot. It was like you’d waited your entire life for this moment. By the time the starters came you were ready to declare you undying love for me. Your dessert was blowing me under the table. You said your mouth was made to hold my dick. Do you remember you insisted I’d fuck you from behind on roller-skates when no one was looking? It was too crowded for that, but I really appreciated the gesture. Then you happily took my dick up your ass when I came home with you. You did a great job submitting to me. You promised me you’d always be my horny, obedient lover. You’d always be wet for me. And I promised you I’d always be a kind owner to you. I’ll protect you and always be there for you as long as you’re a good little slut for me, happy for me to use your body as my toy.

She’d accept it all as the truth eventually. We were surrounded by people who could hear us and if anything I said was terribly out of place, surely someone around us would have batted an eyelid? The simplest explanation from her point of view was that it was both commonplace and true. And wasn’t it consistent with the vibrators ravaging her ass and cunt? Whose nipples were pulsing and throbbing and whose throat had a plastic cock stuffed down it? The longer she ruminated on it, the less room she saw for doubt.

In fact, nearly all shreds of conversation she caught from passers-by backed it up too.

—… that bombshell.

—... slutty outfit …

—She’s clinging to him … belongs ...

—... his personal cumwhore.

—What a lucky girl!

It’s important to note that the words she heard were not just some nonsense that happened to be consistent with my pre-programmed messages. The algorithm was performing an act of world-building for her. A world that her new self-image would fit appropriately into. If I reminded her of our first date again later—which I did—it would essentially spin the same vulgar tale.

She did try to escape that first day. Her attempt was so pathetic precisely because it looked so cute. I couldn’t help but laugh at her. Her hips wiggled oh so sensually as she tried to run. She hardly got ahead of me and I could easily keep up without breaking my stride. I just continued talking and pretended not to notice. Appearance is everything. If resistance left no tangible mark on the real world whatsoever, her mind would be forced to bin the very concept.

If she felt pain or discomfort, which was likely if I’m honest, it was similarly invisible to the outside world. The toys I inserted were probably a bit overambitious and her rigid posture would give her cramps. But she had no way of expressing any pain. All she saw was her own arousal. I expected any of the former to fade soon and be channeled into the latter

The beauty of this setup, if I may say so myself, is that it was internally consistent. She saw a sexually deviant plaything when she admired herself in the full body-length mirrors I was plastering the entire house with. She felt more and more like a sex-oozing pleasure bunny. The vibrators made her cunt-juice flow down her thighs and the only thing to distract her from her last orgasm was the build-up to the next. And she heard that the world saw her as my faithful sex slave, horny, obedient, inexhaustible, always brimming with awe and lust for me.

She had to resign herself to being constantly dependent on me and forever horny for me. I even saw a glimpse of that new attitude on her first day and it made me very happy and excited. I couldn’t wait to take her home and fuck her senseless. She sure as hell wasn’t stopping me now.

I didn’t leave it at that. Seeing my plan in practice revealed its shortcomings to me. The plan was a developing one and I made continual modifications to the setup. A major change occurred to me when she tried to escape for the third (and second-to-last!) time. She intentionally walked into a bewildered couple in the park and tried to get their attention. Completely pointless, she just looked bashful and lost for words. The mmmmmMMMMmmm-sound she made made her sound … annoyed, which was odd.

—I’m sorry about that, I said to the couple. What are you trying to say to them? Did you stub your toe?

She nodded and made a mmmm-sound again.

—I don’t know why you insist on wearing these impractical shoes in the park. That was a bit clumsy, wasn’t it?

She nodded again.

What she heard me say was:

—Being horny is no excuse for bothering these people. Is your horniness distacting you again?

—God, you’re such a confused, horny slut. Tell you what, if you don’t screw up again I’ll fuck the daylights out of you when we get home. Deal?

I apologised again and gently took her shoulders to lead her away.

It was a bit awkward and I wanted to avoid that in future. An additional issue was that whenever I took her gag out to feed her she’d hurl abuse at me. I admit I kinda deserved that. It really reminded me how wrong it was what I was doing. But it was too late now anyway. I wasn’t going to just give up and freely go to prison for years. So I didn’t want to hear it. It was unpleasant. Also, what she said clashed with what the algorithm fed her through her ears. She was able to hear both, one from outside her body and one from inside. This meant she was tearing at the new worldview and self-image that I was so carefully building up. It was unacceptable.

So I got a new dildo gag. One I wouldn’t need to remove for the next while. It was cutting-edge dildo gag technology. It extended and retracted to simulate a deep-throat blow job. It was hollow and could be filled with a fluid of your choice. I filled it with dissolved food powder—featuring all the nutrients she needed—specially made with the consistency and taste of semen, to be refilled several times a day via a tube. The contents dispensed by massaging the lodged gag with her lips, tongue, and throat. If she wanted to eat she’d better practice her dick-sucking skills and get used to the taste of cum. Luckily I provided her with the means to learn to love it!

In her facemask I installed basically the reverse of what was in her earplugs: a noise-cancelling speaker. It erased any sound that came from her mouth and nose, be it muffled shouts, passionate moans, snoring, whatever. I let the deepfake algorithm train on all old sound recordings I could find of her. Voice messages, her video blog, old recordings she’d made of herself practising talks. I let her shout into a microphone for a while too. It works best when a wide variety of speech is used. The result sounded just like her. Well, her somewhat younger self. Some of the recordings were quite old. But I guess that didn’t harm. ‘Youthful’ fit in the self-image that I wanted for her.

Using this, the algorithm let her speak, whenever it was appropriate for her to speak, whatever was appropriate for her to say. The insidious thing was that her earplugs fed her own speech straight back to her in corrupted form. So when she tried to escape for the fourth and final time her heavy breathing as she tried to run came out as playful giggling. This time she tried to grab the attention of an old lady but she completely failed to communicate any sense of emergency.

—Sorry to bother you, she said. But I just adore that scarf you’re wearing. Would you mind telling me where you got it?

What she heard herself say was completely different.

—Look what a slutty babe I am. I’m so horny and wet for my boyfriend. Am I not the pretty skank he deserves?

The lady smiled and told her where she’d gotten the scarf. But that wasn’t what my girlfriend heard.

—You are indeed! I bet on your knees blowing your boyfriend’s beautiful cock is your true calling, I’m sure.

Whenever I spoke to her, she replied. She said the nicest things! It was very believable. From her side it worked too, even without the dildo stuck in her mouth. She never heard what she said to me. Normally you hear your own voice through your own body. But the noise-canceller worked to annihilated even those sound waves which travelled through her flesh and bones, so all she heard was what her earplugs wanted her to hear, that is, a spiced up version of what I heard.

In time she came to disregard that small, bothersome, little fact that she didn’t actually speak because of a certain plastic cock stuck in her throat. But the voice she heard sounded like hers. It was her pre-recorded voice, just corrupted by the deepfake algorithm. And she identified with it. The things she said sounded completely like her. Why yes, when we left our house in the morning wasn’t it completely normal for our neighbour to glance at the leather straps disappearing between her boobs and give lurid sexual comments?

—Freshly fucked by your boyfriend?

And wasn’t it also like her to respond in similar vein?

—Yes! You know how it is. I can’t help being a wet little slut for my boyfriend!

To her, after a while there was nothing objectionable about it.

What the neighbour actually said was utterly prosaic.

—Lovely day, isn’t it?

—Just the weather your garden needs! Your flowers look beautiful!

This worked just as well in the bedroom. If she didn’t like the way I flung her onto the bed or how roughly I entered her anus, that feeling was pushed aside by the giggles and moans she heard her voice utter. If she struggled in anger while I fucked her soaking pussy, all she heard was her lustful wailing and her pleading for more. If her butt plug chafed at all after the many hours inside of her, there was nothing she heard or saw that could back it up. It made more sense that what she felt was purely sexual. None of her toys were capable of making her feel bad in any way. It didn’t gel with her other senses. Even her nose told her she was impossibly aroused. So all aches and pains melted away. And her body took it one step further. To prevent discomfort, whose mere existence threatened her self-image and had to be banished, her pussy and ass lubricated better. I noticed this, because my dick would slide in smoothly at any time. Even if she was sleeping. Juices flowed down her legs when we were outside. She became literally always ready for me, which was part of my instructions to her.

What’s more, any time I thrust into her or any time her butt plug budged and she moaned and squirmed in response, her body was conditioned to provide counter-stimulation. Her pussy clenched down on my dick and her rectum squeezed her ass-toy, providing an all the stronger stimulus for herself. Her orifices didn’t become weak and flabby out, but strong and tight, even as they became smoother and slippier.

Appearance is everything! If it looks like a horny little cum-addicted sex slave, it feels like a horny little cum-addicted sex slave, and it talks like a horny little cum-addicted sex slave, it must be a horny little cum-addicted sex slave. The devious thing is that this argument works just as well backwards: being a beautiful obedient oversexed fuckdoll entails looking like a beautiful obedient oversexed fuckdoll, feeling like a beautiful obedient oversexed fuckdoll, and talking like a beautiful obedient oversexed fuckdoll. So she got hopelessly stuck in an ever-deepening cycle of depravity.

One time my girlfriend and I met up for coffee with two friends of ours, Jake and Marcy. At some point the topic turned to her new sense of style. The conversation went something like this [what she heard was this]:

—Wow, you’ve really changed your style! said Marcy. I didn’t know you were into that kinda stuff. [—You look so slutty, it suits you! The perfect slut for you boyfriend!]

—Thanks! Yolo, right? said my girlfriend [—I know ... Always horny ...]

—Aren’t you drinking your coffee? [—Are you wet and dripping for him right now?]

—Oh, I’m not thirsty! [—I’m always a quivering, soaking mess for him!]

—This isn’t like you, said Jake. Weren’t you against sex before marriage? I think you’ve said that before. [—That’s so typical of you! So do you take it up the ass? You look like you do.]

—She was! I replied for her. And I still kinda am, but we’re working on it. [—True that! The mere mention of anal makes her wet! She always cums from it!]

—Yeah that’s true, she added. You know sometimes in a relationship you just have to talk things through. [—Oh, I wish he’d plough my ass right now, it’s even better than this huge butt plug I’m wearing.]

—But what could have changed your view on that? asked Jake. [—What do you like most about him plowing his bitch’s ass?]

—Well, as I said, I think life’s to short to always keep waiting. It just didn’t make sense to me anymore. [—Good question! I love it when he goes really deep, really roughly, when his balls are slapping my coochy stuffed with my vibrator!]

—He doesn’t see it that way, she continued. But I’m taking a stand on this. [—Cumming from anal is really special. I couldn’t live without it.]

—That does sound more like you alright, said Marcy. But I also remember you being against promiscuity... [—That sounds like you alright! But I remember you had a special penchent for titfucks too…]

My girlfriend shrugged. She liked titfucks. I liked them and she liked what I liked. But the table didn’t get that part of course.

—People change, my girlfriend responded. I’ve decided to embrace my sexuality. My boyfriend here has to deal with that. Besides, what has promiscuity got to do with it? Were still loyal to each other. [—People change. I’ve decided I love all types of sex. Whatever my gorgeous boyfriend feels like. I totally loyal to him. He can do what he wants of course.]

I also shrugged.

—Whatever you say babe. [—You’re such a whore]

She nodded.

—Yeah! He took some convincing. He can be a bit prudish sometimes. [—Yeah! I’m so his whore. It’s the one and only thing I’m good for.]

—Good for you! said Marcy. You know me, I’m all for sex-positivity. Everything’s cool as long as it’s consensual. You have to work it out together. [—That’s good to hear! I’ve always known you were a total cumslut. You’re lucky to have such a good owner. He has total control over you.]

—That’s what swayed me too, said I. Although I still think this bondage stuff is a bit degrading towards women. [—I totally agree. I could even decide to never fuck her again and she’d have no choice but to accept it.]

A shocked expression appeared in my girlfriend’s eyes.

—It’s not degrading! You and your antiquated opinions! [—Oh no! Master, please, I’ll do anything so you’ll fuck me!]

—Maybe you’re right. I just need some time to think it over. But you know I support you in every decision you make. [—Don’t worry, my lovely cumslut. I’d never do that to you. I’ll give you an ass-reaming beyond your wildest fantasies when we get home.]

—I’m so happy to see you getting along so well! said Marcy. You seem like a really happy couple! [—He’s the perfect master for you. You should submit entirely to him.]

—I think you’ll figure it out, said Jake. You both seem really sensible about it. [—You’re a perfect pair. Such a hot, wet hussy needs someone to tell her what to do.]