The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My one-time friend Deborah was tall, close to 6 feet tall, and in her mid 30’s. She kept her hair short like a Nagel Painting and had the exotic look of the women in those 80’s era posters. A regular visitor to the tanning salon, her skin was always tanned and well oiled. Her successful career in local government was slowed down only by her penchant for drinking. When she was drunk she was a loud mouth racist, and had nothing kind to say about the young black girls she worked with. As a liberal, her views offended me.

It eventually cost her job and ruined our friendship. She was heading nowhere fast it seemed, and right after she got fired and crashed her car, she had hit rock bottom. She was known for mixing anti-depressants with jagermeister and she was a mess. Unemployed, she wouldn’t leave the house for days. I took this as an opportunity to use the last remnants of our friendship to my advantage. It came to me that I should get her started in a new career, one that would be payback for her negative attitude, and put someone else’s foot in her mouth for a change. My back ground in chemistry, combined with a little knowledge of hypnosis, made me eager to experiment.

Knowing how much alcohol must still be in her blood I decided against giving her prescription tablets to her, but substituted them with mood enhancers of a different sort. They were still illegal in this country but I had Eastern European contacts who could keep me supplied. I gave her a couple of these instead and acted sympathetic to her until I left to use the bathroom. When I re-entered her room, she was just staring into space, her eyes glazed and her expression blank. I waved my hand in front of her. No reaction. “Can you hear me? I asked her. “Yes, Angie, I can hear you.” “Deborah, what are you thinking about?” I asked. “I am running the accident over and over in my mind.” “Stop that” I said. “Think about your favorite scent instead.” She was silent. A faint smile came over her face. “What do you smell?” I asked. “Fresh waffles”, was her reply. “How does that make you feel? " I asked. “Waffles are cozy, the smell makes me want to cuddle and sleep in.” Did you know that the feet and skin of young black women smells like that?” “No, I did not.” was her soft reply.

“Deborah, it’s time to enlighten you about some things. Everything I tell you is the truth as far as you are concerned, and any attempt to think otherwise is painful. It’s a stomach ache, headache and nausea. “Do you understand?” I asked. “Yes” was her reply. “Perfect, I thought to myself, Serge, my European connection had given some really good stuff. The drug was more powerful than sodium pen Athol, and had the advantage of being strengthened by the presence of alcohol. Add hypnosis using a hypno-disc (I had cleverly video taped one spinning for hours), and the fact the drug stayed in the fat cells of the brain for up to a month (not unlike THC). I was assured that IF this worked, she’d need a month clean and sober at least to resist the programming, but you’d still need to find a way to undo the synapse changes that would occur. A month of sobriety for her was rare, plus after a month in ANY lifestyle you get used to it. If LA traffic didn’t bother me anymore anything was possible.

“Deborah, you want to watch some tv now, focus on the screen”. I popped in the video of the hypno-disc. Sure it was corny, but test results don’t lie. Deborah was already in one sort of trance, and the disc spinning, spinning, spinning in front of her lulled her even deeper into state. “Deborah, did you have trouble getting along with the young black women at your last job? “Yes” was her reply. “You were are actually having problems with the younger hot black women because the true order has been corrupted. You should not be their boss, but their servant. You should be humble, obedient submissive, admiring and respectful of them. You feel your self-esteem plummet when you are around them because you know they are better than you, prettier than you, sexier than you. They smell better than you, look better than you and taste better than you.” Deborah was a little resistant. “No, I don’t want to smell, or taste women..” she said softly. “You are disagreeing with me Deborah, you know what that means.” I said.

She grabbed her head and doubled over, still transfixed on the spinning wheel. “Oh, my head, my stomach, I feel sick.” she cried. “No Deborah, it feels close to orgasm when you imagine young black women, completely in control of you. There is no pain.” Suddenly her pain was gone. “See, imagine the soft, lovely feet, and strong muscular legs of the black women you know and all pain fades.” “But I...” “Acceptance is pleasure, resistance is pain. She was breaking, but I decided to pump her up with more pills. I handed her a glass of water with 3 more pills. “Deborah, this will make you feel better and understand better,” She took them without resistance. He trance deepened, and her body stiffened.

“Deborah, I am going to have you regress with me, taking you back younger and younger, to your earliest memories. Let’s go back now, before your job, before college, before high school, now before grade school, how far back can you go?

Deborah’s voice was almost comical, she spoke like a little kid. “I am fwee years old.” “Good Deborah. Let’s go back even further, to as far back as you can go. She started to cry like a baby. “Stop crying Deborah” I commanded. She was silent.

I was tempted to leave her like that, I have to say. Her family was non existant, her adopted parents were both deceased. When authorities found her they’d have what was once a racist, hate bitch with the body of a model Amazon, reduced to an infant, goo-gooing and needing her diapers changed. She’d have to learn her whole life over again. That’s when I really figured out how to proceed. I would have Deborah think she had spent her whole life differently, erase her current personality and make her believe she had lived an entirely different life. It would result in an entirely different personality by the time I was done. “You are regressing as far back as birth now, as far back as you can go. You will still understand me and all I say but you will only remember your birth, nothing else afterwards, nothing else has happened”

Her expression was totally infantile. She was newborn in her mind. “Close your eyes now.” She complied. “You are leaving the womb, or so you think.” You look around you and see NO mother, just a machine, and machines in the room. You are attached to a plastic tube that connects to a machine. Your umbilical cord is really mechanical. You are really a robot, Deborah. A robot! A robot built by and controlled by me!”

Her expression went from innocent to blank stare again. But much different than the drunken racist bitch I had once stupidly called a friend, until I knew her views were different from mine. Now she had the stare of a machine. A new machine without any programming. “Deborah, can you still hear me, speak in a simulated adult voice if you can. “I can hear you” she said. “Speak more naturally, nobody but you knows you are a robot” I said. “Deborah, you have no memory beyond your creation, you are ready for programming, you need to know your purpose, your mission, why you were created.”

“This cd will explain everything.” I said. Luckily there were no shortages of bookstores in LA that had all manner of spoken word poetry. I had found a militant lesbian performance artist who made a series of cds calling for the submission of the white woman. Being a UCLA grad, I wasn’t offended by it at all, but figured it would mold Deborah into a very compliant servant of those she so harshly judged. I had edited the best sentences together so it called for her complete and total submission to her true mistress, the ebony goddess. I personally enjoyed having my toes sucked and feet licked, and thought adding that in would be icing on the cake. I know it’s usually men, that have foot fetishes, but it would further add to the humiliation factor, if she craved the feet of the women who would make her submit.

The headphones were placed on her and the tape began. I figured the would get the point across, I popped on a video I had purchased from the web. Some guy in Riverside CA was making a mint making videos from the view point of a sex slave, and you could order them to specific fetishes. I bought the letter box edition of black mistress, foot worship, cunnilingual cam. Between the video and the CD, she’d be pretty compliant. To make sure I rifled through her drawers and found her vibrator. She was such a bitch I knew she’d have one. She’d alienated everyone she had ever come in contact with. I turned it on full and shoved it in her. The pleasure, the drug, and the cd/video combo would work, I hoped.

AN HOUR LATER

I checked in on Deborah, still staring blankly ahead at the screen. I turned off the CD and video. “Deborah, can you hear me?” I asked “Yes,” was her reply. “I have additional programming for you. Do you feel the hum between your legs?” “Yes” she said. “You will feel that sensation any time you see a black woman or hear her voice. You will crave serving her, need to obey her, it will ache. Your need to clean her from head to toe with your tongue will dominate your thoughts. The more you are used and commanded the more you need it, and the more it deepens your programming. Practice makes perfect. You long to do everything you saw on the screen, as much as possible. You will resist your urges when in public unless you are shown bare feet, some leg, or strong armed by a tough chick. You will not divulge your real nature until your mistress is aggressive. If you are told that she is in charge you will obey and serve her until she changes her mind. You are hers to do with what she wants with no resistance once she “breaks you.” Only I can call you back to me to receive more programming. Do you understand?” “I understand” was her now spiritless response.

I needed to see it in action, I had to test it out.

Deborah walked me out to her car, I forgot for a moment that I had not reinstalled driving skills, or even reading for that matter. She had no other thoughts in her head except that she was built and created by me to serve and obey young black women. I wondered what the open market value for such a purely programmed, attractive white woman in her 30 was. I decided to drive to the Mall in North Long Beach, for a few tests.

As a social worker, I had worked with under-privileged youth, and met a number of young black women who were mad at the world, having displaced their anger at women like Deborah. In Deborah’s case, her racist attitudes justified their dislike for her. Her OLD attitudes that is.

We went to a shoe store in the mall and there were a few of the girls I had worked with behind the counter, in the working world, but looking not happy about having to put shoes on other women’s feet all day. I approached Tanisha, a girl who I had counseled. “Hey there, how’s the working world these days?” I asked. “Shit, I can’t wait until closing today, we’ve had nothing but returns of old funky pumps, and no real sales. My feet are killings, me, these damn shoes I’m wearing don’t breathe.” She answered.

“Well, I have at least a solution to your own foot aches,” I told her. I looked over at Deborah, who stared ahead calmly, but was sneaking glances at the strong legs of Tanisha, and at her feet, when she could. I sensed she was aroused. “I want you to meet a friend of mine, who is in a 12 step program.” “Shit, who in this town isn’t,” laughed Tanisha. “This one is different, remember when social services had you come to my office after that incident, and you told me you wanted nothing more to get back at the uppity white women who made your job hell?” I asked? “Yeah,” was her curious reply.

“Today is your chance. I am going to wait until closing and then I want to show you how Deborah wants to make amends in my special program.” I told her. Tanisha looked Deborah over and an evil smile came over her. She was only 21, had been a runner in school, and then fell in with a gang. She lived in a half-way house with several other women in their early 20’s and had expressed in counseling how she wanted to turn the tables. She had experimented with other women, but always played a dominant role.

Closing Time:

Only the three of us were left in the store. The pile of returns was in the back, and we all headed there. I introduced Deborah to Tanisha, and told Tanisha to just tell Deborah who was in charge.

“I’m in charge, got that bitch?” Said Tanisha. I gave her a thumbs up. “Yes Ma’am. I am only worthy of serving the ebony goddess.” replied Deborah. “Ebony Goddess, wow, that’s alright.” said Tanisha. “Get on your knees then and tend to my tired feet, Deborah.” commanded Tanisha as she sat in an old office chair. Deborah removed Tanisha’s pumps, held them under her nose and shuddered with pleasure. She then skillfully begn to massage Tanisha’s strong, long feet. They were perspsired, and Deborah’s hands slid around them easily. She began to raise them up to her face, to Tanisha’s pleasant surprise, and while looking up at Tanisha, licked the light soles of the dark skinned feet. It was like she was French kissing someone, the amount of attention and oral skill she plied on the feet. Tanisha moaned softly, truly enjoying the pleasure after a days labor.

Deborah continued to lick Tanisha’s feet clean, and was able to take almost her whole foot into her mouth, deep throating it. She had no gag reflex. Tanisha was in heaven. “Damn, this feels great, I bet all my roommates would love this,” she said. “You gonna come home with me and show my girlfriends your little talent, Deborah.” she said. “Yes Ma’am, I am yours to command.” was Deborah’s reply.

I pulled out a bottle of tablets, enough for about 3 months, and gave them to Tanisha. I explained that she would need to have one in the morning and then again at night. She was to see no Television or media, just be used for their pleasure. They would have to teach her how to do anything they wanted done outside of orally pleasuring them, and doing their feet. She would not be reading, writing, or even be able to cook unless they taught her. Her only purpose and skills in life now were to provide sexual pleasure to her ebony goddesses. Tanisha was flabbergasted.

“Wow, you mean she’s like a present?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “You were in need of this to get out your aggressions and she was in need of this penance. Everybody wins.” I said.

Tanisha snapped her fingers and had Deborah rise and follow her to her car. I would check on her in three months and see how Deborah was doing.