The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The hive was the strangest thing she’d ever seen. At first, as Angel entered the clearing, she’d thought it was just a deformed tree. Indeed, an oak at the edge of the clearing seemed to be bloated and twisted, its neighboring trees almost bending away as though to keep their profuse foliage from touching its leafless branches. Angel had seen tumourous growths on tree trunks before, but never anything like this.

As she crossed the clearing to inspect the strange tree, Angel paused. She had long ago left the hiking trail behind, and was now immersed in the deep and trackless woods that girded the rolling hills around her husband’s farm.

Since moving out here to live with Darryl, Angel’s only other companions had been the horses he kept on his twenty acres. When she needed some time to herself she would ride them across the pastures, but when she really needed to think she had to walk in the woods. The total isolation, the quiet, the soft breeze and sunlight were meditative.

Whenever she told Darryl she was going for a hike, he warned her to stay on the broad hiking path that wound through the hills around the perimeter of his land. The deeper woods beyond were dangerous, he said. Old stories persisted about people who had gone missing in those woods, had walked into those silent, mist-shrouded hills and were never seen again. When she asked what had happened to these people, Darryl said it was probably wild animals and changed the subject.

His lurid admonishment had stuck with Angel and, though she’d decided to forsake the trail today, the dead, bloated tree looming in front of her gave her misgivings. Nonetheless, she approached the tree and, when she was close enough, she saw that the pale growth bulging from the trunk wasn’t a tumour at all.

It was a beehive.

The hive consisted of a spongy, yellowish material, and it covered the tree all the way around, from the ground where it mingled with the gnarled roots, up to where it encircled the lowest of the tree’s branches. The hive had evidently smothered the tree, and had then perhaps died itself — Angel didn’t see or hear any bees. Still, she was careful as she drew close enough to touch the surface. It was sticky, and her hand came away covered with a thick, glistening fluid. Angel sniffed at it — it was honey.

Thinking only vaguely about the supposed dangers of the deep woods and the possbility of a dead hive’s honey turning to poison, she touched her tongue to the tip of her finger. The honey was sweet and strangely warm. The taste made her want more, and she licked her other finger, then sucked it clean.

A delicious tingle ran through her entire body. She lapped at her hand, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Her thighs trembled, and she was suddenly very aware of the friction of her panties against her clit.

Angel reached for the hive again, slid her other hand into her shorts as she sucked and licked her fingers clean, rubbing her pussy, feeling it wet and throbbing. God, she wondered, reaching back for a third handful, what was this stuff?

As her fingers touched the hive this time, though, one of its residents crawled out of a hole and climbed into her hand.

Thoughts slowed by arousal, she brought her cupped hand in front of her, eyes growing wide as she realized what was standing in her palm.

It wasn’t a bee. It was a girl.

It was a tiny girl, a woman four inches tall, her naked body perfectly proportioned. Her hairless skin glistened the same way as the honey covering Angel’s hand. The woman knelt demurely on her palm, lowered her face to the skin, and Angel felt a tiny tickle as her tongue licked at the sticky honey.

Angel wondered if she was hallucinating. Was the honey some kind of drug? She felt heavy, sleepy, the sun hot on her face and the back of her neck.

A pair of delicate, translucent wings were folded on the tiny woman’s back. Slender golden antennae protruded from behind her ears, vibrating gently, almost too thin to see.

The woman rose to her haunches and looked at Angel. Her eyes were very large, all black. Insect eyes. Beneath them, in horrible juxtaposition, a shapely nose and full, pink lips. Angel felt as though she might faint and slowly lowered herself to knees, careful not to disturb the creature crouched in her hand. She slid back onto her butt, sitting with legs splayed before the hive. The woman in her hand almost mimicked her posture, settling into a seated position. Angel wondered at the feeling of the tiny soft curves of the woman’s ass pressing on her palm, the heat she felt emanating from her miniature secret places an echo of her own.

She blinked again, and then screamed at a sharp pain that jabbed into her hand. Angel tossed the woman away from her, hurling her up in the air, head over heels. The woman’s nimble wings snapped into motion immediately, holding her in mid-air. She seemed to consider Angel for a moment before returning to the hive. Angel saw a dark shard of bone protruding from the base of the woman’s spine, like a vestigial tail. A stinger?

Angel looked down at her palm, at the angry red welt that was growing there, the skin swelling in response to the sting.

Then her eyes rolled back, the strength leaving her limbs, and she fell into the grass.

She wasn’t aware how much time passed, but she opened her eyes groggily and saw the hive alive with movement, dozens of women crawling out, identical little bee-women, just like the first one. They crawled out of the hive and leapt into the air, their wings carrying them towards where Angel lay.

Then the dark cloud rolled over her again, and she knew no more.

Angel woke up on a fragrant, spongy surface, watery faces looming above her. They all seemed to be wearing sunglasses. Paramedics? Had she been in an accident? She felt strange, her whole body was tingling in a most uncomfortable way. What had she been...

Her vision cleared enough to see the women looming over her. They weren’t wearing sunglasses. Their eyes, black and huge, reflected the dim golden light. They were insect eyes. From the women’s bare scalp, pairs of antennae protruded, quivering. These were the tiny women she’d held in her hand, the ones that had crawled from the strange tree-killing hive to sting her.

But now they were her size. They’d grown, somehow, nightmarish bee-women, their stingers at this scale no doubt able to kill.

Angel sat up with a shriek. The beegirls did not respond. They just stood there, in a loose semicircle around where she lay, watching her. With blank insectoid eyes.

She lifted herself slowly to her feet, her body still tingling as though asleep. The ground beneath her was soft, and a little sticky. A cloying sweet smell hung in the air. Taking a deep breath made her lightheaded, gave her a memory of licking her fingers, clit throbbing under her panties.…

She wasn’t wearing panties now. Or anything else. The warm, honey-scented air caressed her body. Angel wrapped her arms around herself protectively and looked around the room for the first time.

The room was very strange. The walls were a deep yellow colour, and looked porous. There was a sort of aqueous sheen on them, and she knew they were probably sticky, like the floor. Sticky with honey.

You’re in the hive, Angel told herself, and she shook her head in denial.

The wall of the room seemed to be a continuous curve, sloping inwards as the ceiling climbed upwards. No human geometry was evident in the organic structure. Angel shivered as the thought came again: You’re in the beehive.

She moved carefully towards the crude opening in the wall of the room, eyes never leaving the expressionless faces of the beegirls. They turned to watch as she walked past but made no move to stop her. Angel peered through the doorway.

She was looking into a larger, similar room. Beegirls marched in and out of other doorways, all identical, naked, no hair visible on their perfect little bodies.

But their bodies weren’t so little anymore.

Watching the beegirls for a while, she realized they weren’t all identical. Their bodies differed in size and shape the way any group of women would. Despite the eyes, the antennae, and the translucent wings folded across their back, any of them could have been human.

Maybe they used to be human.

Across the atrium from Angel, past the silent throngs of beegirls, a narrow crack ran up the wall. Through this crack, sunlight was visible. Could she escape?

Angel looked back at the bee-girls that had surrounded her when she awoke. They were looking at her, but hadn’t moved. She took a step into the atrium, looked back. They still hadn’t moved. She could read nothing in their faces or their huge faceted eyes. She took another step, and another.

When she was close enough to the crack to look out and down, Angel gasped.

The ground loomed beneath her, what seemed like hundreds of feet down. Slightly below the aperture, a leafless branch wound its way into the sky, like Jack’s beanstalk. She could have walked along its length for minutes without reaching the end. Conspicuous on the grass were huge expanses of bright fabric—her abandoned clothing.

She was inside the hive. And the beegirls hadn’t grown. She had shrunk.

Angel screamed, plunging through the crack, one foot hanging over empty air.

Before she could finish her suicidal attempt at escape, strong hands closed around her arms and waist and tugged her back.

She found herself face to face with two beegirls, felt the warm, naked bodies of three others pressed close behind her. The girls’ faces were still expressionless, impassive. They didn’t seem angry at her attempted flight, but they clearly meant to stop it.

“What do you want with me?!” Angel’s voice seemed loud in the silent warren.

The beegirls didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure they could, she hadn’t seen any of them part their lips.

A sixth girl approached, though, and her lips were parted. She carried something long, golden, and dripping. It gave off an irresistably-sweet smell. Angel couldn’t help but notice the girl’s flushed skin, stiff nipples—she was plainly aroused. The hand that held the sticky object trembled. She brought the fragrant thing close to Angel’s face, and her breath caught in her throat.

It was a honeycomb. And Angel’s mouth watered to taste it.

She clamped her mouth shut, not knowing what the dripping delectable would do to her, as the beegirl pressed the honeycomb to her lips. The aroma of the honey made Angel’s head spin, and she longed to curl her lips around the spongy object and suck. Eyelids fluttering, the giddy girl soon found herself doing just that.

Angel moaned as the honeycomb slid into her mouth, already gulping greedily at the liquid heaven that oozed out of it. The warmth between her bare legs became a furnace, and she slumped in the arms of her captors, legs weak with orgasmic pleasure.

Resistance washed from her body and her mind, Angel allowed herself to be dragged away from the hive’s entrance, into its golden-lit, fragrant depths.

When the beegirls brought Angel before their Queen, she remembered how to struggle. The Queen had once been human, as all her slaves apparently had, but whatever bizarre magic had been worked on them had an even greater hold on her. Above her bulging, glittering black eyes the Queen’s naked scalp was adorned with pair after pair of antennae, writhing like whips. Her perfect female body was made freakish by chalk-white skin covered in black stripes and blotches. Her lips were thin and bloodless, almost blue. Lying as she did, sprawled limply on a mound of spongy honeycomb, only the motion of her antennae and the heaving of her bosom suggested that she was alive.

And there was one further detail that Angel fixed on as she was brought before this creature, her nostrils flaring at the dizzying sweet scent that clouded the air: from the Queen’s naked sex dripped a thick stream of honey. The mind-numbing liquid collected in the folds of the throne and spilled, spreading almost to where Angel and her captors stood, gradually soaking into the porous floor. Angel’s dazed eyes traveled up and down this strange creature, and she felt revulsion mixed with longing. She was limp and dizzy in the beegirls’ arms, as though she would faint.

She wanted to run, screaming, but she could neither move nor make a sound. The beegirls stepped forward, as one, and forced her to her knees between the Queen’s long, pale legs. On all fours in the honey, Angel panted, her lips mere inches from the sticky fluid’s source.

The Queen, who, up until now, seemed oblivious to Angel’s presense — oblivious to anything — began to make a high buzzing noise. It seemed to emanate as much from her mottled body as it did her motionless lips. Angel tried to rise, her head swimming, but one of the beegirls pushed her back down, pressing her head slowly but firmly into the wellspring between the Queen’s thighs. Honey coated her lips as she pulled back, trying to keep her nose free so she could breathe, but the taste was so intense her mind went almost blank. She started to lick, hesitant at first, but soon a mechanical rhythm emerged, and she drank eagerly.

Angel’s body tingled with pleasure, her limbs felt heavy, immobile, pinned in the honey that pooled around her hands and legs. Lost in bliss, she no longer struggled. Her awareness had faded to the soft, warm folds of flesh beneath her tongue, their smooth, sticky taste. She didn’t notice the Queen’s abdomen start to squirm, a shape appearing against the firm flesh of her stomach. She didn’t notice the shape wriggle towards the opening, widening now as the Queen spread her legs.

Angel didn’t register its smooth head on her tongue as the thing emerged, coated in thick honey, sliding down her throat as easily as any pill she’d ever taken. She continued to lick, eyes wide and unseeing, as the parasite settled in her stomach.

She felt nothing but pleasure, body overwhelmed, saturated by the dizzying honey. Angel’s tongue kept working in the Queen’s sticky sex and would have until she collapsed — then the parasite turned off her mind, and even the helpless, robotic licking ceased. Angel slept.

She awoke to a dream of floating and feeling, joy dripping into her every pore. She was restrained, somehow, her arms stiff at her sides, her legs bound together. She couldn’t move, she felt wrapped in something, cocooned, but it felt so good.

Dripping down every inch of her naked body, thick and fragrant, was sweet, sticky honey. She felt it coating her face, her hair, felt it pour slowly between her eyelashes—her eyes were shut and she couldn’t open them. The honey pooled between her toes and she felt numb, weightless, the delicate skin of her nipples and pussy tingling at the viscous fluid’s touch.

Angel did not wonder how she could breathe. Things were happening within her body, but her mind was gone. She was aware of overwhelming sensation, the honey dripping down her body, down between her asscheeks, flowing over her sensitive skin—beyond this she was only dimly aware of who and what she was, memories shadowed like figures huddled in a dark room.

She did not try to think, did not try to move, but floated peacefully, and time passed.

Sight returned to Angel, though she didn’t feel her eyes open. Dim golden light swam around her and her vision was strangely blurred. Her body felt warm, pulsing not with her heartbeat but with some strange other life that suffused every part of her, every cell. She reached in front of her and her arms moved strangely, floating, as though in slow motion. She felt something in front of her, a spongy resistance, and pushed herself into it, the scent and taste of honey all around her.

Angel pressed forward instinctively as the membrane ensconcing her began to give way, tearing in half to deposit her face-down in a shallow pool of honey. She licked at it, sleepy, the flavour and texture so arousing that she slid a finger between her dripping-wet lips, smearing honey over her clit, a buzzing filling her head. The sound was soft but rhythmic, consistent, and Angel vaguely realized she was buzzing as well, echoing the sound. On an impulse, she tried to speak, her name and address the first things she tried to recite, but they were gone—she had a dim memory of green leaves and a high blue ceiling beyond the hive, but that was all.

She tried to say something else, nonsense words, but only the rhythmic buzzing sound escaped her lips. She raised one hand to her throat, felt it vibrate as she buzzed. She could no longer speak, could not remember a language to verbalize if she could.

Angel got to her feet, her legs shaking. A strange sensation across her back as her shoulders flexed, and, looking over them, she saw her trembling wings, translucent and delicate, glowing with a faint tracery of honey caught in the membrane. Fear flared in the back of her head, from the reptilian brainstem that can only fight or flee. The buzzing, stronger now, erupted in the center of her brain and swallowed the fear. She was compelled to turn her head forward, to see the beegirl entering the dim chamber.

The girl stopped in front her, looking on with her perfecly blank face. Angel stared back, examining the wide black orbs that were the beegirl’s eyes, knowing she was looking out from an identical pair. She felt air move along her scalp, knew it must now be denuded like the scalp of the figure before her. She saw the twitching antennae atop the girl’s head, felt movement above her ears and knew.

She knew she had become a beegirl.

The realization was dim, happening somewhere in her brain that was suffocating beneath the now-constant buzzing. She did not feel the need to scream, could not have made the sound if she had. The beegirl turned and began to walk stiffly away. Angel wondered what to do for only half a moment before the buzzing in her head changed its tempo, and she found herself following.

They walked through unfamiliar parts of the hive, always winding generally downward, passing sections of honeycombed wall under construction, legions of naked, industrious beegirls massaging and licking, somehow forming structures from the honey that dripped from every part of the hive.

Angel followed, her footsteps in time with the buzzing, trying to think. Each step coincided with a rise or fall in the tempo, ending her train of thought.

Have I-bzzzzzzzzzzz

What will-bzzzzzzzzzzz

Feel so-bzzzzzzzzzzz

Lost in this cycle of thought and no-thought, Angel found herself in a chamber she recognized. The honeyed perfume was stronger in here, and her eyes focused on the woman-thing enthroned in the chamber’s center.

The Queen’s blank gaze seemed to beckon her. Angel’s suffocating lizard-brain screamed desperately for flight.

The relentless buzzing, louder now, so much louder, drew her closer, pulled her to her knees. She splashed in the honey pooling between the Queen’s wide-spread legs.

Angel’s instincts tried to tug her away, to her feet, to run. But she could not move. She stared at the fountainhead, at the honey running golden and thick from its source. The buzzing, so loud, drowning out all half-formed and half-forgotten thoughts, resolved itself from compulsion into concept. It told her two things.

Drone

Nec-tar

Angel’s hands dragged her forward, her head strained forward, her antennae wriggling in the direction of the Queen, the source of the relentless brain-signal.

Drone

Nec-tar

The two concepts twined themselves together in her noise-filled mind as she leaned forward, opened her lips, and drank.

Bliss. Esctasy. She needed it, lived for it. Her Queen’s honey dripping down her chin, her tongue scouring it greedily, the drone stood up at attention, head filled with her Queen’s buzzing voice.

You are a drone.

I am a drone. She had no need to make sound—her antennae transmitted the parroted thought.

Drones serve the hive.

Drones serve the hive. I am a drone.

More-detailed instructions poured into the drone’s head, but, as she turned to carry them out, she repeated that initial mantra, destined to never think anything else.

In a new part of the hive, the drone massaged the honey into the wall, adding her saliva to help it thicken. The honey she swallowed glowed inside her, filling her body with warmth. She could not take her hands from her work for even a moment, but when the heat grew too great the drone slid herself onto the narrow honeycomb jutting up from her heap of building material, bucking her hips to fuck herself in time to the rhythmic, mindless buzzing in her head.

Drones serve the hive. I am a drone.

Over and over. She wasn’t aware that the new section of hive she was building would hold a new breed, soldiers that would learn to emerge into the world and obtain new individuals to transform. The hive was growing, and would no longer have to wait for women to stumble upon it in the woods. But the drone did not require this knowledge.

She knew only one thing: Drones serve the hive. She was a drone.

Over and over.