The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“BILLINGSLEY!!” a loud nasally screech sounded, causing the loyal butler’s asscheeks to clench in reflex. “BILLINGSLEY! GET IN HERE! NOW!” Sighing inwardly, the aged butler made his way up the spiral staircase to the second floor landing, and across the hall to the second floor veranda overlooking the estate grounds. His Mistress, Amanda Renee Van Clythe, sat at the small outdoor table, clad in her usual skimpy attire, covered with a sheer bathrobe, glaring heatedly at the morning paper. Billingsley groaned inwardly as he approached, once again wishing he’d simply tossed it into the waste bin instead of setting it out for her to read with the morning’s breakfast.

“Billingsley! Did you see the story on page eight?” she demanded, holding the paper out at him like a baton. “Can you believe this shit?”

“Ah, no, ma’am,” he said stiffly, with a single shake of his head. “I try to avoid the newspaper, as well as the nightly news on the television. It is always bad news.”

“Michael Jordan!” Amanda continued, heedless, shaking the paper clutched in her hands. “Michael Goddamn Jordan! Forbes magazine posted the latest figures. He’s now officially worth a billion dollars!” She scowled, tossing the paper onto the floor in disgust. “My net worth is only six hundred and twenty million. That... commoner! That dark skinned jock is worth more than I am! What kind of a world do when live in when a blueblood with MY lineage can be bypassed by some uncouth savage that can bounce a damn ball!”

“Well, Madam,” Billingsley said diplomatically, “the young man was a very gifted athlete, and paid well for his services, and he has managed his finances remarkably well...” Whereas you, my dear, have managed to squander and waste your inheritance at an alarming rate, he thought silently. Six hundred and twenty million dollars. In your father’s day, it was EIGHT hundred and seventy million. It’s only been two years since your parents passed away and you gained control of the family fortune, and you’ve already blown through more than some entire countries earn in that time.

“You sound like you actually admire him or something,” Amanda groused, glaring at her manservant.

“I admire his accomplishments,” Billingsley replied, again, very diplomatic, “in coming so far from such humble beginnings. I would also offer that Madam is perhaps upset because of the, ah, um, slight paid to her at the benefit dinner last month?” Amanda’s face reddened significantly at the reminder of her embarrassment from a minor altercation between her and Jordan at the dinner when she, more than a little drunk, had mistaken the famous celebrity for a valet, asking him to bring her car around in front of a large crowd of people.

“Hmph!” Amanda merely scoffed, returning to her chair. “Damned upstart. Billingsley, make a note. He is NOT invited to my party this month.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied simply, nodding. “Very good, Ma’am.” Of course, it, went without saying that after their last meeting, it was extremely unlikely that Mr. Jordan would attend ANY social gathering with Ms. Van Clythe’s name attached. Chances are more likely of me striking oil in garden later today when I tend to the rose bushes, he mused silently, repressing a smirk.

“Gaawwd! This whole thing has me so stressed out!” Amanda complained, pushing aside her brunch platter. “I need to relax. Billingsley, clear my calendar for today, contact my masseuse and have him brought up to the house straight away.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Billingsley replied, biting his tongue to keep from yelling out ‘what calendar, all you do is lounge around and go shopping’, as he began clearing away the dishes. “But, if Madam will recall, she fired her masseuse last week for, um.... not living up to her standards...”

“Oh, yeah... that guy,” she said, scowling. “He had fingers like little sausages... what about the other guy, the one from the week before?”

“The, ah, New Age mystic?” the butler asked, thinking back. “As I recall, Madam, you took a liking to him and asked him to stay the night, then became incensed when he politely declined—”

“Oh right! I remember now. The fag,” she grunted, turning up her nose. “No, no, we don’t want HIM back.” She sighed, shrugging. “Look, Billingsley, it’s not rocket science. Just check the phone book and find me a goddamn masseuse, one that doesn’t suck, and can actually calm me down and relax me!” Standing up, she walked back into the house, her strappy heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. “I’m going down to the pool for a swim. I expect a reputable competent masseuse waiting for me when I’m done in an hour!” Her eyes narrowed. “And the guy had better be good, Billingsley, or there will be HELL to pay!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the aged butler replied. “Of course Ma’am. I’ll get right on it straight away.” Once the Mistress of the house had left, he let out a sigh. Two years. Two years of hell, of tending to a spoiled little bitch brat of a girl, and somehow, she still managed to get worse and worse every day. Stacking up the dishes, most of the meal he’d spent an hour preparing still sitting untouched. Meaning she’d be yelling for lunch to be brought to her in an about an hour.

But first, I need to contact a masseuse and have him come out to the house, he mused, pulling out his personal PDA, scrolling through the list. Hmmm... not a huge list of them left that the Madam hasn’t already insulted or alienated in some way. Oh, well... I suppose one as as good as another.

Caitlyn whistled appreciatively as she strode up to the front door of the manner, her bag clutched tightly underneath her right arm. Whoa. Nice place. It’s bigger than the White House. And... no way... there’s even a helicopter landing pad over to the side in that clearing past the trees! This lady is insanely rich! She swallowed slightly as she rang the bell, hoping fervently that she didn’t screw this up. When the door opened, she put on her most disarming smile, which grew into a real one as she was met by a tall thin elderly man in a black suit.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” Billingsley said, bowing slightly, “and welcome to the Van Clythe Estates. I’m Billingsley. How can I help you?”

“Um, hello, Mr. Billingsley,” Caitlyn replied, stepping forward, extending a hand, “I’m Caitlyn, from Enchantrix Meditation and Massage. I, um, think we spoke on the phone earlier?“

“Ah, yes! Please, do come in,” the butler exclaimed, stepping aside to usher her in. “I am overjoyed that you could come by on such short notice. The Mistress of the house is in dire need of a massage, and I was hoping you could accommodate her?”

“Well, I’ll certainly give it my best, Sir,” Caitlyn replied with a grin.

“Ah, that’s the spirit,” Billingsley replied with a grin of his own. “And, please, Madam, it’s just ‘Billingsley’. I am, after all, merely a humble butler—”

“Merely a butler?” Caitlyn cut in, frowning slightly. “Nonsense! Mr. Billingsley, we’ve only just met, and I don’t know you very well, but I get the feeling that there is nothing ‘mere’ about you! You’re in charge of this entire mansion, you take care of the lady of the house’s needs... you’re the captain of the ship that keeps it all running. Just because you’re a servant doesn’t make you any less of a person.” Her smile returned. “And besides, Mr. Billingsley, my parents taught me to respect my elders.”

The old butler gaped in surprise for a moment, before smiling a real honest smile. “Then your parents must have been truly exceptional people to have raised such an exceptional young woman as yourself.”

Leading her through the house, he gave her a tour of the manor, as well as a brief history. “And that leads us to the current Mistress of the manor,” Billingsley replied, leading her to the downstairs lounge, and the room prepared for Amanda’s massage. “Miss Amanda is the late lord’s only daughter, and has assumed control over the house and all holdings when she turned twenty-one two years ago.”

“Ah, is that her,” Caitlyn asked, gesturing to the large wall length oil painting of an attractive blonde woman hanging on the wall.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Billingsley replied. “The Mistress had it commissioned the day of her twenty-first birthday. Alas, there were... complications,” he replied, diplomatic as always, “and the portrait was not actually completed until nearly the Mistress’ twenty-second birthday.” Meaning, she’d changed her mind halfway through the first painting and insisted that it be redone from the beginning, resulting in the artist refusing to paint for her again, referring the project over to another artist, one willing to put up with her tantrums for the money she was willing to shell out. “At any rate, my lady cuts a most imposing figure.” He paused just outside the room, trying to pick his words.

“Miss Caitlyn,” he said after a moment, “I must be frank with you. You are a very nice and charming young woman. But my Mistress... she is rather... particular... about what she likes and does not like. One learns to develop a thick skin working for her. Those who are... more sensitive,” he said awkwardly, “might not fare as well.” He cleared his throat. “That is... what I’m trying to say is—”

“Is that she’s a raging psycho bitch? Yeah, I got it.” Caitlyn replied with a nod. “Believe me, Sir, her reputation preceded her. I was warned by a bunch of different people what to expect.” Opening the door to the next room, she paused, flashing him a smile. “Don’t worry, Sir. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“All right!” Amanda yelled loudly, strolling regally into her room, tossing aside her bathrobe and towel, padding over to the waiting table. “I’m here. Let’s get this over with...” She frowned slightly, finding a tiny, slim, young brunette girl standing off to the side, a dry towel, and a case of scented oils in her hands. ”You’re the masseuse?” she asked, incredulously. “You? A tiny little thing like you? Great... the last guy was a big brute with hamhock hands, and now they send me a little pixie? What are you supposed to do, TICKLE my muscles into submission?“

“Well, they DO say laughter is the best medicine,” Caitlyn replied brightly, reaching into her case, taking out a bottle of oil, “but I have something a bit more vigorous in mind. You see, Miss Van Clythe, it might sound cliché, but size isn’t everything. It’s all about technique... and how you use what you’ve been given.” Holding out the bottle, she wafted it gently in front of the heiress’ nose. “What do you think about this scent to start?”

“Hmmm... it’s actually... kind of nice,” Amanda admitted reluctantly. “It’s kind of like sandalwood... but spicier... earthier. Hmmm... I approve.” She sighed softly, turning away, before stripping off her bikini and climbing onto the table, lying face down. “All right, pixie. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Let’s see what your little mini-muscles can do.”

“Thank you, Miss,” Caitlyn replied with a soft sigh, returning to her bag, mixing the essential oils into the base oil, “I’ll do my best.” Moving to the wall, she completed the setting by switching on soft New Age music, lighting some scented candles, and turning the lights down low. Amanda merely scoffed, rolling her eyes before settling into place, closing her eyes to await the girl’s attempt to ease her tension filled body. She let out a slight gasp as she felt warm thick oil dripping lightly down her bare back, before sighing in contentment.

Mmmm... nice. If nothing else, it’s worth it for the oil, she thought dreamily as the scent filled her nostrils. Not sure what it is exactly, but I’ll have to find out from the girl later and stock up on it.

“So, nice home you have here,” Caitlyn said casually, leaning in to begin rubbing the oil lightly into her back. “Mr. Billingsley gave me the ten cent tour.”

“It’s my Dad’s house,” Amanda replied stiffly, wincing as the girl’s fingers traced over a tender spot. “It’s a big, drafty, gawd-awful boringly decorated monstrosity that I’d burn down in a second if the old goat hadn’t specifically stated in his will that I hold onto it to ‘pass on to future generations’,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers. “Unlikely, since I don’t plan on filling this place with a bunch of squealing, crying little rugrats.” She winced again, turning back to glare at the girl.“And can you watch it, you twit... you’re supposed to be massaging me, not poking me with your thin bony fingers!”

“Sorry, very sorry, Ma’am,” Caitlyn replied cheerfully, moving up to began rubbing oil into her shoulders. “Still, you never know. You’re still young and attractive, with your whole life ahead of you. Maybe in another ten or fifteen years, you might change your mind about kids.”

“Huh. As if,” Amanda replied, sighing softly, beginning to relax. The scent of the oil was starting to get to her now as it got closer to her head. “And all this talk about kids is beginning to bore me. If you can’t keep your lips shut, at least talk about something I might find interesting...”

“Hmmm... something you might find interesting?” Caitlyn mused, pausing to reach for her bag once more, taking out a second small bottle. “Oh! I know. Have you read the news lately? Michael Jordan is the newest billionaire to make the Forbes list.”

Amanda blinked for a second, then opened her mouth to scream. In that instant, Caitlyn struck, bringing up her bottle, spraying a fine mist into the startled woman’s face. Gasping, she inhaled sharply, then groaned, swooning, as the chemicals in her system took effect, dropping back limply onto the massage table. Walking around in front of her, Caitlyn made a show of peeling off her thin oil covered latex gloves, tossing them into the small wastebasket, before kneeling down to face her.

“There now. All comfy I hope?” she asked just as sweetly. “That little cocktail I dosed you with is pretty potent, but if your reputation as a party girl is HALF as deserved as the rumors say, then you should be finding your balance any minute now. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you regain the ability to talk any second now. Just remember, Mandy, no yelling. We will only talk quietly like civilized people for the rest of this session, all right?”

Amanda groaned softly, blinking rapidly a few times before her eyes regained their focus. “You... you... did something...” she said slowly, shaking her head. “What did you... do to me? I feel... weird...”

“I know, sweetie,” Caitlyn said with a tinge of regret, “and I’m really sorry about that. But you’ll start feeling better again soon, I promise.” She sighed softly. “In the meantime, I’m going to tell you some things, and you’re going to be a good and sweet girl and listen closely. They’ll be a pop quiz at the end, after all.” She giggled.

“N... nooo... you... you bi... bitch!” Amanda managed, struggling to push herself up into a sitting position. “Fu... fucking... dr... drugged me... not gonna... let you get... ’way with this...”

SMACK

Amanda’s eyes went wide, and a shudder went through her body as Caitlyn slapped a hand hard against her left buttcheek. “No, no, no,” Caitlyn admonished, shaking her head. “That was naughty, Mandy. Very naughty. Good girls don’t use that kind of language. Good girls are always polite and well behaved. Only very naughty girls talk like trailer trash sluts.” Sighing, she moved to kneel back in front of her again. “Now then... where were we? Ah, yes. I was about to begin your lessons.” She paused, considering. “Well, actually, I guess you just learned one lesson just now.”

Amanda merely lay on the massage table, reeling. That smack to her bottom had been nothing, less than nothing, a mere slap on the bum. And yet... it was all she could focus on, the feeling, then sensation, the pain and the embarrassment, bouncing around inside her head, again and again, echoing inside her skull, pushing out everything else but the sensation, and the words Caitlyn had spoken afterwards. Good girls don’t use that kind of language... good girls are always polite and well behaved... only naughty girls talk like trailer trash sluts...

“Now then,” Caitlyn replied, reaching out to caress her cheek gently, the pleasant sensation catching her immediate attention, wiping away the bad feelings. “The main question here, Mandy, is, what kind of girl do you want to be? A good girl,” she said, again gently caressing her cheek, “or a BAD girl,” she finished, slapping that cheek lightly. Mandy’s eyes went wide again, before rolling back into her head.

“Now, now, dear, it’s okay,” Caitlyn murmured, stepping close to caress and sooth the slight sting, once more wiping away the bad feelings. It didn’t matter anyway—the connection had already been established. “That’s the second lesson, sweetie. Good girls are treated gently, sweetly, lovingly,” she stated, walking around the girl slowly, letting her fingertips trail easily along the girl bare skin, eliciting soft sighs and coos of pleasure. Bad girls,” she said hesitantly, withdrawing, smiling inwardly as Amanda tensed, expecting another punishment, “well... you KNOW what happens to bad girls. They get punished. And you don’t like being punished, do you, Mandy?”

“N-n-no,” she gasped, sweat starting to form on her brow at the thought of another endless cycle of pain and hurt and badness. “I don’t l-like it... at all.”

“I know. And I don’t like punishing you,” Caitlyn admitted with a sad sigh. “But it’s for your own good. You see, Mandy... when you were little, your dad spoiled you. He spoiled you rotten. I heard from Mr. Billingsley—a most remarkable man, by the way—that your mom died when you were really young. And your dad, as a way of compensating, began treating you like a Princess, giving you anything and everything you wanted, without exception. Nothing was too good for his baby girl. But, as you grew older, you began to expect to always have your way, to always get everything you wanted... and to throw a fit anytime you didn’t get it.” She shook her head. “By the time your dad realized his mistake, it was too late. He had a spoiled brat on his hands, and no idea what to do about it.”

Mandy groaned, closing her eyes. The truth stung almost as hard as those slaps earlier. Deep down. she knew Caitlyn was right... that she was nothing more than a spoiled brat. Still, it rankled her pride to be treated this way, talked down to like she was a child being instructed by her kindergarten teacher! She was Amanda Renee Van Clythe, goddammit! She was rich. She was beautiful. She had power and influence. And by damn, she wasn’t going to just sit here and take this shit lying down!

“You... need to get out of here right now,” she growled, managing to prop her head up, wedging her left arm underneath her head. “Or I’m calling the police! I’ll have you thrown in jail ’til you’re eighty years old—”

“Bad girl,” Caitlyn said, disapprovingly, causing Mandy to shudder, the fight leaving her completely. “Still trying to bully other people. I guess you haven’t quite learned your lesson yet.” She walked back around behind Mandy, out of her sight, causing the blonde woman to pant and writhe in expectation. She struggled to turn, to move her heavy head enough to glance behind her, but whatever was in that cursed oil had turned her muscles into limp noodles.

“No! NO! Wait! I... I’m sorry!” she cried, begging, trying to forestall more punishment. “I didn’t mean it! Please! I’m sorry! I... AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!” she yelled as Caitlyn’s hand came down hard on her bare butt cheek once more. Tears sprang from her eyes as the terrible, bad, bad, oh-so-horrible shame and pain and humiliation and awfulness seemed to swallow her up like a bottomless pit. Groaning, she merely shuddered, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball in the fetal position, if only her limbs would obey her. Bad girl... you’re a bad girl... didn’t learn your lesson... bad girl... naughty... bad... awful...

“I’m very sorry you have to go through this, Mandy,” Caitlyn said quietly after a moment. “But think of this as ‘tough love’. If you dad had treated you this way back when you were younger, you would be a much better person today.” She sighed heavily. “And, I just want you to know I take no personal pleasure in doing this to you. I’m usually a very nice girl. And, well, until today, I never lied or intentionally hurt anyone. I was a good girl, because my folks had taught me long ago to be good and nice and considerate.” Her expression darkened. “But they ALSO taught me to stand up for what I believe in... and not to let anyone push around the people I care about.”

Walking over to the corner, she knelt down at her bag, pulling out another small bottle, this one filled with a pale blue liquid. “Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a very nice, very kind, very handsome and well-mannered man named Ron. Ron went to school and studied hard to become a massage therapist, a mere stepping stone to him becoming a medically licensed physical therapist. He was very good at what he did. He was very professional, and very well liked. He wasn’t rich like some people,” she added with the slightest bit of derision, “so he had to work hard at his job while continuing his education. It was hard, but this was his dream, so he dug in and gave it everything he had.”

She stepped back into Amanda’s view. “Then one day, a rich spoiled brat hired him to massage her after a long day of lounging and playing tennis. He was kind. He was professional. But the girl had been drinking heavily, and made a pass at him. He declined. Politely. She insisted. He rebuffed her. Again, politely. But the girl, angry at being refused, decided she was going to make an example of him. She decided to use her wealth and influence to get the man fired... and then got him blacklisted from every reputable center in the area.” She closed her eyes, a single tear falling down her cheek. “The man was devastated. He’d done nothing wrong. He’d been honest and kind and professional. And yet his dream had been crushed. Even when his younger sister tried to comfort him, tried to tell him he could still pursue his dream elsewhere, he just couldn’t accept it. It was too much. He’d lost faith in the world around him, and in himself.”

She opened her eyes again, staring hard into Mandy’s vacant shadowed eyes. “I lied to you earlier, Mandy. I’m sorry about that. You see, I’m NOT a masseuse. That was my brother. I took about four weeks of massage therapy training, just enough to passably convince someone that I knew what I was doing. I’m actually a scientist... a biochemist. And everything I dosed you with earlier—they were all special little concoctions I created in the lab to set us up for this little meeting.” Opening the stopper, she tilted up the vial of liquid and drank it all down in a single swallow. “I’ll be honest with you, Mandy,” she said after a moment, wincing at the bitter taste. “When I first put this whole scenario together, I’d considered a lot of different ways of handling things. I considered turning you into a slut,” she said, reaching up to unbutton her blouse, tossing it aside before reaching back for her bra strap. “I’d thought about turning you into a sex crazed, drug addicted little whore, giving you some weird destructive kink or fetish, and simply setting you loose on the world.” She kicked off her shoes, and slid off her pants, revealing a pair of matching black lace panties. “But... that would only make me as bad as you. No, worse than you... you were only an unthinking, uncaring brute that didn’t know any better.“

Reaching out, she caressed Mandy’s cheek, ending her torment, sending a soothing wave of comfort through her. “Now then, Mandy,” she said gently, “are you ready to be a good girl now? Are you ready for me to teach you how to be a good girl?“

Panting, sweating, Mandy nodded weakly to the extent that her neck muscles would allow. Anything to avoid another round of punishment. “Please... no more... please... I’ll be good.. I swear... no more...”

“Good, very good,” Caitlyn replied, smiling again. Sliding her panties down, she stood before her helpless captive completely naked. “Now, Mandy,” she purred softly, reaching out to gently roll the blonde heiress over onto her back, “this next part is very complex and convoluted. We’re going to be changing your entire way of thinking, here. It’s a lot to take in, and to really make it stick, we need to you to focus and really drive the point home.” Sticking a hand into the oil, she began rubbing it all over her own waist and hips, letting it run slickly down her thighs. “And since the neural connections the formula I dosed you with connect more firmly with more intense sensations,” she added, climbing onto the table as well, “I intend to make sure you enjoy these lessons very much.” She gasped suddenly as her pussy rubbed lightly against Mandy’s, eliciting a coo from her as well. “Mmmm... and, well, with the antidote to the oil in my own system, I figure I might as well enjoy myself at the same time.” Thrusting her hips forward, she began a soft gentle rhythm.

“Now, then, Mandy,” she said in a husky voice, “let me show you how to be a good girl...”

“BILLINGSLEY!” a familiar loud nasally screech sounded out. The butler winced in reflex at the sound, making his way down the hallway to the drawing room, slipping inside. The Mistress of the house sat, primly for a change, her bright pink sweater meshing well with her smart, conservative cream colored skirt and white flats. Her long blonde hair was done up in a Japanese style with two lacquered chopsticks holding it up in a messy bun, and a pair of small glasses were perched on the tip of her dainty little nose.

Glancing up, she smiled at her butler, gesturing to the large stack of envelopes on her desk. “Billingsley... I’m done! I’m finally done!” she said with glee. “These are the last apology letters I need to send out, to make amends for all the people I disrespected or hurt. It’s taken me an entire week, but I’m finally done!”

“Very good, Madam,” the aged butler nodded in approval. “Shall I take them out to the mailbox then?”

“No, no, Billingsley,” Mandy said with a shake of her head, “I just called you to share the good news! I can take the letters down to the box myself! You do so much for me already. I can do this for myself—” A good girl doesn’t demand, she asks. And a good doesn’t ask someone to do something for her that she can easily do herself.

“Nonsense, Madam,” Billingsley insisted, taking the pile of letters. “As your manservant, it is not only my duty, but an honor to serve. And, if I may say so... your new appreciation for what I and the house staff do for you makes it a joy to serve as well.”

Mandy smiled, a small tear running down her cheek. “Aww... thanks Billingsley. I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you all these years.” She yawned, stretching slightly, then paused, considering. She had finished her assignment after all. “Um, Billingsley, might you do me a small favor once you return from mailing those letters? Please?” A good girl ALWAYS uses please and thank you when asking for favors.

“Certainly, Madam. What would you require of me?”

“I’m feeling a little... tense,” she said, wiggling lightly in her seat. Being a good girl is its own reward. And being a good girl makes you feel good... sexually good. Horny good. Very horny and sexually good. “I was wondering... if you could call my masseuse over? I’m hoping Miss Caitlyn would be available... to help me unwind.“

“But of course, Ma’am,” Billingsley replied, heading out of the room. “I’ll see to it straight away.” He sighed in contentment. Life had become so much more enjoyable since the cheerful young woman had come into their lives. So cheerful and polite... and such a good girl. I guess it’s no surprise that with all the rubbing and massaging she’s been doing that she herself has ‘rubbed off’ on the Madam...