The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Grace stood by the door, waiting. It had been almost a week since the big computer crash. She knew that it would probably be best to start over with a clean slate and some backups, but there were a number of downloads that would be better kept than not. Now there was some computer guy coming to salvage the system enough to get her back on-line.

Finally a knock sounded from the outside. She opened the door. It was a young guy with a bag reading “Virtual Service and Repair.” Grace noticed the rather feminine features for a moment before realizing it actually was a woman. Snapping out of it, she said, “Oh, sorry, come in.”

The repairwoman recognized the reaction. It almost bothered her more that another woman made the mistake. She supposed wearing the baseball cap and glasses didn’t help, but it was her choice of accessories, dammit. Getting her own little dig in, she asked, “So, what’s the problem, ma’am?”

A cringe. “It’s Grace,” she said, trying to be friendly.

“I’m Francine,” said the technician, smiling a little.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Uh, thanks.” Francine was unsure how to take the compliment. She wasn’t even sure why she hadn’t just said Fran, like usual. Maybe she was trying to reenforce the fact that she was a female.

Grace got to the point. “Let me show you to the computer.” She led her down the hall to a sort of makeshift office. “None of the programs will run. I’d reinstall everything but I have a bunch of files that I want to keep.”

“Did you make backups?” Francine wanted to see whom she was dealing with.

“Not that often,” Grace admitted. It went on from there. She had tried the registry checker, it didn’t help. Grace didn’t defragment much and she never used the disk error check. It was more than likely some sort of operating system problem that could be fixed without a new installation.

Francine noticed that this woman seemed to hover around her a lot. “Okay, I think I can fix this pretty easily,” she said, looking at Grace. “I would suggest that you backup your files and do another installation later on.”

“Uh, all right,” Grace answered. She backed away a little. Normally, she’d leave this person alone but that computer hid a multitude of sins. It so happened that Grace was an author of erotic fiction. Besides the pictures and correspondence she wanted to keep, the hard drive was packed with her stories of women being coerced into sexual acts by mind control and other magic. It almost made it more frightening that a girl was fixing it. Grace could have told a guy that a perverted boyfriend downloaded all of this. She wasn’t sure she could pull off that line with Francine.

Francine was a little bothered by Grace’s proximity. “She must think I’m an idiot,” she concluded. Francine worked in a successful, though male-dominated field. Guys thought that she was either a token chick with no skill or some kind of man-hating lesbian. She was gay, but she liked men just fine.

Grace watched as the other woman put in a CD and the screen went black. Then a bunch of white lettering came up with all kinds of phrases she didn’t understand. Figuring that none of her things would be looked at very soon, she gave Francine some space.

Reviewing the diagnostics, some file-association error occurred and Francine went about checking the registry. She looked at some of the keys and then her blood went cold. She snapped her head over to the left and right. Grace wasn’t there. Francine looked at the identity marker under the mail system. It read ‘MistressNightshade@shemail.net’ in white and black.

Hearing Grace, Francine quickly changed to another panel. She glanced over for awhile, then sat a few meters away. Francine saw Grace’s view obscured and did a text search of the files. It turned up occurrences of ‘subgirl117@post.al’ in the mail folder. Printing the file to screen, she saw that it was indeed her fan letter to Mistress Nightshade.

“Holy shit!” Francine thought. She was servicing her favorite MC author’s computer. It was surprising. Not only were the fates lining up, but the reality of the woman behind Nightshade. Francine looked back at the Mistress, Mistress Grace. She became aware of her gawking and asked one of those questions that throws off a less computer savvy person.

Grace was fidgeting. She felt like a criminal or something. There really was no sign that Francine had seen anything. Grace was sure the girl would scream or gag or groan if she had. In fact, when Francine looked over at her, the expression was sort of blank, like from boredom. She asked about Grace’s video card. Grace barely knew the brand name and which slot it sat in.

Meanwhile, Francine was trying to handle this forbidden knowledge. It was funny, really. Grace looked more or less average. She wore a grey sweatshirt and black trousers over what appeared to be an athletic frame. Her hair was mousy brown with some fresh highlights around the temples. Grace’s presence certainly wasn’t commanding, but it was somehow compelling. Her dark eyes and olive skin produced an exotic countenance.

It was about the only exotic part of this situation. The house and the office were so incredibly normal. Francine had fantasized about Mistress Nightshade’s lair and was absolutely sure of its details. She thought it had to be an ancient dungeon or maybe some huge warehouse. The room would be black, jet black, midnight black, the kind of blackness that enveloped you. Along the wall would be candles, bright white, to accentuate the lines of the space and ancient symbols, impossible to read, written on the ceiling. In her more fevered moments, another image filled her mind. It was of a harem of the Mistress’s willing slaves, being bathed, oiled, and prepared for her pleasure. Francine often thought of being one of those slaves.

At the very least, Francine figured that Mistress Nightshade would have one of those cool black Aptivas and not the shabby yellowing clone she was working on now. Scanning the room, everything looked like it was bought at a white sale. “Hell,” she thought, “my studio apartment is more avant-garde than this.”

She decided to try a little experiment. Looking over at the window, Francine mumbled not so quietly, “Nightshade.”

Grace became ashen. “What?!”

Trying not to smile, Francine replied innocently, “Um, nice shade, you know, over there.” she gestured at the window.

Grace calmed down a little. Whatever happened, it was better than having an acquaintance snooping through her files. She read stories about friends checking out history lists and finding out things. Grace didn’t really have any slaves, especially with computer skills. In fact, she hadn’t been with anyone in...well, a couple of months. Her bag of “goodies” in the bedroom was probably more telling than some documents on the computer.

When Francine seemed to be about done, Grace tendered a query. “So, um, is everything all right now?”

“Yes, I mean, I just have to reboot.” Francine figured this was just about it. She could say something and freak Grace out. She could just leave with that wonderful feeling of knowing a secret. She didn’t want to leave, though. Whatever the surface was, this woman had within her the power to touch all of Francine’s buttons. She made a wicked decision. “Actually, there may be a conflict with the video card. It’ll just take a second to find out.”

“Okay,” said Grace. She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but it sounded innocent enough.

Francine shut down the computer and opened up the case sitting on the beige carpet. She kept thinking that this would never work, but just maybe luck would be on her side. A little jumper switching and some modifications later, she turned the machine back on. Francine then started a diagnostic program, one filled with flashy, repetitive graphics.

Francine asked Grace if she would come over to the screen. “Just sit over here and watch the screen,” she told Grace. “If you could read off some of the data when I ask, it should be over in no time.” Grace sat down as Francine looked away from the screen and into the guts of the computer hardware.

Grace stared at the screen as Francine began to alter the internal workings of the motherboard. “The monitor seems to be flickering an awful lot,” Grace noted.

“That’s okay,” Francine reassured her, “these devices protect against any damaging effects to the eye.” Of course, it wasn’t okay and she altered the electronics to have an unwanted effect. The light on the screen would soon pulse at a frequency low enough to make a person’s mind susceptible to all sorts of suggestion. Well, it was a theory.

Grace was blinking quite a bit. Francine distracted her with some questions.

“What is the processor usage?”

“Um, 22%.”

“How about the CPU temperature?”

Grace put on her glasses, hoping it would help with the disorientation. “It’s 25 degrees Celsius.”

“Is it difficult to watch the screen?”

“Yes, very.”

“You must watch the screen, Grace. It’s very important. You can’t look away.”

“No,” she agreed. “I can’t look away.”

“Of course not,” Francine said. “Gaze at the screen. Look deeply. Everything you need to know is in that glow. Keep looking. The longer and more carefully you look, the more clear you mind becomes. Your mind is clear of all thoughts, isn’t it?”

“Yesss,” Grace said, mechanically. Her eyes were blinking slowly now, heavily. The eyelids seemed to strain with each effort. Francine stared at the mesmerized woman in a daze of ecstasy.

“Very good. With every moment you feel your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. You feel more and more relaxed. As you become more and more relaxed, it will become impossible to keep your eyes open. You will fall into a deep, deep sleep.”

“Sleep,” Grace droned.

“So very comfortable and relaxed,” Francine continued. “Deeper and deeper. As you become more and more sleepy, I will count from one to five. When I reach five, your eyes will close and you will be completely relaxed. One, two, very relaxed. Three, eyes so very heavy. Four, relaxed and deeply asleep, five.”

Grace’s head slumped forward, glasses still perched on the bridge of her nose. Francine continued to take her deeper, using a technique from one of Nightshade’s own stories. When she thought Grace was deep enough, she began to ask questions.

“Can you hear me, Grace?”

“Yes.”

“Grace, do you write stories?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are they sexual stories?”

“Kind of,” Grace said reluctantly.

“Are these stories about controlling other women’s minds?”

“Yes,” she said, becoming aroused.

Francine, already aroused, continued. “Tell me, when you share these stories, what do you call yourself?”

“Can’t say, secret,” Grace replied weakly.

“You must tell me, Grace. I know your secret. Tell it to me. What name do you go by?”

“It’s Mistress, Mistress Nightshade.”

“Good girl,” said Francine. “Stand up, Grace.” She did.

Facing her, Francine pressed on. “You like the character of Mistress Nightshade, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Grace said, smiling.

“Sometimes you wish you were Nightshade?”

“Sometimes.”

“I want to give you that chance, Grace. When I snap my fingers, you will become Mistress Nightshade. All of the things you know Nightshade to be will be part of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Remember all of the stories, all of the adventures. Remember the feelings and the sensations. Become her.” Francine’s heart was racing. Getting it on with some homebody wasn’t a great thrill, but unleashing a powerful dominatrix like Mistress Nightshade made her soak right through the front of her slacks. Holding her breath, Francine snapped her fingers.

Grace’s eyes opened. She blinked a few times, but didn’t look any different. She had the same slouched posture, the cautious look in her eyes, and no presence whatsoever. Francine was despondent when Grace’s eyes suddenly grew wide. Looking past her, Grace said fearfully, “Oh no, my husband!”

Francine thought, “What the hell?” as she whipped around. There was no one there. Quickly, she felt a powerful arm around her neck. She whispered, “Nightshade?”

“Uh-huh,” the Mistress replied knowingly. She had been pretending to still be Grace. “Nobody owns me.” Francine felt two fingers against her neck. Then she felt pressure. Sharp pain came next, followed by a dull throbbing in her head. She saw gray, then black, then nothing. As Francine slumped to the floor, Grace slid a hand under the woman’s shirt, saying, “You belong to Nightshade now, little girl.”

Grace’s collection of goodies was modest, but Mistress Nightshade knew how to improvise. Francine stood in the closet, tied up by electrical cords. Her dirty blonde hair was plastered in front of her face, making it difficult to see when Nightshade was about to whip her with a leather belt. Then again, it made the torture that much more sensual.

Mistress Nightshade put the belt down, She picked up a vibrator. It was only average sized, but it would have to do. Francine only figured out what was next a moment before the Mistress began to work her pussy mercilessly with the dildo. “You’ve been a bad girl, Francine,” Nightshade said, accentuating certain words with sharp thrusts. “Grace needs her privacy and you’re going to keep her secret, right?!”

“Yes, Mistress,” shouted Francine.

“Like I could take your word for it.” She removed the vibrator. “Look in my eyes, slave!” Unlike Francine’s clumsy attempt at hypnosis, Mistress Nightshade was dedicated to bending wills. The girl was entranced quickly and fully. “Listen to me. You will have no idea that anything abnormal happened today. Forget everything that you saw today, even what Grace looks like.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Francine sing-songed.

“You will only remember that you repaired a computer with minimal effort and charged appropriately. The rest of the day you sat at home and played with yourself because you’re a cheap slut. Understand?”

“Yes Mistress. I’m a cheap slut, Mistress!”

“Yes you are. If you are a good slave and do what I say, Mistress Nightshade may call you some day and let you scream for her again.” She grasped Francine’s chin in her left hand. “Go to sleep.” Francine crumpled.

Things went very well. Even though she seemed to be there a long time, Francine, Fran, charged Grace a very reasonable amount for the service. The relief did Grace good. Although the repairwoman left with an apparent limp, Grace felt better than she had in weeks. After doing backups of everything, twice, and reinstalling the operating system, she even had an MC story idea.

She began typing. “Diane sat at her computer, waiting for the repair girl.”