The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Anita is no more.

I remember what she was. What she used to be. Sometimes, I remember all of it.

She was one of those students you loved to hate. If you were lucky, hers was that unfamiliar face that cropped up maybe two or three times in a semester, usually during exams, pulling A’s without breaking a sweat. Otherwise, she was the acquaintance that haunted your daily routine, with an immediate understanding of whatever problem she happened to focus on, no matter how complex. There had been times I had seen her crack open a book, a night before finals, as if to look up one or two details, with a look of quaint interest as she wrinkled her nose. I would dive right back into my own pile of notes, cramming as much as I could into my brain, all the while wondering if college had not been the mistake of my life.

There were so many other facets to her, of course. Mostly, I remember the kind, gentle and supportive soul, so generous with her money and her time. Her family was well off, all of her bills paid well in advance, but she still found the time to hold a job at the faculty bookstore while juggling teaching assignments in her schedule. Both our names were on the lease to the third floor studio apartment we rented, just a short walk away from the campus, but she had smiled quietly the first time I had handed her my share of the rent money, closing my hand over the check with her own, and letting a gracious silence speak for itself.

The act was meaningless to her without friendship to back it up. I suppose that’s why she burned the midnight oil with me once a week, giving me a hand with a nasty science elective I’d taken, the very same she had aced the previous semester. She took to teasing me by complaining that her Psych major was really only a hobby, taking a back seat to work, tutoring and parties—but she always hung in there until the small hours of the morning, nudging me awake while getting a kettle of Earl Gray ready.

I had known her for a year.

I loved her as my own sister.

I remember.

Anita’s pen scribbled away in a diary, as she loafed in the comfy chair in our living room.

I sat across on the stiffer divan, trying to keep my eyes focused as I recopied the notes to a course.

“What are your writing about?” I asked, my sudden curiosity betrayed by the obvious nonchalance of my voice. She had been doing it for a week, without a word as to what it was about.

She raised her eyes and blinked through bangs of rusty blond, her mouth opening and closing, like a fish.

I guffawed, stirring in my seat, before serving her a very interested look. “Well, now, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look before.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks reddened just the same. “Homework,” she offered simply, lowering her eyes and jotting down a few quick words.

I shook my head, recalling the assured, continuous clatter of her fingers on laptop keys. “You type all of your papers without scribbling a word, Anita. C’mon, what is it? Really?”

She looked up again, avoiding my eyes for a moment. “It’s... a dream diary I have to keep. Part of a sleep study I’m sort of involved with.”

I arched an inquisitive eyebrow, wondering what lay behind the sudden bashfulness that had crept in her voice. “Sleep study? As in ‘last night I dreamt I had tea in Vienna with Sigmund Freud and a pair of primly-dressed octopi?’”

Her stern glare connected with my impish grin, and she had to look away to hide her own smile.

“Mmm... yes well, I’ll have to tell Judy about that. I’m sure she’ll want you to join the study—though I doubt she’d have the time to do a proper deconstruction of the silliness that thrives in your mental landscape.”

She flicked her tongue at me for additional effect, and I held up my hands in reluctant assent. Touché.

“Sounds like this teacher’s letting you do all the work.”

I paused, frowning at my utterly dense statement, but Anita answered back without looking up. “Teaching assistant, actually, and yes, Judy has to do quite a bit. Not sure how big a sample she’s working with, but it must be hell to conduct the sessions with all the varying student schedules...”

She trailed off, to scratch a few more sentences down.

“Sessions?” I prompted.

She nodded. “A bit of hypnosis, coupled with relaxation techniques. She’s interested in punching a few holes through the dream recall nonsense that seems to be a therapeutic fashion these days. She has to follow the, ah, outlined techniques in order to do that.” “Using the quack’s methods to disprove the quack’s theory?” I gathered.

Anita tried to suppress another amused grin. “Essentially, yes.”

“Mmm... I wonder if she goes as far as holding a pocket-watch as focus point to put you under...”

I noticed a slight jarring of her pen, above the edge of the diary. She concentrated on the page for several moments, looked up an instant later, met my eyes, but couldn’t hold my stare.

I remember the uneasy slumber of dreamless nights.

I stirred from sleep as weeks went by. The hours of the morning would call out to me, rouse me from the bed. My thoughts were filled with shapeless images, dispelled as my waking eyes fluttered open.

Sometimes, my fingers still remembered them, even if my mind did not. They would continue to whisper softly, timidly rising and falling under the sheets as they caressed. Strange instincts ruled their slow, sensual dance around my cleft, but I hoped restful sleep would claim me again if I left them alone to play.

They enjoyed the sounds drifting from beyond my door.

Anita’s soft cries ruled the stillness of the morning. They were not like the bashful moans that had once slipped from underneath the bathroom door, on a day when my classes had finished early and the soft music playing off the stereo in the living room had masked the sound of my footsteps in the apartment. The sounds could only exist in the frail moments that existed before dawn... so full of hope... eagerness and desperate urgency.

They spoke to me, while my fingers found the rhythm and followed their lead. My mind would protest for an instant, before the touch vanquished all of my foolish doubts.

I could picture the door to her bedroom slightly ajar, waiting for a curious glance to discover the sensual secrets that lay beyond. My fingers would continue their own enchanting motions, letting my eyes shape the darkness into the likeness of Anita’s body, naked atop her ivory bed, trapped in dreams so passionate they would scorch the pages of her diary.

I wondered if I could dream some of my own.

I remember Judy.

I remember how innocent she looked, smiling behind the roundness of her black-rimmed glasses, holding out an envelope, with Anita’s name written on it, in careful, measured strokes. I gently took it and slipped inside the textbook I carried, not even wondering how she’d found me through the campus.

I was late for class.

“Still in Vienna?”

I shook my head and frowned, before making the connection. “Oh, hum, no. In... Paris. Breakfast with François Mitterand.”

I held up my copy of Contemporary French History with one hand, attempting to smile at the lame joke, while I fretted nervously.

Her lips gracefully curved upwards, politely.

Her dark eyes suddenly pierced mine, and I stood, frozen, while she looked inside me. My legs quivered for an instant, while I forgot about the neon-lighted surroundings, and the flurry of students passing by in the corridor, on their way to seminars.

“Anita has told me all about you. She described you to a tee.”

Her grin widened, while I giggled nervously, brushing a nonexistent curl out of my face and glancing aside, suddenly desperate for the sight of a familiar face in the crowd. My thoughts became jumbled, and I fidgeted with the corner of my book, trying to understand why Anita had ‘described’ me to her friend, why I was so abruptly self-conscious in front of a strange girl, why oh why was I suddenly pressing my arms against my chest to hide my bulging nipples, shamelessly punching through my shirt.

“I hope... she is doing a good job.”

Of what? My mind screamed. God you are such an—

“Oh, she’s marvelous,” Judy breathed, drifting closer and sharing a knowing glance with me. “Quite a responsive subject. Dreaming dreamy little dreams, she is.”

I was suddenly aware of the matching cranberry red of our shirts, and the sharp outline of her firm breasts underneath it. I fled the warm curves, my eyes caressing her round shoulders instead, and I suppressed the inexplicable urge to reach out and stroke a strand of her auburn hair between my fingers.

“I hope you won’t mind giving her the instructions... just a few more relaxation exercises to help her with her recall trigger.”

My legs were made of cotton. Her voice was gentle and sweet. I nodded once, blinked, and remembered why I was nodding in the first place.

“Yes, I will...” I managed, running my index over the envelope that stuck out from the book, and yearning for the sharp pain of a papercut to steal me away from her captivating eyes.

I kept repeating the word in my head, feeling its heat, moistening my panties.

Trigger.

I thought of Anita as an object. A device to be activated.

My cleft juiced as I clenched my thighs together. Jesus, I’m not carrying an extra pair of panti—

“You won’t forget to give it to Anita, won’t you?” Judy asked in a honeyed voice.

My face burned hotly as I thought of myself as an object. A device.

Trigger.

She turned and left, her hair bouncing gaily, her ass swaying in the tightness of her jeans. Her enchanting features were etched in my mind as I leaned against a wall and panted softly.

I remember the giving of the gift.

Anita glared at me with one eye, before returning to her meditation.

She was kneeling comfortably on the rug beside her bed, her back arched, her shoulders straight, her features at rest. I allowed myself a small sigh that had nothing to do with exasperation.

She often meditated right before bed. Her nightgown draped over her body, its ripples failing to completely conceal her striking figure.

“Please Anita, it’s about Judy.”

Her eyes snapped open, her concentration instantly dispelled.

“She... told me to give you this.”

My mind wanted to say a million other things, but I merely stood, keeping my breath even while my skin tingled all over. The envelope that hung loosely between my fingers was quickly snatched by her, and she didn’t even bother to get up as she opened the unsealed flap, and read the lines etched on the folded page within.

I didn’t bother to catch a glimpse. My mouth tried to form a small sound, but the words of Judy’s letter were still seared in my mind, and now I needed to watch Anita while she read them.

She fell into herself. Her knees trembled under her, and her breath rushed as she quickly consumed the letter’s contents. Some distant voice buzzed in my brain, reminding me how much I cared for her, how much I needed to keep her out of harms way, for both our sakes, but I only had to watch her like this, fingers stroking the paper fit to hold the commands of Judy, to feel so much better about all this.

Judy’s smile was still making me shiver. Had she hoped I would read the letter before giving it to Anita? Had she hoped I’d resist once I understood what she was doing?

My mind reeled. This was a test.

Had I passed? Failed?

Anita moaned, lost in the sweet ecstasy triggered, I knew, by what she had read. What I had handed to her.

This was a good thing. A wonderful thing. Anita would remember her beautiful dreams with crystal clarity from now on. The letter said so.

Judy said so.

The flush inside my panties made it all so clear.

I remember Anita’s diary.

Skipping Thursday’s English Lit class to get home early became a ritual of sorts. I’d leave the campus at lunchtime, crossing over to Laurence street, with my keys already in hand.

Anita’s diary would be by her bedside, waiting for me in the deserted apartment. I would take it and bring it to my room, quickly turning to the latest entries, with eager, nervous fingers. Sometimes, I couldn’t resist the temptation of reading it on Anita’s bed. I would stare for long moments, picturing her lying across the soft quilt, searching the pattern for dark stains, just like the ones that had appeared on mine over the last few weeks, before falling across it with a sigh.

Anita’s graceful handwriting carried me on the wings of angels.

Even the brief notes at the beginning made me wet. The first few entries described the sessions with Judy, as well as the methodology, followed by hastily scribbled comments on sensations experienced during the hypnotic trances themselves. I soon pictured myself watching Judy’s stroboscopic device, settling conformably in a chair while the EEG silently recorded my thought patterns. I imagined jagged lines, scissoring the graph paper, becoming even and smooth as I breathed deeper... watching the flashing light... focusing on my dreams... focusing on remembering them...

Jan 19th—Lisa is with me again... back in the forest... she is wearing Celtic robes, smiling warmly as her hands run softly over my body... I struggle against the ropes, but her eyes are so beautiful against the backdrop of a crimson sky... she reaches down... her nails slide against my skin... I can hear music... chanting... a celebration nearby... I can taste wine on my lips... somehow I know it has been blessed... I am filled with joy... the pain of in my back, arched against the rough stone, is almost nonexistent... I feel only Lisa’s touch sliding lower... she is gentle... I press my shaved mound against her, but the restraints won’t let me raise my legs so I can capture her hand between my thighs... I feel so wonderful and free when she begins to play with me...

My hands quickly learned to search out favorite passages...

Feb 5th—the dream is so vivid... Judy... holding me... pressing against me... kissing... I can taste her breath... she parts from my lips... her breasts, rising and falling like mine... her hands are slipping over my shoulders as I kneel... the skirt molds over her hips like a second skin... I raise my hands to it... it stretches as I flip it up... her cunt is shaved and naked under it... I can see the wet spots of her arousal on the inside of the skirt... I pull it up father... her skin is soft and white and smooth... I have to kiss it... I lean over... my tongue dances over it... she tastes so good... I want to feel the heat of her labia against my tongue... I want her sweet juices on my lips... my hands are on her hips... clutching her flesh... I’m not even touching myself, and I’m cumming...

My fingers played eagerly while I read...

Feb 15th—Lisa again... holding me down... my arms are clasped together... she is pressing me down on the bed... Judy stands above me... her grin is wicked... I begin to weep... I can’t tell if its fear or joy... she’s holding the flashbox again... it fits so naturally in her hand... just like my mind... in her hand... I can hear Lisa’s voice... gentle... she tells me it will be all right... I can hear the truth of her words, over the excitement... she can barely keep herself from cumming... Judy is still watching, enjoying the spectacle... enjoying seeing her plaything struggle before the end... I am so wet as she raises the box... I stare inside it eagerly... feeling heat slip inside me when the light takes my mind away forever...

I would always flip back, to finish myself off with the now familiar entry...

Feb 9th—I’m standing over her bed... making another servant for Judy... she’s sleeping so soundly... pretty little Lisa... dreaming like me... I hold up the pocket watch... her eyes are closed but they begin to follow it just the same... following its rhythm... swinging back and forth down the golden chain... I can hear her mind trying to rouse itself... but falling instead... falling into the trance of obedience... falling... even as her legs shift open... naturally... obeying the impulse of her true self... obeying the will of Judy... so helpless and unaware... so needful of another will to own her mind... I call out to her... Lisa... Liiiissssa... like the waves of the ocean... I call her not to wake her but to make her sleep forever... she hears me... she stirs... she opens her eyes and the watch takes her mind away and she cums and I cum and—

My eyes would often follow the barely legible scrawl off the page, while my fingers plunged deep in my cumming slit.

I would think back to the date of the entries afterwards, and dwell on the fact that the first instance of my ‘surrender’ in the diary had occurred days before I had run into Judy.

I would wonder if Anita walked in her sleep. Or, perhaps, followed instructions as she slept.

I couldn’t remember my dreams.

Anita’s became my own.

I remember the breathless moments before the fall.

The apartment was empty, day and night. I filled it with moans and screams. I twisted my nipples until pleasure reduced me to a shrieking slutwhore. I fingerfucked myself all over Anita’s bed, and stained her sheets with my sweat and my cum.

The diary was with me. Anita had left without it, returning home for spring break. She had searched frantically for hours before having to rush to the airport to make her flight. She hadn’t thought to look under the mattress of my bed.

I had Xeroxed the pages two weeks ago, of course. The thing was, I now understood that the stroke of her pen made my climaxes sweeter than the words themselves. The basked in the knowledge that her pen had pushed against those pages, shaping the passionate, lustful fantasies in tense strokes, her fingers still wet from her own delightful probing, her breath hot against the paper as she leaned down, reading the passages over and over, wondering what devious, twisted images would grace her next sleep period... wondering if she would be able to describe the dreams adequately before the fierce rubbing of her slit made her fingers too tired to write anything.

I took to strolling though the apartment on heels, loving the nasty sound of its clicks against the floor, loving the feel of the air against my skin, and the tremors that shot up into my cunt when I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and bend forward, displaying my ass, fingering my hole and savoring every instant of my depravity.

I thought of Anita, far away from here, putting up a sham for her family, while every waking instant was spent in terrible yearning. I pictured her relief, as night fell and she cloistered herself to her old bedroom, barely able to go through her concentration exercises before sleep claimed her.

I wondered what I did to her in those dreams.

I wondered what she did to me.

The gentle rapping roused me from an afternoon nap, on the fifth day of my own secluded odyssey. My heeled feet guided me to the door, my heart pounding in hope.

I held my breath as I opened the door. Released it as I saw who stood behind it.

My moans were full of love and craving. Judy watched me with that same knowing smile, gazing down, enjoying the sight of me, displayed for her pleasure. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and locked it.

The sound of the bolt resounded in my mind. I stiffened, feeling the heat of my erect clit, feeling it hardening as understanding of my fate nearly swallowed me in orgasmic oblivion.

The last embers of fading resistance glowed inside me, as I struggled against the need to cum for her... my hands grew rigid by my side, even as I swayed my body lewdly. The thought of betraying myself to her, of my fingers robbing me of my last moments of free will, made my cunt drip.

She leaned against the door, like a tigress ready to pounce on a prey too terrified to move.

“Poor little Anita had to go visit her parents,” she stated regretfully.

I closed my eyes, reeling to the sound of a voice sweeter than I remembered.

“She’ll be back very soon... she needs to be here if she wants to live her pretty dreams...”

My mind flashed to the entry in Anita’s diary, and to the deep-seated yearnings of my roommate... desperately wanting to bow to Judy’s will as I stood by... watching... helping... cumming...

Judy’s voice echoed through the rushing heat of my own lust. She sounded so distant and powerful. My hot pussy tightened as she spoke to me.

“You’ve be a good subject, Lisa... more responsive than Anita even... unspoiled by the trappings of modern psychology... there’s nothing to hold you back...”

A moan slipped out of me, my knees bucking at the thought of pleasing Judy so much. I lived for the praise of her voice, and the way it made me dribble like a slutty little whore.

“You see it, don’t you? The dream that lives inside you? The one shaping your consciousness? You want to live inside it too, don’t you?”

She reached inside the pocket of her jacket. My eyes grew wide as I realized what she kept there.

I wanted to kneel, but I couldn’t.

I had not been ordered to.

I didn’t matter. My mind was hers. My soul. My body.

My cunt.

She pulled the watch from her pocket. It dangled before my eyes.

She was laughing as I fell inside the dream, never to wake up again.

I remember the sublime shapes behind my sleeping eyes.

I recalled everything. I meditated and concentrated. Judy had taught me well. I was eager to please her.

I lived inside the dream. I cried out in worship. I was hers to mold and change as she willed.

She remade me, and I lathered her with tender licks of gratitude.

On the third night, I begged for her to let me keep a diary. A record of my surrender, to keep company to the warm fire that slipped in with my fingers. A testament of all the glories of my reverence to her greatness.

“No, my little dreamslut,” she whispered, a trace of amusement making my heart skip and my thighs spread a little more. “You don’t need to.”

I closed my eyes and let the taste of her dribble from my lips. To hear her say it... feeling the glorious truth of it...

A white-hot flame flickered under my clit as I came.

I heard her across the sweeping ocean that swallowed me. “Anita won’t either... once you help her understand.”

Her fingers stroked my hair, before guiding my mouth and lips to her.

I remember love.

A weekful of pain dwelled in Anita’s features. She shuffled in the kitchen, her pretty hair disheveled, her eyes red from all the tears.

My heart was stabbed with needles as I felt her distress. She had been estranged from herself, off to a life she no longer understood. I could read the pattern of her nights through the anxious quake of her fingers... the fruitless search for that one climax that would blissfully liberate her once again... bringing the memory of sights and smells... the memory of her wonderful dreams, so she could remain alive and sane as she suffered the harsh lies of the waking world.

A universe without females to worship—without Judy to worship—was not worth living in.

I stared at her mutely, but her eyes glared at the corner of the table, and the missing diary that rested upon it.

She stood there, transfixed, while I walked to her side.

I leaned over, cradled her chin, and kissed her lightly.

Her lips were warm against mine. She brushed her nose against my chin, slipped her hands around my waist and drew me close.

I leaned in against her, brushing a knee between her legs and pressing forward with delicate urgency. She groaned back, rubbing against my me, breathing in my scent, while her hands stroked up and down my arms with loving attention.

Her eyes were alive again, a glimmer of understanding shining behind the rising joy. I answered her silent question with a simple nod, before searching out her mouth again.

Our tongues danced sensuously together.

I remember the dream that owned me.

She could feel me, wet against her thigh. I squeezed my legs together, my cunt leaving a moist trail against her skin. The heat of our climaxes had not yet dissipated, and she shifted against me, riding up between my legs, until our thighs were spread and crisscrossed.

The sheets clung against our sweaty bodies. We had finally meandered into bed. I couldn’t tell whose.

Our hot little pussies kissed, clits teasing each other as we rubbed, finding the rhythm without words or glances, but with the slow caress fingers. We played each other like instruments, our voices chanting our pleasure in soft whines. I pressed against her with renewed vigor, mashing our breasts together and lashing her with licks of my tongue.

I waited until the gushing of our cunts to speak Dreammistress Judy’s final trigger. I felt a wave wash over me as I came, her sticky juices mingling with my own. She cried out, her eyes rolling back even as the command took effect. I reached around her, cradling her trembling form in my arms as I leaning down flat on the bed. She continued to climax violently, and I rode her cunt with my own, screaming my own dark pleasure even as I contemplated the sublime path that lay ahead.

Dreammistress moaned hotly as she tongued Anita’s pussy.

I stood there, fixated, hoping my fingers had kept the slut hot and wet while she had made her way over.

Anita was still asleep, in the thrall of the spoken command. I had placed her limbs carefully, resting her arms overhead, against the pillows, and bending her knees slightly before opening her legs wide. She had remained there, immobile, her back slightly arched by the a few rumpled sheets underneath, her nipples stiff and red, her eyes moving softly underneath her eyelids.

She had moaned softly through her slumber, waiting for my probing finger to be replaced by Dreammistress’ lips.

How wonderful it was to live inside the dream.

I felt hot arousal trickle inside me. Not as wonderful as helping my dearest Anita achieve it in turn.

Dreammistress didn’t speak with her mouth full. She didn’t have to. She merely smiled as she continued her hallowed work... while my mind filled with the melodious remembrance of her words.

“The dream shapes the mind. It shapes you into my little dreamslut. It lives inside you, working incessantly... destroying barriers... until you are ready... until the moment when your eyes open, but you are no longer awake...”

Dreammistress arched her ass in the air, calling out to me in a stifled moan. I made my way around the bed, my fingers drawn to her slit, finding it warm and wet to my probing touch.

I had no such thoughts for myself, reveling instead in the sight of Anita moaning in the bed, her hear snapping left to right in the cradle of her upraised arms, her eyes rolling furiously, her chest curving in mounting pleasure while Dreammistress’ hands dug fiercely into her ass, plunging her tongue deep inside her slut-to-be’s soaked cleft.

Anita’s surrender was a howl of passionate fury, the fierce quakes coursing through her as her eyes flew wide open, to reveal an empty mirror to my own soul.

I joined her in pleasure, unable to resist the need to loose myself in the cumming glory of her ascendance.

Such beautiful, beautiful dreams we would have...