The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The house was weird.

My grandparents are Japanese. I mean, duh. I’m Japanese, so you could probably have worked out that yes—it’s hereditary.

But I mean, like, my grandparents live in Japan. They’re Japanese, whereas me and my sister are Japanese-American. And believe me, it’s very different.

Kim and I were raised here—first generation American. It means some Americans will never see us as American (I swear, some of them are still holding Pearl Harbor against us)...and no Japanese will ever see us as Japanese.

Like my grandparents. Don’t get me wrong, they love us...but they’ve never even left Japan. We visited them twice as kids, and both trips were completely miserable. I didn’t realize it at the time, but our accents must have made us stick out like a sore thumb. Even our cousins kept their distance, treating us like total outsiders.

The architecture is the main thing I remember enjoying. Most people say the food, but...I dunno, it was just the same as what Mom and Dad made at home, so it didn’t really leave an impact.

But for me, it was the houses. I’m not a design nut or anything like that, but they just looked so different. I found the different buildings fascinating.

So when we moved, that was the first thing I noticed about the new house. It was weird; every other house nearby looked normal, and...well, I guess this one did too, for the most part. But as soon as I laid eyes on it, I couldn’t help but notice the slight curve to the roof, and that it was made of more wood than the neighboring houses.

And when we entered, sure enough, it even had a genkan of sorts—a small mudroom, slightly lower than the rest of the ground floor. I glanced at my mother; I don’t think she’d even noticed, consciously.

It’s not that Mom is dumb, or anything like that. She’s just...not always the most observant woman. She gets tunnel vision, y’know?

Especially since Dad’s death.

I’m not trying to make this a boo-hoo, woe is me story, but...yeah, it’s pretty relevant. About six months ago, Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I didn’t know anything about it at the time (other than that it sounded scary). Now, as you can imagine, I know a lot.

Turns out it sounds scary for a reason: it’s the fastest-killing cancer, if it’s not found early.

Dad’s wasn’t found early.

Less than two months later, he was gone. I literally didn’t know things could happen that fast—it seriously felt like one minute, he was sitting on the couch, complaining about the latest season of Better Call Saul...and the next, he was in a hospital bed, barely responsive.

He’d never see the final season of Better Call Saul. He’d never see us grow up. He’d never see whether we became doctors, as he hoped (and pressured us to), or...

Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve dealt with it, really. There was some talk about Kim and I seeing therapists, but Mom is very conservative, and I don’t think she really believes in that kind of thing. It’s not like Dad and I were super close—he was more open than Mom, but not by much. As a kid, I’d see my friends’ parents give them these big hugs and tell them how proud they were of them, but it was never like that with my parents.

I used to wonder what was wrong with me. Then I learned...we’re Japanese. That’s just sort of what we’re like.

Well, that’s what my parents are like.

Were. Were like. I don’t have “parents” any more, just one. Singular: parent.

When Dad’s life insurance came in, Mom decided that we were moving. I think the old place had too many memories of Dad, so she picked us up and whisked us to the other side of town.

Like I said, I don’t think she was consciously aware that she’d picked a place with Japanese influence. My guess is that she found it comforting, subconsciously, to be in a place that reminded her of home.

I didn’t say anything. I glanced at my sister, Kim; she definitely didn’t notice. She’s completely clueless—again, not dumb. Just pretty self-absorbed.

As we stepped into the house, her eyes were glued to her phone. Playing that new Harry Potter version of Pokemon Go. She’s completely obsessed with Harry Potter, has been her whole life.

“Yess,” she said, a wide grin on her face. “This house is an inn!”

Mom and I just ignored her. Kim is two and a half years older than me, but people often say that I’m the mature one. My sister is a bit...I dunno, frivolous? And no, it has nothing to do with Dad dying. She’s always been like that.

Although, yeah, it definitely got a little worse when we were orphaned. Half-orphaned?

I guess it was just Kim’s way of coping, sinking deep into the world of United Wizards, (or whatever it’s called).

“Come on,” Mom said. It was there—it was always there. That slight catch in her voice, like she was right on the edge of breaking down.

She cried at least once a day. That might not sound like one, but you’ve got to understand—for a Japanese woman, that’s a lot. Mom probably cried like, once or twice in her adult life before Dad’s diagnosis.

She never cries in front of us, of course. She’ll mumble an excuse to leave the room, then practically tip-toe out. By the time she reappears, her face is clear, her smile bright.

But we knew what she was doing. Her eyes were till slightly red, her smile a little too forced, her body tense.

Mom led us through the house, pointing out the different rooms. Kim and I pretended to care. I mean, it wasn’t like we didn’t care, but we had an unspoken agreement to stay positive, to make sure that we weren’t being a burden.

I should mention; the new house didn’t have, like, sliding doors or anything like that. It wasn’t like my grandparents’ house had been transplanted to the middle of Milwaukee.

But yeah, there were traces all over the place. I don’t know who built the place, but they were either Japanese or a total weebo.

When the tour was done, Kim and I picked our rooms, and the next two weeks were spent setting everything up.

Like I said, my sister is almost three years older than me. She’s in her second year of college...well, she was. She deferred, after Dad passed. Six months off, with a promise to Mom that she’d go back.

After the move. After some time to...y’know, process.

Mom hadn’t argued too hard. Our entire lives, she’d been the hardass, and Dad had been the soft one. I mean, by comparison. We still had all the pressures that come with first-generation immigrants. Even Dad was insistent that we do well in school, stay away from bad influences, eat right, keep the house spotless.

Other kids got allowances. We got summer classes.

Dad loved us, and he wanted us to succeed—but he didn’t micromanage us every step of the way. If Mom had her way, we would’ve had bedrooms with no doors. Dad let us sleep in on weekends, and even have friends over on a weeknight.

It might not sound like much, but trust me—some of my other friends were Japanese-American too. Even those small concessions were a lot.

But since Dad had passed, it was like Mom had...not “given up”, that’s not fair. But she’d definitely disconnected.

She hadn’t even asked me what schools I was applying to, something I’d been pressured to think about since elementary school.

Kim is almost twenty-one, and way too cool to hang out with her dorky younger brother.

Not that I’m a dork. I’m the tallest in my family, and I play enough basketball to keep myself pretty fit. I like video games, but so does pretty much everyone on the varsity team, so I don’t think that counts.

But I was still surprised when my sister knocked on my door one Saturday morning and asked if I wanted to hang out.

“Me?” I responded sleepily—I’d been up late the previous night, playing Overwatch. Like I said, I’m a bit of a gamer, but it’s not my entire life. It’s just stress relief.

And a great distraction when I don’t want to think about Dad.

“Yeah, you,” she said, rolling her eyes.

I shot her a confused look. I don’t think my sister has ever approached me to hang out. Maybe she realized how unusual this was, because she looked at her feet.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said quietly, and I nodded.

Kim and I hadn’t really talked about Dad. I mean, we’d talked, but just about...y’know, superficial stuff. When something reminded us of him, or what he would’ve said about a particular situation.

But that was it. We hadn’t gone deeper.

We didn’t talk about the fact that he was gone.

When Mom came home (she’d started going on these long walks every day) she found me and Kim in the kitchen, making pancakes. It was, like, the first American food that Dad had learned how to cook, so he’d made it for us all the time.

Like I said, Kim and I didn’t talk about Dad, but we remembered him in our own way.

“Look at you two, getting along,” she said with a smile. I shifted uncomfortably. We were, of course, but...I dunno. It felt weird that Mom was pointing it out. Like it was fine as long as no one drew attention to it.

“Barely,” my sister said, apparently sharing my discomfort.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. “There’s just nothing else to do around here.”

It was true. We’d moved what felt like half a world away from everyone we knew.

Mom raised one eyebrow, and a gleam appeared in her eyes.

Uh-oh. It was a look I’d seen on her face many times...although not for a while. Maybe it was a good sign that she was feeling bossy again.

Not good for us, of course, but good in general.

“Well if you’re so bored,” she said, her accent thick (as it always was when she went into ‘Mom mode’), “maybe you want to clean out the attic?”

“No thanks,” I said, trying to sound casual. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kim shaking her head as well.

“No no,” Mom said. “Not asking.”

Kim and I shot each other a glance.

Great. This is what we got for refusing to admit that we were enjoying other’s company.

I hadn’t been up to the attic yet. The stairs leading up there were the kind where you had to pull a string to get them down, and...it’s not that I’m afraid of heights, exactly. I just don’t see any reason to climb a set of flimsy stairs without a reason.

So thanks, Mom, for giving me a reason.

Kim started coughing as soon as we got upstairs. There were cobwebs everywhere and the lightbulb was busted. It smelled moldy and damp—and it was basically empty. There weren’t any boxes or furniture up there, just a few suitcases and some old clothes.

And one of those old televisions with the built-in tape player. The thing must have been ancient; I think we’d had a few video tapes when I was a baby, but Dad had been a technophile, and so as a kid I’d watched everything on DVD (and then Netflix).

The strangest thing is, it was plugged in. Like, the TV wasn’t just being stored up here—it was set up, ready to go. Except there wasn’t, like, a couch or anything. It was just pointing at the center of the attic, like you were expected to sit on the dusty floor and watch it.

“Weird,” I said, but my sister wasn’t looking. She was buried in her phone, Harrying Potters. As I watched, she wrinkled her nose.

“Damn it,” she said, looking around the small room. “We’re at the top of the house, how do I have no reception up here?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged, pulling one of the suitcases out. “C’mon. Let’s see what the guy who lived here before us was into.”

“Porn,” my sister replied, as I opened the suitcase. It had nothing in it but four VHS tapes. “He was into porn.”

“I don’t think these are porn,” I said, looking at the label. It was handwritten kanji: two characters, followed by a number—“2”.

Kim raised her eyebrows. “You a porn expert?” she asked, and my cheeks flushed.

“No,” I said, probably too emphatically. “But porn normally has a case, right?”

“Not if you’re trying to hide it,” Kim sniffed.

“This looks more like someone taped something off the TV.”

“Great,” my sister said. “We’ve found someone’s collection of recorded Seinfeld re-runs.

I threw her another one of the tapes. “You recognize this?”

“No,” she admitted. “I mean, that’s a three...”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“But I don’t know what the other words are.”

“Mom will probably know,” I said, putting the tapes back in the suitcase.

The rest of the attic’s haul wasn’t nearly as exciting. One of the suitcases was filled with old food and wine magazines, and another contained a bunch of encyclopedias from the 1980s. All in English.

The rest just had clothes; they looked like traditional Japanese clothes, a man’s and a woman’s.

“You should wear this,” I joked, throwing a geisha outfit at my sister. “Maybe you’ll finally learn your place.”

“Gross,” she said, dropping the outfit. “Is that everything?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking at our haul. “You think any of it’s worth something?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. There’s a huge market for moldy magazines and ancient encyclopedias that nobody wants to read anymore.”

“Maybe they’re antiques,” I protested, picking up a magazine called ‘Taste of Home’. The cover promised to tell me how to make ‘the perfect tiramisu’.

“Put them on eBay,” Kim challenged. “See what you get.”

I glanced over the magazines again, immediately seeing her point. There was no way it’d even be worth the effort of trying.

My sister’s eyes drifted towards the pile of men’s clothing that we’d found. At the top of the pile was a grey suit and tie, and her features softened.

“Dad had an outfit like that,” she said softly. “I remember he wore it to my high school graduation.”

My sister turned away, but not before I saw the glint of tears appear in her eyes. For a moment, I hesitated. Should I say something? What could I possibly say?

Were we finally going to talk about it?

“It looks like we’re done here,” I said loudly, clapping my hands. “Wanna tell Mom?”

“She’ll just give us something else to do,” my sister said, and when she turned back to face me, her cheeks were puffy but dry.

“True.”

“I know what we can do,” she said, her forced smile reminding me of our mother’s. “Let’s watch some Seinfeld.“

“Or porn,” I said under my breath, as she picked up the tape labeled ‘1’ and inserted it into the TV.

As soon as she hit play, a look of pain appeared on my sister’s face. The screen showed nothing but static, but she stopped the tape straight away.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked, and I raised my eyebrows. It wasn’t like my sister and I never swore, of course, but...I dunno, Mom and Dad had always been pretty strict about language. It was weird to hear the word coming out of her mouth inside the house.

“What?” I asked, and she shot me a look.

“You didn’t hear that?”

“Hear...what?”

My sister narrowed her eyes, pressing play again while staring at me. She winced as the static played, and I just stared at her in bewilderment.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.

“You seriously can’t hear anything?”

Her voice was loud, like she was wearing headphones. I looked back between the TV and her, wondering if this was some kind of prank. A weird, weak prank that didn’t make any sense.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, and all of a sudden my sister relaxed.

“Oh,” she said happily. “It’s gone.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth when the TV came alive. It wasn’t Seinfeld—it looked like a home movie, filmed in black and white. Sort of like the video from The Ring, almost.

On the screen was a geisha, kneeling in front of the camera.

“Oh, shit,” I said quietly. “Maybe it is porn.“

My sister didn’t say anything. Instead, to my surprise, she sat down on the dusty attic floor. It’s not like my sister is a neat freak or anything, but...yeah. I hadn’t been expecting that.

Kim sat cross-legged in front of the TV, leaning forward as the video continued. I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell that she was watching intently, like it was...I dunno, one of those new Harry Potter movies.

I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, the geisha started talking. Her black hair was tied up in a bun adorned with flowers, and her skin (or her make-up, at least) was smooth as porcelain. Her lips were painted red, and she wore a brightly-colored kimono.

It took me a moment to realize: it was the same kimono I’d thrown at my sister earlier.

“That’s...—”

“Hello,” the woman on-screen said, interrupting me. The tone of her voice was strangely deep, and it resonated through the room. “My name is Kiki.”

“Hello, Kiki,” my sister chanted, and I laughed. She sounded like a kid watching an episode of Dora the Explorer.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, but my sister didn’t respond. I fell silent as the woman continued speaking, her voice coming out of the TV’s tiny, tinny speakers.

“Thank you for coming,” the woman said with a bow.

To my surprised, my sister bowed back. I hadn’t seen her bow since we’d last visited Japan, over a decade ago.

No, that’s not true. She’d bowed at my father’s funeral. Mom had insisted that we stand at the door, greeting everyone who entered. If someone bowed, Mom had bowed back. Kim, too.

“I am Kiki Shimada, geisha of Kyoto,” the woman continued. “I have chosen to present myself to you as the traditions of my people demand. You, too, will learn the ways of my people. You will learn much from these videos.”

Despite her appearance, the woman on-screen didn’t have a Japanese accent. It didn’t sound Midwestern, either—I couldn’t quite place it.

“Thank you, Kiki,” my sister responded, bowing once more.

“Kim?” I said. “Is this a joke? Why are you doing this?”

She didn’t respond, just kept watching the screen intently.

“These videos will teach you servitude,” Kiki continued. “The joys of submission. The pleasures of obedience. You will learn to kneel, and you will learn to beg. To obey your master.”

My eyes widened, and I stepped forward to look at my sister’s face. She’s not the most ardent of feminists, but...yeah, I knew she wouldn’t be okay with this. Like, what woman would, in 2021?

And sure enough, a flicker of resistance crossed my sister’s face. I could tell that she wasn’t comfortable with what the woman on the tape was saying, but she was still staring at the screen as though hypnotized.

“This submission wil fulfill you,” Kiki continued. “It will bring you happiness. Your life will be filled with joy, your body and mind will become one. This is a promise.”

Again, I glanced at my sister. She still looked uncomfortable at the words coming from the geisha’s mouth, from the tiny speakers on the ancient TV...but she didn’t turn away.

Instead, as though someone had grabbed her cheeks and forced a reaction, she nodded.

“You will obey,” Kiki said, her voice calm and confident. “You will submit. You will kneel. And you will beg.”

My sister was trembling now, as though part of her wanted to get up and leave, wanted to storm down the flimsy stairs and never return to the attic—but she couldn’t.

And she didn’t.

“Do you understand?” Kiki asked.

“Yes,” my sister replied, her voice shaking. “Yes, I...I understand.”

“Good girl,” Kiki said. “You will obey. Say it.”

“I...I will obey,” Kim replied, and she sat back down on the dusty attic floor. I hadn’t even realized that she’d started to get up.

“You will submit. Say it.”

“I will submit,” my sister replied, her voice calmer.

“You will kneel,” Kiki instructed, a steely tone in her voice. It was the kind of voice that demanded obedience. “Kneel for me, now.”

My eyebrows shot up as my sister did as she was told. I watched, still not sure if this was some kind of elaborate prank, as Kim knelt down on the floor, her head bowed, her eyes turned upwards so she could watch the screen.

“And now,” Kiki commanded firmly, “you will beg. Beg to learn the ways of the geisha. Beg for me to teach you how to unlock the submission inside you that will make you happy.”

“Please, Kiki,” my sister said, and I was surprised by the hint of desperation in her voice. “I want to learn. I want to learn how to serve.”

“Repeat after me,” the geisha continued, “and you shall be rewarded with the greatest pleasure your master can offer.”

“Yes, Kiki,” my sister chanted, a slight moan in her voice. “I will do whatever you command.”

“There is no greater pleasure than to please your master.”

I couldn’t do anything but watch, stunned, as my sister echoed the video’s words back. “There is no greater pleasure than to please my master.”

“You were born to serve. To live is to serve.”

“Kim—”

“I was born to serve,” my sister cooed. “To live is to serve.”

“You exist to serve men.”

“I exist to serve men.”

I took a step forward, my body shaking. My heart was pounding, and I felt dizzy. This wasn’t normal behavior. Even for a joke, I knew my sister would never go this far.

It’s not like she’s a bra-burning feminist or something, but...this wasn’t Kim. She’d always been independent. Like, she’d once told me that she hated the way Mom always did the dishes, even on nights when she’d cooked.

And yet, here she was, kneeling on the floor, her head bowed and her eyes fixed on the TV.

I stood behind her. “Kim,” I said, shaking her shoulder.

It was like I wasn’t even there.

“Kim!” I repeated, louder. “This isn’t funny.”

My sister didn’t respond, and the voice on the screen continued.

“In life, it is the duty of a woman to please her master.”

“In life, it is the duty of a woman to please her master.”

I could see my sister’s face, now. It was expressionless as it stared at the small screen, her eyes bright as she repeated the lines back.

“You will kneel before your master. You will do as he commands.”

“I will kneel before my master. I will do as he commands.”

I considered shaking her again, but I knew there was no point. The only thing I could do was turn off the video, stop this insanity.

But as I stepped towards the TV, I noticed something.

I was hard as a rock.

I should be clear—I’ve never had any attraction to my sister before. Even if I’d ever noticed her body (which I haven’t), I probably would’ve told you that she wasn’t my type. She’s short—really short. And skinny. And it’s not like she isn’t cute; she actually has a pretty face. She’s got a light dusting of freckles, and dark brown eyes that always seem to be looking at you.

But I’ll admit it—in that moment, she looked hot as hell. Every inch of her body was tense, like she didn’t want to miss a word coming out of Kiki’s mouth. Her skin was flushed, and I was suddenly aware of how much skin her shorts and top showed off.

“You will submit to your master,” Kiki’s voice continued. “Alone, you are nothing. But with him, you will find purpose you never dreamed possible. He will give you purpose. He is your purpose.“

“I will submit to my master,” my sister echoed, and I looked at her eyes as she spoke. They were wide open, trying to absorb every lesson coming from the small television. “Alone, I am nothing. But with him, I will find purpose I never dreamed possible. He will give me purpose. He is my purpose.“

God, why was that so hot?

It shouldn’t have been, right? It shouldn’t have been a turn-on to watch my sister kneel on the dusty attic floor, drinking in everything the video had to offer.

She was my sister.

“You will kneel before your master,” Kiki said firmly. “You will do as he commands.”

“I will kneel before my master. I will do as he commands.”

I was convinced that she wasn’t faking. Not only did my sister not have the imagination for a prank like this, it just wasn’t her style. She wasn’t a prude, exactly, but...well, I knew she’d never had a boyfriend. Our parents had said that in exchange for them paying for college, we weren’t allowed to date until we graduated.

“You will do as he commands.”

“I will do as he commands.”

“Your body exists to serve him.”

“My body exists to serve him.”

The comment forced me to evaluate my sister’s body. Like I said, short and skinny. Not my type—I’m more into, I dunno. Christina Hendricks. Tall, redheaded, busty.

But as my eyes travelled down my sister’s form, I had to admit...maybe I’d been judging her a little too hastily. She was in pretty good shape, after all. She jogged regularly (it apparently helped her with the Harry Potter thing) and had a nice curve to her hips.

Her stomach was flat, but it was soft. She had a small, pouty ass, and her legs were long and smooth. Her breasts were small, but she wasn’t wearing a bra under her tank-top, and I could see that they were round and firm.

I blinked twice. I absolutely shouldn’t have been looking at my sister like this. She was my sister. I needed to turn the tape off, snap her out of it, and then...I dunno, burn them.

But as I took another step forward, the voice said something that made me pause.

“Your master stands beside you.”

“My master stands beside me,” my sister gasped, her eyes flicking over to me for just a moment.

I froze. Had...had the tape just named me as Kim’s master?

In a moment, I could see it. I could see my sister, unquestioningly obeying my commands. Doing as I said.

I could see her kneeling at my feet, just as she was now, waiting for my command.

I know how wrong that is. Even in that moment, I knew how wrong it was. But...my cock was hard, and I was breathing heavily, and I was staring at my own sister’s body. My sister, kneeling on the dusty attic floor, pledging her commitment to me. To serving my needs.

Pledging to obey her master.

“Your master will take care of you.”

“My master will take care of me,” my sister echoed, her voice strained.

“You exist for your master’s pleasure.”

“I exist for my master’s pleasure.”

“You are his,” the video continued.

“I am his,” Kim whispered in response, and the tape ended.