The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

To the Stables

“Good. Girls. Listen,” said a man’s voice calling from the darkly tinted window of a black sleek car.

Vicki immediately bolted, stunned and startled. Immediate terror soaking her nerve endings, a primal understanding she wasn’t alone, that her awareness had failed her, that someone had marked her in this dark place, and knew she was alone. The parking garage was almost empty, and she often prided herself in caution, rushing purposefully with a long-legged stride and constantly glancing for potential threats. She gripped keys in hand,ready to unlock her car but simultaneously serving as a potential weapon should she be confronted. Likewise she held her gym bag clutched close with a can of bear repellent within grasp. Living in the city, she always tried to be cognizant of surroundings and presences, simultaneously seeking avenues of approach for potential threats and direction for escape if necessary. These things had been drilled into her, almost second nature throughout her school years, and had proven valuable on more than one scary night.

Tonight, they had failed her. She had passed by the darkly tinted car within walking distance, noted it even. Of European make, of some obvious value but without any identifying markers to indicate its brand. The dark tinted windows reflected only the overhead lights, with no indication of a presence within. She hadn’t heard any electronic hum of a window descending, and she was well past it, moving to forget it at all in the rush of post workout endorphins. But then the voice hit from behind and held her rigid. As a rush of adrenaline and panic subsumed her being, she realized with growing terror the fight or flight response likewise failed her. She could not move. She stood rigid and frozen, feeling an almost electric thrum of surging adrenals pumping through muscles that would not respond. For reasons unfathomable, her mind echoed the words and the notion behind them. She was a Good girl, and all she could do is Listen.

Listen, like a Good girl, some mantra played through her screaming thoughts, Good girls listen. So Listen, Good Girl, listen, close. Pay attention. And Deep inside, something inside her, the good girl, she knew herself to be. Something conditioned and ingrained into the very fabric of her being, the very fiber of her essence. Listened. She could hear echoes of the words, in her own voice, repeating it, in different loops and aspects, the same words, that she must have heard, spoken, and listened to, at some point, through some process, she could not remember. But she listened, yes. Because that’s what Good Girls do.

A whimper escaped her mouth in a terrified exhalation, as she heard the door of the obsidian vehicle open. She could not even turn her head, only hear the clacking sound of dress shoes striking the floor, as someone got out of the car.

Vicki stood still, seemingly paralyzed in fear, with quivering muscles and abject terror, but listening, straining to hear, both physically and mentally. Her body strained to move, to break, to bolt, to flee…Yet she held fast, held herself still, as her mind focused on the imperative. She needed to Listen. Good Girls Listen, she kept hearing, over and over. So Listen, Good Girl. And, She couldn’t help it, she could not stop it, hands clenched fixed at her sides, the keys digging into the palm of her hand as she held tight. Almost disconnected, she felt her body holding itself into rapt standing attention. She could hear a car door open, then slow approaching footsteps. Her entire being felt consumed with the fire of panic, an almost literal sensation from the chemical mix coursing through her legs, and body, but still she found herself completely rapt and unable to move. Only Listen. Good Girl, her thoughts echoed. Listening, as the clacking footsteps slowly approached. Coming closer, and closer. Purposefully masking his approach, so she could not see, simply feel. Like stalked prey, like an animal trapped, like… Like a Good Girl, her thoughts repeated back in her own voice. Good Girl, now Listen. Then there was silence, until his voice came out from behind, sudden.

“Time to go to the stables,” said the deep voice and the unnatural paralysis broke. She slumped, but held herself standing as a fugue of strange emotion and disconnect and a haze of confusion overwhelmed her. Again, the words reverberated in her thoughts, repeated over and over and over, looping incessant in micro-seconds. Her mind processed the words, infinite cycles in the span between seconds and eternity, as they soaked and subsumed her being. To the Stables. To the Stables. To the Stables. Becoming more and more abstract in her conscious thoughts, as her subconscious responded immediately. Overwhelming As they took hold of her raptly listening mind, and it was transfixed, transfigured. Triggered into patterns, recognized yet confused. The words were noise, blurry and incomprehensible, as her thoughts became clouds of abstraction. They weren’t words, but some kind of noise, that her thoughts could no longer grasp. They didn’t make sense, and nothing made sense, even as the loop of noise within her, continued to change and abstract her thoughts, notion and behaviors. She let out some sound, some high panicked exclamation of denial, that almost sounded… LIke a moan… But more like some… beast… Good Girl… Somewhere within the haze of half-formed abstraction and nonsensical noise that were once words, she heard her own voice telling her. Listening, so Good Girl. Listened. So Good, She knew it was time to go. To the Stables.

Her keys and bags fell from loosely clenched hands, before her hands curled into fists and rose to her chest. Her head cocked quizically left, eyes continually growing glazed and unfocused. She struggled to catch herself, to catch the rising pressure she felt in her chest and lungs, as if the air was a weight. She brought her hands to her chest and held them there, breathing hard and struggling not to bend at the knees. The world in front of her became slowly cloudy and blurred, a hazing of clouds rising before her eyes, enveloping the world.

She shook her head harshly, trying to clear it. She clenched her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously, but as she did this she felt some sensation from between her ears. Deep inside her head she felt some large shifting, as if part of her brain had settled. Some deep tickling inside her ear as if some liquid was creeping down the canal. She could almost feel it leak from her ear, but when she clutched the side of her ear it came away dry, despite the feeling of some intangible liquid dripping from her ear. As if something was draining and escaping her head. Something mental. She couldn’t tell, and there were no words. Her confused mind struggled beyond abstraction and sensation, symbolic processing of external input. But there were no words in her mind, no thoughts beyond the secret shadow mantra, overwhelming, overwriting the nature of her self and being. Good Girl, listening, so Good Girl, knowing, what Good Girl, she is… And she made the sound again, snorting as her tongue lolled for a moment and teeth clacked, and he whinnied.

Her ears remained sharp, sharpened even and she heard some kind of clicking sound, generated from someones tongue, and low soothing voice, “Shhhhhh.... Easy girl. Easy.”

She turned alarmed, momentary panic rising high with surge of adrenaline evoking her flight or fight response. She whimpered low, as she tried to focus, make some semblance of sense from cloudy surroundings. She shook her head again involuntarily as her right foot rose and stamped the ground. Some distant part of her mind, noted her foot movement beyond haze of screaming panic. A stamping, a warning, to kick and crush, and stomp. She stamped her foot again and snorted, air blowing from her cheeks in a puffing as she turned to face the man. From within, deep inside a mind, in a confused recess of a once rational human mind, came a worried phantom of a thought. What was happening to her? But the rest of her being, the mantra conditioned into her soul, knew what she was, what time it was. She was a Good Girl. Listening, so Good. And it Was Time. For the Stables.

She could hear the man’s voice, continuing to make low reassuring sounds, even as the words he might have spoken were a nonsensical blur of syllables to the fragmented state of her thoughts. Part of her calmed unbidden, her body shifting to face his direction. Good Girl, Listening, assured her subconscious. She backed a step hesitantly and tried to vocalize some protest. The only noises that emerged were grunting, and some long drawn out high nasal moaning. She backed another step in shock at these strange sounds, wondering why and she sounded like a horse. ‘PONY’, rose a large voice in her mind, obliterating all other voices momentarily. SHe staggered, a moment, feeling some rush quickening throughout her body and growing heat between her legs. Part of her panic eased in response to the low soothing sounds. She shook her head again involuntarily, feeling something else intangible escape in the flowing rush of hair. Something leaving her forever.

She focused back upon the strange haze that was making clicking sounds. Her head cocked again and she focused harder, trying to make sense and semblance. For a moment the world before her cleared a bit, and she focused upon that. With trial she found that she could begin to distinguish shapes and objects, but only if she focused her eyes directly ahead and almost crossed. The haze slowly retreated into the shapes of car, and man. A man who continued to click and make those low reassuring sounds. “Easy girl. Good. Girl. Easy.” Against her will, she found herself calming more at the sound of his voice. Her eyes lowered slightly to his feet, her head bowing. Her right foot pawed the ground as she watched it vaguely surprised. Some deep calm was descending upon her, waning and retreating even as the strange man approached. She listened. And waited for him to approach.

She made a snorting sound as her nostrils flared. The deep part of her mind screaming panic seemed distant and unimportant. She snorted appreciatively and nuzzled against him. Her nostrils flared wide, taking in his scent. He ran his hand smoothly down her backside, she arched to his touch. He reached her buttocks and grabbed one roughly, filling his hand with her flesh. She let out a surprised whinny, but then positioned herself so her ass would protrude outward to the display of all. Readily available should he wish to grab it again. ‘Or smack it,’ whispered a submerged voice in her brain, rewarding her with a secret thrill of orgasmic arousal.

Then the man suddenly smacked her ass, hard enough to sting sharply and the startled girl arched back with a loud whinny. The man held her by her hair, petting the top of her head while whispering sweet noises at her. She looked at him confused, wondering why he would bring her pain. Yet she couldn’t help this sense of adoration for the man holding her and making such comforting noises, continually petting and petting. From the top of her head down the smooth of her back. Even through her clothing she felt electrified by the sensation of his touch. She arched against his hands. She liked being petted. She felt that thrill of arousal again, warm and unyielding. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, tinting in in rose. She bit her lower lip, relishing in the sensation. Her body quickened in helpless arousal, soothed and excited simultaneously. She snorted again and puffed, she felt herself slick and flushed deep down, a growing flare of heat and need.

She blinked, feeling without words the truth and essence of a growing horniness within the shell of her body. From fragmented memories of behaviors and patterns, she started feeling an abstract urge to grab and knead her breasts, to tease nipples and to rub her sex. Gbut, her hands seemed unresponsive. They were clenched into dainty fists, and despite her efforts to ease the grip, they remained clenched. As she watched the strange man gripped them, then pulled from his pocket a set of tight dark leather mittens, which enveloped her tiny clenched hands. He tightened them around her wrist, then attached two small locks he pulled from his pocket. He locked both, taking the keys, and Vicki felt another orgasmic thrill as the clasps rang shut.

The growing warmth caused her to quiver. Her mind struggled to connect with another word. Only one other word seemed to be found in the void that was once a full mind. Vicki let the nonsensical words find each other and read them slowly in her mind. Horny Pony. A once good girl, listened to the only sense her mind made beyond sensation and abstraction. Pony. Stables. Good. Girl

Vicki lost herself in trembling, quivering bliss. She let waves of pleasure overwhelm her as her true purpose came reinforced in passion. She trembled, writhed and whinnied in the pleasure of realizing she was a good pony. But words made no sense, not to a Pony’s mind. She was a Good Pony, and thoughts were beyond her. A once good Girl, listened, and a Pony remained. When, where, how, were incidental and beyond the simple thoughts of a Pony. Another smack to her ass got her to her feet. As she stood there, the man came and held her head momentarily. He put something around her head which left her vision restricted. She found it much easier to only focus ahead of her with blinders. The man then thrust something into her mouth. She resisted this, shaking her head, but she found the object in her mouth, and pulling back. A bit, her reins, the words flailed in the void of Vicki’s empty mind with no association. Words were for humans. And she was a pony. The speaking master was pointing to the car, where an open door waited. He tugged on her reins, and she followed him to her new life. To the Stables.