The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

THE WEAVER

In the beginning, all power came from words.

Entire realities were created and shaped by words.

Stories were the ultimate power and the Weaver, being keeper of stories, was powerful indeed. Not a god, though that confusion would be understandable, but the first people still told stories as acts of fealty unto him.

Stories of the seasons, so that the seasons would be kind.

Stories of victories, so that their enemies would know defeat.

Stories of love (and lust), because people needed to celebrate their victories somehow.

As words became commonplace, because people started to toss them around without true meaning or intent, stories became common. In turn, the Weaver’s power waned, but never diminished entirely.

“What good are stories?” the Weaver pined, but with a twinkle in his eye and hint of smile on his ancient face.

His stories were gaining traction and, as they were read, as they touched the world, so did his power and influence grow.

All stories start with “What if?” the Weaver’s most powerful tool.

What if, for instance, the Weaver crafted a new website where unknowing, sometimes fortunate (sometimes less so) souls could watch TV shows for free? Let’s face it, some of the best writing these days is happening on the small screen.

But these shows wouldn’t just be watched and forgotten. These shows would, themselves, write a story upon the viewer, spilling a bit of chaos and wonder back into the world and spreading the Weaver’s web ever wider.

Lillian Reilly

Study.

Rinse.

Repeat.

All work and no play makes Lillian Reilly get good grades, but also to continue her existence as a social pariah.

My hardcore study ethic could easily be blamed on my parents.

No sugary cereals.

No boys.

No TV.

Ultimately, all that left me with was my school books and studying. I graduated Valedictorian of my high school class and saw college as a great place to spread my wings—to meet strange new people and embrace a whole new me. Unfortunately, I’m painfully made to be hyper self-aware of how socially stunted I am every time I unsuccessfully attempt to make a friend. Their references, unless they’re Kierkegaard or Kant, Dostoyevsky or Tolstoy, are lost on me. I’m what you’d call “book smart.” Definitely not “street smart” and, as it were, a “pop culture virgin.” And also, a virgin virgin, as well. But, as a biology major on track to a PhD and MD in record time, I know science.

The scientific solution to my current dilemma? Binge viewing. Maybe spend a couple days in seclusion scouring through show after show so I have something to talk to my peers about outside of the classroom.

Of course, there are barriers to my binging. Since my parents still control my credit card, I can’t subscribe to any digital services without them cutting me off completely. Food and books are all I can buy. Even clothes and haircuts are off-limits.

(Note to self: Those last two may also contribute to my status as “social pariah.” With long brown hair that goes down to my hips if I don’t intricately bun or braid it up, no makeup, and baggy sweatshirts and jeans, I’m sure I’m not visually optimized for friendship.)

But I have a mind for studying and research and the college’s super-fast internet—the world wide web is my oyster.

My initial search for “free tv streaming” shows a promising ad as the first hit—

WeaverTV: All Shows Free and Uninhibited

Might as well start at the top. I click and what looks like a vortex appears on my computer screen—hungry, black, and spinning. Despite being woozy, it reminds me of Nietzsche when he wrote, “And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.”

The dark thought thankfully passes when the saccharine landing page finally loads with a scrolling list of shows to the left, some featured programs in the middle, and a “Looking for a recommendation?” option box top center.

In for a penny, I click the recommendation option.

When it asks for my name, I type in Lillian May Reilly.

It pinwheels for a moment and then provides me with a list of genres to choose from. I’m allowed to pick three from the massive 100+ list.

I select: Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Female Dominant (as I would like a show with a strong female protagonist).

Another pinwheel and it presents me with its top option—Quantum Lust.

I can choose that, scroll through other selections that fit my criteria, or start the search all over again.

Might as well dance with the date that brought me.

I click a play button for Quantum Lust.

The screen goes black. It feels like my room goes black. It feels like, for a moment, I’ve stopped staring at Nietzsche’s void and I’ve stepped right into it, but then, I’m bathed head to toe in glorious white light and the show begins.

A strong female voice speaks out the narration, “Theorizing that one could time travel within one’s own lifetime, Dr. Samantha Beckett stepped into the Quantum Lust accelerator and vanished... She woke to find herself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not her own and driven by an unknown force to change sexual histories for the better. Her only guide on this journey is Alison, an observer from her own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so, Dr. Beckett finds herself leaping from life to life, striving to make haste what once went chaste, and hoping each time that her next lustful leap into bed will be the leap home.”

The lead is a strong female protagonist, so score one for the site’s search algorithm. She steps into some kind of machine, is bathed in white light, and disappears.

I next see her walking around a house in some very conservative pajamas and when she stumbles across a mirror, the reflection isn’t her face, but someone else’s. The eerily weird part, for me at least watching, is that the face in the mirror looks a lot like a younger version of my mom’s face.

Samantha says, “Oh boy,” and then the screen briefly cuts to black.

We next find her pacing around a bedroom, tossing clothes around haphazardly. She calls out, “Alison?”

A woman appears directly behind Samantha. She is dressed, if you can call what she’s wearing “dressed,” in minimal black leather straps that barely cover any of her private areas with thigh-high black boots to match. “Right here, Sam,” she says, startling Samantha for a moment.

“Where am I this time?” Samantha asks.

Alison pulls up a device and types something into it. She slaps it a couple of times on the side for good measure. “You’ve landed in the body of Hannah Reilly, wife of Benjamin Reilly, of Meridian, Idaho.”

My mouth drops. Those are the names of my parents and my hometown. What kind of show is this?

“What needs to be fixed?” Samantha asks, hand on cocked hip.

“Nearest we can figure, the Reilly’s are sexually stunted. They aren’t supposed to be. Some kind of cosmic muck up. It wouldn’t be that bad if it was isolated solely to them, but it has a devastating effect on their descendants. If it isn’t corrected, certain liberties that we enjoy in our time may cease to exist.”

“The good liberties?” Samantha asks.

“The BEST liberties,” Alison replies with a sensual lick of her lips. “We’re working Mrs. Reilly through those very liberties back in the lab, but you’ll have to take a more hands-on approach with Mr. Reilly.”

“Any known kinks I can use to my advantage?” Samantha asks.

“None that we can discern from the fractured timeline.”

Frustrated, Samantha squawks at Alison. “Can’t you just ask Mrs. Reilly?”

“Well,” Alison says, squeezing her thighs together, “She’s kind of been a blubbering mess since we started liberty number two.”

Samantha shudders at the very mention of liberty number two and I can’t help but wonder what exactly is liberty number two. Or even liberty number one, for that matter.

“I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way… like always.” Samantha says and picks up a random article of clothing off the ground. “There’s very little to work with here.”

“Improvise.” Alison suggests.

“I always do,” Samantha responds with a cocky smile.

The screen briefly cuts to black again.

The next image is a young man walking through the front door and, just as Hannah Reilly in the show bears a striking resemblance to a young version of my mom, Benjamin Reilly looks much like the younger form of my dad.

“Wife?” He calls out to the house, much like my own dad would when he’d come home from work.

A muffled voice calls back to him, “In the bedroom, husband.”

Benjamin steps through the house and his jaw hits the floor when he gets to the bedroom door. In the next shot, I can see why—Hannah lays on the bed, completely naked.

At first, I feel a bit squeamish, feeling like I’m looking in on my parents in a state no child should, but then, I remind myself this is a just a TV show and the feeling passes.

“Hello, Benjamin,” Samantha says in a breathy, husky bedroom voice.

“What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing. Yet. But I’m hopeful it will be you. Soon.”

He approaches her more concerned than anything else. He reaches a hand down to feel her forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”

“But I am hot, Benjamin. I’m hot for you.” Samantha says, then dips a finger into herself. “I’m wet for you, too.”

“I’m calling a doctor. You are not well.”

Benjamin starts to stride towards the door.

Samantha mutters, “I guess we’re doing this the hard way,” then athletically leaps from the bed and bars his path.

His resolve is unshaken. “I’m calling you a doctor, wife.”

“I’m not going to let you until you play doctor first.”

Samantha starts to push Benjamin back towards the bed and then finally back onto it. She straddles him and starts to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?” He says, a hint of fear in his voice.

“Helping you find your true self.” Samantha says and then leans in to kiss him.

At first, he struggles, but then he joins her in her passionate kissing, working his probing tongue against hers.

“There’s a good boy. And good boys get rewarded.”

Samantha rips the shirt open, sending the remaining buttons scattered across the room. She tears right through his t-shirt as well and starts to kiss his chest. He starts to groan against her ministrations.

“You ain’t felt nothing yet.”

She forcefully pulls his belt from his pants and sets that to the side. She shucks him from his pants and boxers with one pull. She then starts to grind her pussy up against his semi-erect penis.

“Oh… Wife!” He exclaims in joy and then feels the belt come down on his chest.

“You will call me by my name.”

“Oh… Hannah!” He exclaims and feels the belt again.

“My name is Mistress and you will call me by my name.” She says and increases the speed of her grinding.

“Yes, Mistress!” He screams out and reaches up towards her chest.

“What are these?” Samantha asks.

“Your breasts, Mistress.” And the belt comes down.

“Your boobs, Mistress.” And the belt comes down.

“Your titties, Mistress.” And Samantha allows him to continue to hold and grope. He even tentatively starts twisting her nipples and Samantha coos against it.

“I want you, Mistress.” Benjamin moans.

“I know.” Samantha says.

“I want to be in you, Mistress.” Benjamin pleads.

“Where?” Samantha asks.

“Your vagina, Mistress.” And the belt comes down.

“Your pussy, Mistress.” And the belt comes down.

“In your hot, needy cunt, Mistress.” And Samantha slides down upon his hard cock.

Benjamin shudders, already nearing his peak. Samantha reaches down and twists both his nipples. “No. Not yet. I’m not done riding you. You don’t cum until I cum.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He grunts, his face a mix of pleasure and struggle.

Samantha leans back and really starts to work her pussy against his cock. She furiously strokes her clit. Her entire body flushes and then she starts to scream.

Benjamin, overwhelmed, cums inside her.

The screen briefly cuts to black.

Benjamin lays naked and passed out on the bed. Samantha stands and Alison appears next to her.

“Was it enough?” Samantha asks, looking down at the sleeping man.

“Between that and the work we’ve done on Hannah Reilly, we think the kink in the timeline has been fixed.”

“And the kinky has returned to the Reilly’s.” Samantha adds and starts laughing, in a fake, staged television manner.

Alison joins in.

The image of them freezes.

THE WEAVER

“Well, that was… interesting.” Lillian mutters and then, quite suddenly, her reality starts to change.

She doesn’t perceive the makeup as it magically, judiciously applies to her face.

She does feel a bit snugger as her baggy jeans and baggy sweatshirt shrink into a barely-there halter top and mini-skirt combo and cool air blows up her skirt as her conservative panties vanish completely.

She experiences a pinch as a barbell piercing pushes through each of her nipples.

Her hair maintains its length, but takes on more health and vitality as its been properly maintained through weekly salon trips.

Her nose shrinks a bit to crafted perfection through the glory of a teenage rhinoplasty procedure arranged by her parents and meant to heighten the allure of her face. She starts to remember that, but it conflicts, at least for a moment, with how her life had been lived up to that point.

Her oppressed, neglected youth gets overwritten by memories of parents who indulged both her and their every whim. If ever she wanted to explore any facet of life, her parents supported that desire. Her mother instilled in her a strength of character and a belief that no one was her better. Lillian now had the strong conviction that she should own every room she enters and that the people therein were hers to command.

The wallflower that was Lillian fades out of existence as the dominant woman fades in.

When this Lillian arrived on campus, she quickly acquired a stable of beautiful men and women to impose her will upon and she, quite scientifically, explores every conceivable physical combination and sensation, spreading her wings ever wider like any good college student. She meets and explores strange new people, embracing a whole new her.

Lillian is now, after all, every bit the commanding mistress her mother Hannah is and raised her to be.