The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the next stop: Aachen central station. Thank you for traveling with Deutsche Bahn. Goodbye!”

Amelie stepped off the train, her bag draped loosely over one shoulder. All around her, men and women in suits busied about, off to work. She yawned—her breath fogged in the cold air—looked around briefly to orient herself, and headed for the stairs. However, in that moment, a large black man stepped out from behind a vending machine, and before she knew it, she was wrapped up in a tight hug.

“Hi dad,” she said, once he’d let go of her sufficiently for air to get back into her lungs.

“Hi darling,” he said as he let her go completely.

She yawned again. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I told you I was gonna take the bus.”

He waved her off. “I’m an old man with nothing to do but find ways to spend the money the US army so generously provides me every month. Gas money to pick up my youngest is one of my favorites.”

She yawned again. “At six in the morning?” she asked.

“Don’t you know old people don’t sleep?” he asked, smiling. He reached for her back. “Here, let me take that,” he said.

She pulled the bag a bit tighter over her shoulder. “You’re an old man, remember?” she said.

“Dang, defeated by my own words,” he said.

They hugged again, and headed for the parking lot.

Once in the car, they got into their usual routine of him asking the same questions as always (“How’s uni?", “Get along with all your professors?", “Are you eating well?", ...), and her providing the same rote non-answers as always (“Fine.", “Sure.", “Yeah.", ...) It felt different than usual though. She could tell they weren’t just talking to stave off the silence. They were avoiding the elephant in the room.

Eventually her dad fell silent, and they drove for a couple of streets accompanied only by the sounds of the car. When her dad eventually spoke again, he sounded a lot more serious. “You know you’re always welcome to stay with us,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” she said.

“And you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to, or if you’d rather talk with your mom first,” he continued.

“Yeah, I know,” she said.

“It’s just that if it’s something you might not want to talk to your mom about,” he said. “Now is probably the best time.”

She didn’t reply, and they drove for a while in silence again.

“Andreas seemed like a nice guy,” her dad said eventually, his tone cautious.

She sighed. “He was.”

“But?” he asked.

She sighed again, this time more out of frustration, though not at her dad. “But he’d introduce me to people as his ‘dark angel’ sometimes, and when people would ask me where I’m from he’d but in and go like ‘Oh, she’s biracial! Her mom’s ‘from here’, but her dad’s from the US, and they met when he...’ like that was a) something that was up to him to divulge, and b) something he was proud of, and when we’d go to a protest he’d hug me real tight and look around all excited, as if he was trying to find out what people thought of him being there with his black girlfriend, and he’d ask me to—” She stopped herself when she remembered who she was talking to. “...do, you know, weird stuff in bed, like, related to those other things, and he’d respect when I’d say no, but he’d keep asking, and it became clear that to him that was part of the reason why he’d...” She petered out into a groan.

Her dad has listened to her intently, and when he noticed she wasn’t going to continue talking, he just said: “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks dad,” she said.

“I’m guessing you tried to talk to him about all this,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Her dad briefly took his eyes of the road to look at her. “‘Oh, but I’m not racist’?”

She nodded. She didn’t need to say any more. Her dad knew her temper. Again they drove in silence for a while.

“You’re always welcome to stay with us,” he eventually said again.

“I know dad,” she said. “Thanks.”

Amelie’s mother opened the door and wrapped her in a firm hug the second she pressed the doorbell. «Hi mom,» she croaked with all the breath she had left.

Her mom released her after a while. «Come in, dear,» she said. «I’ve just heated up the Brötchen. The table is already set.»

Amelie gratefully walked further into the house, following the smell of bread. Behind her, her mother greeted her father as warmly as if they hadn’t seen each other for days. Amelie took off her shoes and went to the dining room, where the breakfast table had indeed been set. A basket held the dark brown, whole meal breakfast buns that her mother favored (and her father tolerated), still steaming slightly. Another basked was filled with hard boiled eggs, and between the baskets stood butter, honey, various jams and other spreads.

Amelie sighed a little. She liked student life, and she liked living alone, but cafeteria food certainly was not one of the perks, and it was nice to be able to come home when she needed to.

An hour of eating and small talk later, she practically fell into her bed. The rich food had not made her any less tired. Content, she closed her eyes.

It was beginning to get dark outside when she woke up. She stretched and sat up. Her body no longer ached with tiredness. She felt emotionally rested too. Andreas briefly popped into her mind. She shook her head. What a silly man.

She got up and put on some comfortable clothes. Her mom would probably be nearly finished with dinner. Perhaps she could go and help set the table.

A strong smell of food hit her nostrils as soon as she opened the door. Some kind of... baked fish? Amelie pulled a face. Was her mom experimenting again? She’d been hoping for some comfort food. An Eintopf maybe, or Kartoffelpuffer.

Amelie walked down the hallway, grumbling internally, though she knew whatever she was smelling would probably taste good. As she approached the kitchen, she started to hear her mother’s voice. Still groggy from sleep, she didn’t immediately notice anything off. However, just before she reached the kitchen door, she realised something: Her mom was speaking English. This was weird but not unheard of, but what was that accent? It sounded almost British. Crisp and sharp, not the thick German molasses she knew her mother to use. The timbre of her voice was different too. Deeper. Fuller. Still, it was definitely her mother speaking, though she couldn’t really say why she was so sure.

Another voice was speaking now. Her dad, she felt, but he was talking in the same strange accent as her mother.

She took the last few steps and looked through the open kitchen door.

“Ah, you woke up,” her mother said. “Could you set the table? I made Tilapia with Kuon and Apoth.” She’d briefly looked up when Amelie came in, but now returned to her pots.

Amelie gaped at her. Her mother was black, and not just black, blacker than her. Actually black, not just brown. No one she knew was that black. She’d only ever seen a skin color like that in a documentary about East Africa.

Right? For some reason she still knew this was her mother.

She looked to the dinner table, where her father was reading the newspaper. She gasped audibly this time. He too looked like he came from some African country, instead of Chicago.

Tanzania, her brain offered unprovoked and without further explanation.

Both of her parents looked up from what they were doing. “Aamito? Is everything ok?” her mother asked.

That accent again. British Missionary School, the same part of her brain offered. Why did that make so much sense to her.

Focused on the way her mother spoke, she hadn’t realized what she’d said until now.

“What did you call me?” she asked.

Her mother’s expression turned worried. “Aamito dear, are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”

“No, I—” Amelie started. She was confused. “That’s not my name, is it?”

Her father stood up. He too looked worried.

Amelie instinctively took a step back and held out her hand. She gasped again when she saw it. It was black, the same color as her parents. She pulled back her sleeve. The rest of her arm was still her normal light shade of brown. She shrieked and ran back to her room, locking the door behind herself.

After taking a couple of deep breaths to calm down, she walked over to her mirror. Her face still looked the way she remembered it. She held up her hands to compare. Her old skin color was that of “pine wood in the shade” as her dad used to joke. Her new hand looked like charcoal. She brought it up to her face to get a better look, but in doing so her sleeve fell down, revealing that her arm was now the same color. Another cry escaped her lips and she quickly dropped down her arm.

She ran to sit on her bed and pulled a blanket over herself out of some instinctual need to feel safe. She pulled out her phone for the same reason, then stared at it wondering what good it could possibly do her. She googled «skin getting darker» but only got tanning tips and the Wikipedia article for some medical condition which did not appear to involve your parents’ accent changing. She briefly considered calling 110, but decided they’d probably think her a prank caller. Still, her fingers had already tapped the phone app. It opened on her list of contacts. Andreas’ name was at the top of the list. She stared at it for a moment, thinking of the things she’d yelled at him before slamming the door, then called him anyway. Her phone rang for a few moments, then went to voicemail. She turned it off.

Before she could think of anything else to try, there was a knock on her door.

Amelie shrieked, got tangled in her bed sheets and fell on the floor.

“Aamito dear, are you ok?” her mother asked.

“I’m fine. Don’t come in!” Amelie said. She rubbed her head. She shuffled to the mirror to check for a bruise and shrieked again when she saw herself.

She now looked completely the same as her parents. Her face had gotten the same charcoal color as her arm, as had the rest of her body. Her hair was still straight, but was now thicker, and had gotten darker as well.

“Aamito?” her mother asked again. “What’s going on?”

“Stay where you are!” Amelie replied. An automatic reaction.

“Aamito, you’re worrying us,” her mother said. The door handle was pushed down, and there was a short rattle against the door.

Amelie held her breath.

Suddenly there came three hard bangs against the door. “Aamito, open this door!” her mother yelled.

Amelie’s eyes widened as her body went into full-on flight mode. For a brief moment it felt as if she could perceive the entire room at once. Her brain raced ahead of her consciousness, formulating a plan and sending commands to execute it. Before she had realized what was happening, she’d grabbed a coat and her bag, climbed out the window and was running to the bus stop.

A bus arrived just as she did. She ran inside, flashing the driver her student ID as she passed him. Inside, she took a couple of deep breaths. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off. She looked down at her ID. The photo showed her the way her mirror had. She dropped her arm, feeling defeated. Behind her, the doors closed as engine turned back on. Slowly, they began to move. Amelie closed her eyes and enjoyed the vibrations. It relaxed her, made her feel like she was going somewhere, not just in the physical sense. Soon, she’d be at the train station, and then, in Cologne. Surely there an acquaintance, a friend, someone would recognize her, would confirm that something was wrong.

Perhaps they could find out what was wrong, find a solution.

She sat on one of the seats and leaned her head against the window. With the vibrations turned her vision and thoughts into white noise, she fell asleep.

Aamito jerked awake. She was met by an overwhelming feeling of wrongness. She was on a bus. Why was she on a bus? Panic struck her when she realized she did not know. She looked out the window. They were about to arrive at the train station. Was that her stop? A feeling struck her that is was, and she relaxed a little. Clearly, she had not forgotten everything. It was just the confusion from just having been asleep, she told herself. Soon she would remember everything.

She looked down at herself. She wore a tight top, a miniskirt and tennis shoes, her party outfit. Had she worn these before falling asleep? It felt wrong, but she reasoned that she must have. There was no reason why her clothes would change, was there? Again she felt a faint feeling of wrongness, but fear made her push it away. No, she must have worn her party clothes before falling asleep.

Suddenly, a memory, or at least shards of one. Her mother banging on her door. Escaping through the window. She was headed for... Cologne. The pieces fell into their place. Yes, she had wanted to go clubbing in Cologne. Her overbearing, traditionalist parents had disapproved, so she’d snuck out. She did so often. She sighed, glad for the moment of confusion to be over.

The floor was sticky with dried up alcohol. Dark light punctuated with bright flashes made it basically impossible not to bump into people. The air was hot and humid from so many people dancing.

It was perfect. The music was loud enough to drown out any thoughts. Aamito let it; let it move her body. She was not dancing. She was an automaton reacting to stimulus. No thoughts. No worries.

Until she bumped into Andreas.

Her first instinct was to blurt out «What are you doing here?» but it was pointless. There was no way for him to hear her over the music. She took his hand and led him to a quiet corner.

She was angry at him for some reason, but she didn’t know why, so she just stewed in the feeling while they pushed through the crowd. As soon as they got off the dance floor, she turned around, intending to say something mean.

Instead, he kissed her. For a moment she felt a by now familiar feeling of wrongness, but it faded quickly. She leaned into the kiss.

He eventually broke from the kiss, though he kept her in his arm. «Hello my coffee princess. It’s nice to see you here. Why didn’t you call?»

The question triggered some deeper emotion in her. She pushed him off her. «What, am I not allowed to go out without your permission?»

Suddenly he looked worried. «Hey, that’s not what I was saying. I was just surprised cause you usually call when you have the opportunity to come to Cologne on the weekend. Is something wrong? Did I do something?»

Did he? She searched her brain. Thinking of Andreas made her feel as if something had indeed happened... yesterday? But at the same time she also knew that they hadn’t seen each other for a couple of days. She looked up into his face. He looked worried, in a loving way. Why was she angry at him?

«Did something happen with your parents?» he asked.

It was as if a circuit had closed in her brain. It all made sense now.

«Yeah.»

«Aww, honey.» He gave her a look that she recognized: compassion mixed with absolute confusion what he could possibly do or say about The Bad Thing. «Do you want a hug?» he asked finally.

She laid her head on his chest and pulled herself tight against him. He laid an arm around her and gently caressed her hair.

«Do you want to sleep at my place?» he asked when she finally let go of him.

The words ‘my place’ briefly threw her for a loop again, but the feeling faded quickly. «I’d love to,» she said.

«But first you want to dance some more?» Andreas asked with a smile.

She nodded.

He ruffled her hair a bit. «I wouldn’t dream of trying to keep you off the dance floor.» He held out his elbow in a mock impression of a Victorian gentleman. «Shall we?»

Several hours later and significantly more exhausted, they stumbled into Andreas’ apartment. On autopilot, Aamito went around looking for her stuff, before she realized that off course there wasn’t anything but a toothbrush. She went over to the bathroom and grabbed it, staring at it as if it could give her some answers, though she didn’t even know which questions she had.

«Forgotten how it works?» Andreas asked.

Aamito jumped. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him come in. She looked into the bathroom mirror and saw him standing behind her, a tired smile on his face. He was looking in the mirror too, though his gaze didn’t meet her eyes very often.

She sighed and leaned against his chest, which really emphasized their height difference. His chin hovered comfortably above the top of her head. He drew his arms around her, in turn emphasizing the contrast between their two skin colors in their reflection. Her almost perfect black against his tired white, almost like the difference between chess board squares.

My big white man, Aamito thought. The thought struck her as strange. But why? It wasn’t as if race hadn’t come up in their relationship, had it? She remembered conversations about it, or at least parts of ones. She closed her eyes. What had they been about? The memories seemed laced with a strong emotion. Anger? She honed in on the feeling. They had talked about race. He had a certain attitude about it, wanted certain things. She felt...

Her eyes shot open. She looked at their reflection again. Suddenly she felt warm. It appeared different to her now. Andreas wasn’t just bigger than her. He loomed over her. He held her in a soft embrace, but she couldn’t help but notice how much bigger his arms were than hers. If he held her and she struggled, could she break free? She brought her hands up and laid them on his forearms, squeezed them lightly. The color contrast wasn’t just visually interesting to her anymore.

Lust, that’s what she had felt. She remembered the conversations. Andreas had asked things of her, and she had agreed gladly.

She laid her head back and stood on the tips of her toes, which gave her just enough height to kiss him. Andreas reciprocated and laid his hands on her hips. In turn she began slowly grinding her butt into his groin.

He broke off the kiss with a smile. «Is there something you want, my love?» he asked.

«I want you,» she said. She tried to reach back up to continue the kiss, but he held her back at the hips. A small moan escaped her lips.

«You want me to what?» he asked. His voice was husky and he caressed her waist as he spoke. He was enjoying toying with her.

“I want you to give your little black slave what she deserves,” she said.

She could feel he was getting hard.

«I’m presuming that means my little black slave wants me to fuck her?» he asked. He laid a hand on the front of her pants, between her legs.

She moaned and nodded vigorously.

«So that means she thinks she deserves to get fucked?» he asked. He applied a small bit of pressure.

“Yeeeees,” she moaned.

He pushed his hand back, slowly grinding her against him, but didn’t do anything else. After a while she realized he was teasing her while he waited for her to say more.

She grabbed his free hand, brought it up under her top, and placed it on her breast. “Please, sir,” she said. “I offer you my body. I dressed this skimpy for you, so you could enjoy it more. I- I—” She dug around in her head for something more to say. “I valiantly defended liberal western ideals against my parents!” she said.

She froze immediately after she’d said it. Andreas did too. Their eyes met in the mirror.

They burst out laughing. Andreas let go of her and leaned against the bathroom wall. Aamito leaned on the countertop to keep herself steady.

«God that’s wrong,» Andreas said after he’d calmed down a bit and taken a couple of deep breaths. He looked her in the eyes through the mirror and gently kissed her neck. «Hot too,» he added.

«Is there a difference?» Aamito asked. She tried make it sound suave but couldn’t suppress a smile.

Andreas returned her smile. «Not in my experience,» he said. He kissed her again. She drew an arm around his neck and pulled him against her.

He nibbled her neck for a while, but eventually brought up his own arm and effortlessly freed himself. «Very well, my slave,» he said. «What values did you defend?» His eyes met hers in the mirror again. There was a question in his expression. He wanted to make sure she was ok with continuing.

He was still holding her hand. She brought it forward slowly, placing it back between her legs. “Why, that a young woman should be able to go out whenever she wants, dressed as skimpy as she wants, of course,” she said.

He let go of her hand and slipped it in her skirt. Slowly, he began to knead her with his fingers. «Of course,» he said. «How else shall white men ogle her hot, black body?» With his free hand, he caressed her neck, shoulder and back, before squeezing her butt.

The heat was beginning to spread through her body again. It made it hard to think. “Of course,” she said.

«And why is it important that they be able to?» he asked. He emphasized his questions by applying a bit more pressure with his hand.

She moaned, but still managed to answer his question. It felt like muscle memory: “What else is her body for?”

«What else indeed,» Andreas said. He unbuckled his pants.

She leaned forward and ground her butt into his groin. He grabbed her hair and pushed her down further, pulling her head back in the process. She looked in the mirror again and drank in the image: her small, black body splayed on the counter, her sweaty hair hanging down into the sink, held down by his large, white arm. It made her horny beyond measure.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear: «Do you want to fulfill your purpose?»

Unable to form coherent words anymore, she just moaned.

He pulled up her skirt, pulled down her panties, and fucked her.