The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Thorper was sitting in her office, reviewing her next patient’s file.

She wore an elegant pant and suit which hugged her waist tightly. It featured so many buttons that one couldn’t help but wonder how much of a pain it was to get in and out. Her pale skin contrasted nicely with the deep black of her shoulder length hair, hanging down straight and silky. Neatly cut v shaped bangs parted it open like curtains, revealing her face but keeping the rest of her feature behind a mysterious shadowy veil. Her piercing grey eyes were focused, devouring the information in front of her.

Most of the doctor’s practice was dedicated to “adjusting” people in the corporate and political world, usually for reasons as boring as getting rid of competition. That kind of work demanded a certain amount of... subtlety which, while it paid handsomely, did not really scratch her passionate and creative itch.

Today was different, one of those rare occasions, and she intended to savour every moment of it. She read the patient’s file for the hundredth time.

Charlotte Godson, 23, no siblings, raised by her single mother. A bit mousy, socially reserved, dressed casual feminine. Currently pursuing a law degree at a prestigious university, involved in a few social justice clubs. Small group of friends, dating a boy from her class, medium to low social media presence.

It looked like her studies were going quite well. She had no doubt inherited the intellect and drive of her mother, whom Dr. Thorper was currently contracted to adjust. The effectiveness and uncompromising attitude Mrs. Godson had displayed since taking over as general counsel had ruffled a few feathers, and, as was often the case, someone felt threatened enough to look for a solution outside the normal channels. The doctor’s exorbitant fee becoming an alluring alternative to long-term unemployment, or jail. That project was well underway, but the existence of this daughter presented an opportunity. A simple suggestion to give a glowing recommendation, combined with a “Free for Family” promotion had sealed Charlotte’s fate.

All that remained was for Dr. Thorper to decide on just how exactly she would treat her patient. Many possibilities danced in her mind, she would ultimately have to wait for their meeting to make her choice.

Charlotte exited her Uber and double checked that she was in the right place. Although the late evening appointment was convenient for her busy schedule, she did not appreciate how sketchy the neighbourhood felt in this drizzle. She lifted up the hood of her college sweatshirt, hiding her long chestnut hair, stuck her hands in her jeans’ pockets, and quickly crossed the wet shiny street into the clinic.

Given the way her mother had described the place, she’d expected something more... glamorous? The waiting room was at least clean, decorated in a very modern, minimalist even, style. The receptionist, however, seemed completely out of place.

Demi, or so her name-tag claimed, wore a clash of bright colours, every piece seemingly fighting for the spotlight. Not a single part of her looked natural, from her hair, lashes, contacts, lips, makeup, tan, breasts, and nails, it was like a concerted effort to leave nothing of the woman that once was. While Charlotte firmly believed every woman should strive to accomplish her full potential, it seemed like this job was reaching beyond that of the poor receptionist.

Absorbed as the woman was by her gaudy manicure, Charlotte briefly considered turning around and leaving before being noticed. But just then, without lifting her eyes from the task at hand, the receptionist extended one of her long, pointy nails and pressed an unseen button. In a bored, nasal voice, she said: “Doctor Thorper, your 9:30 is here”.

Going through the heavy wooden door to the doctor’s office was like stepping in a different dimension. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of wood, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with shelves of imposing books that wore esoteric titles. On intricately carved tables laid baubles and curios, threatening to capture the attention and mystify those who dared look too closely or too long.

Charlotte sat down in a heavy leather sofa, sinking down into its cushions. She felt like she was shrinking, or being swallowed. Before her sat the doctor, seated at an imperious desk covered in notes, shiny pens, and a plaque that left no doubt as to who this was: “Dr. Vivian Thorper PsyD”.

The room filled with awkwardness as Charlotte stared at her feet, waiting for the doctor to say or do something. The silence was growing heavier and heavier, but Dr. Thorper sat perfectly still, unnaturally so, observing her prey. When Charlotte couldn’t stand the tension and looked up to speak, her gaze got caught in Vivian’s eyes. Those eyes. There was something gentle, benevolent about them. Like she could open up and share her most intimate secrets. So she did.

And as she told the doctor of her life, her childhood, her fears, her dreams, wave after wave of comfort washed over her. A soothing warm embrace, knowing she was doing the right thing. The comfort grew into happiness, the happiness into trust. It just felt so good to confide in the good doctor. It just felt so good to trust the good doctor. Her mind grew more and more distant. It was as if she was talking about someone else. Or in a dream...

She felt good, so she talked. And she talked, so she felt good. The constant gaze from Vivian reassuring her that everything was alright. That she was doing just fine. Every now and then, the good doctor must have asked for more details, or about something specific, but she didn’t really notice. It wasn’t that important. What was important was to be open, to be honest, and to tell the good doctor everything...

“You, are a brat.” Dr. Thorper’s voice thundered through the room and shook Charlotte out of her reverie. Her mind felt dizzy. How long had she been here? What did the doctor just say?

“You, are a spoiled brat.” Confusion. Indignation. Anger. Charlotte took a breath in and opened her mouth to retaliate.

“You, have done nothing but talk.” The doctor interrupted. “Now, you will listen.” There was something commanding about the way Dr. Thorper spoke. And, try as she might, Charlotte’s voice stayed stuck in her throat.

“Growing up without a father has left a void in you, an unfullfillable Electra complex.” Charlotte looked at the doctor, puzzled. “You are seeking an authority figure, but without any childhood examples to compare it to, nothing has ever been able to satisfy that need. You push and test people around you, hoping for a reaction, but only the strictest, most completely controlling response could ever do. This has led to the development of a powerful psychosexual paraphilia when faced with dominant individuals, which you hide through outrage and dismissal.”

Okay, Charlotte had enough. There was no way she would waste another minute listening to this bullsh-

“Sit up straight young lady!” Again Dr. Thorper’s words boomed, but something strange came with them. It was as if Charlotte’s entire nether region squeezed and released at once. She quickly fixed her posture, mostly out of surprise, and a pleasing wetness followed. Heat rose from between her legs, climbing through her belly, spreading through her chest, settling in her cheeks. Throbbing hot heat. She stared at the doctor, eyes wide, the wind knocked out of her.

“Is it any wonder that you are constantly fighting with your mother?” That stung. Their relationship had had its fair share of difficult times, but that was a normal part of growing up, wasn’t it? “Because she has always coddled you, always given in. She is weak, the complete opposite of what you so desperately crave.” No, her mom, she... she was supportive, that was a good thing, right? “You resent her meekness, her inability to control you, her failure to keep your father.” Charlotte was so confused. And so aroused.

“You lie to yourself, claiming drive, the desire to achieve, to fulfill your potential, when really, what you are, is entitled. A manipulative little brat, spoiled and enabled by her pathetic mother, who thinks the world owes her everything.” Charlotte couldn’t form any thought around the raging in her loins, she was out of breath, panting. An intense pressure grew in her head, as Dr. Thorper’s words began rewiring her mind.

Slack-jawed, eyes unfocused, entranced, Charlotte endured the doctor’s tirade. Her mind was waiting desperately for something, anything to hold on to. Her hands meanwhile, were hard at work between her legs, rubbing and pressing against her aching pussy. Attempting in vain to keep the urgent need from overwhelming her. Dr. Thorper slowly circled around her prey, toying, closing in with every step.

“There, is this not much better? We can progress much faster being open and listening.” The approving tone of Dr. Thorper washed over Charlotte’s mind in a way she didn’t know she needed. She resolved right there to listen better, to be more open.

“The time has come to accept the truth, to shed the judgmental attitude holding us back.” That made sense. That felt good. Charlotte couldn’t tell if it was out loud or in her head, but she repeated the doctor’s words as they reshaped her world.

“To reach our full potential, every desire must be fulfilled.”

Yes. She would achieve her potential. Fulfill her desires.

“Having every desire fulfilled is the bare minimum we are owed.”

She had always known she was an exceptional woman. Exceptional treatment was expected.

“Others exist to fulfill those desires, not doing so is a direct attack against our potential.”

Why were people so hurtful? Why did they try to hold her back?

“The best way to get others to fulfill those desires is through manipulation.”

Flattery, tantrums, emotional blackmail, those were the most efficient path to her potential.

“Others only tolerate being manipulated because they’re physically attracted.”

Of course. She had to perfect her looks to manipulate effectively.

The doctor went over Charlotte’s new reality ruthlessly. Each word like the strike of a sledgehammer rhythmically reforging her identity. It felt good to know herself again. To be free of the doubts that had plagued her moments ago, even though those might as well be from a past life at this point. Each time she repeated the words, she could focus better, think clearer.

“You are making commendable progress,” the praise made Charlotte melt, and a small pleading moan escaped her lips. “But we have yet to address your deep seated sexual issues.” If she had felt tired from the mental exertion, mentioning this brought about full revitalization. Dr. Thorper straddled her, touching, caressing, gripping, holding her right on the edge.

“Everything we talked about, pushing people around, it’s all an act, trying to elicit an authoritative response, getting excited at the possibility.”

Yes. Please. She needed it.

“Your deepest sexual desire is being absolutely dominated by the ultimate authority figure, your Daddy.”

Oh god. Thoughts of submission filled her. She was ready to explode.

“Daddy’s attention, Daddy’s praise, are the only source of sexual gratification.”

That is what she lived for. That is what she was made for.

“No one else measures up to Daddy, leaving constant sexual frustration and disappointment.”

Nothing else could compare.

“Happiness, pleasure, orgasms, those exist just for Daddy.”

Only Daddy. Only Daddy.

She had given up thinking a while ago, letting the doctor’s touch decide for her.

“Little girl, your Daddy’s right here.”

“Wha..? You..? But..?”

“Say it! Who am I?” Dr. Thorper’s fingers insisted upon the answer.

“D... D-Daddy?”

“Good girl. Cum for Daddy now.”

Charlotte’s eyes rolled back, she let out a guttural scream and exploded.

Dr. Thorper looked upon her unconscious patient, relishing the mess she created. The first time was always a bit intense for new patients, but she had made adequate progress. This one would probably last three or so months, perhaps one or two yearly catch-up sessions if she was lucky? She made a note to adjust Mrs. Godson to give in to her daughter’s every whims, to speed her along. But right now, she sought something different to satisfy herself.

A slender finger caressed the intercom button built into her desk, she leaned in playfully and whispered “Demi, smoke break.” She liked to keep her receptionist in the early stages of withdrawal for moments like this. The nicotine rush really hit the spot after a few hours of deprivation. And that was just what the doctor needed.

Lola, she didn’t like going by Charlotte anymore, walked out of the university building. The natural sunlight was a good opportunity to touch up her hair and makeup. She wore it and her clothes with purpose now, awoken of the effect they had on others. She took a few pictures for her Instagram, #Cutie #CollegeLook #ExamsFinallyOver. Ugh, she could tell she did not do well on those exams. No matter, she’d have a talk with her professor, it was amazing what crying could do for your GPA. Plus she was probably going to change major next semester. Or quit. She hadn’t decided yet.

Today, she wore a short pleated skirt with a white blouse and Mary Jane heels. The outfit could’ve passed for a schoolgirl’s uniform in some sort of porn based alternate universe, but the juxtaposition of innocence and sex-appeal had turned more than a few heads in the university halls. Her hair was now several shades lighter, two strawberry blonde braids framed her perfectly made up face. Light pink was the theme, and she’d also picked up a trick with her blush, laying it thick around her nose and cheeks that gave her a constant post-coital flush. The whole look was capped off by a ridiculously expensive designer handbag, a gift she’d given herself from her mom’s credit card.

She made her way through the on-campus parking to the Mercedes. Sitting in the heated leather seat, she started the car and put the AC on full blast. She took another shot at fixing herself in the rear view mirror, when she remembered she had at least one bit of good news today. She reached in the glove compartment and took out the box to her brand new, latest generation iPhone. She’d had to yell and cry to her mom so much to get it pre-sale. If it wasn’t the rose gold version, she was going to kill someone.

Basking in the pure bliss of unboxing her new luxury toy, Lola started to plan ahead the outfit and poses she’d use to show it off. She’d need a good mirror for the pictures. Maybe she could also film herself destroying her old piece of shit last-gen phone, toss it in the blender or down the toilet or something. That’d get her a couple of views!

As her new phone went through the process of activating itself and transferring her contacts, she noticed two new messages from her boyfriend. He was apologizing and begging again. She’d wait a few days to respond, maybe get some piece of jewellery out of it? Then she’d dump him. She needed someone who would allow her to fulfill her full potential, and these broke college students just wouldn’t do.

Lola had been seeing a couple older gentlemen on the side, hoping that their maturity would translate into authority. But she’d been disappointed that, as soon as she turned on the charm a little, the facade crumbled and they turned into putty in her hands. Pathetic, but useful.

At that moment, her phone alerted her that it had finished transmitting her calendar and that she had an appointment this evening with Dr. Daddy. She knew it wasn’t the proper way to address her, but the small transgression made her think of Daddy correcting her, and that sent tingles down to all the right places. Only Daddy could properly control and shape her. Only Daddy was able to put her in her place. The temptation to start rubbing herself then and there was great, but she shook herself out of it. Screw her other plans, she had to get ready. She had to be perfect for Daddy.