The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She was a woman with an unlikely name: Schenectady Carreux. And as all first meetings seem to be, ours was an oddity of circumstance. I was staying at the Country Crossroads Bed and Breakfast, and had just come down to the smell of coffee and bacon. She was facing the wall at the pastry table, scratching her ass and yawning. I could smell her morning breath from halfway across the dining room. You know, that sour kind that leaves you gasping for air if you’re stuck in a car with it.

Ylich.

Her hair, dancing in a thousand different auburn directions, wobbled around her as she drank a glass of orange juice and she turned around to face into the room. She looked as if she’d been on an all-nighter, and hadn’t even bothered to put on something other than a long nightgown. I doubt she even knew what she was wearing.

Her eyes were red as coals.

I wavered between pretending she wasn’t there and being friendly enough to drive her away. When she looked at me and then gave me what, for the life of me, looked like an arrogant once-over, I figured the choice had been made.

“Hi, I’m Gina Donnet,” I said, giving her my best sales clerk smile.

She didn’t budge or make any indication that she heard me. Her eyes darted around the room. Then she stuffed a half a bagel in her mouth and mumbled something that sounded like, “Skinny crew.”

“Pardon?”

Her eyes settled back on me and her mouth stopped working long enough for her to gulp down her morning repast. “Schenectady Carreux,” she said. She looked down, and her face turned red, as if realizing for the first time how she looked.

All of a sudden, she looked like a lost child. Her eyes came back to mine, and this time the arrogance was gone, replaced with “have mercy,” written across her face. I really did feel sorry for her.

“You traveling for business or pleasure?” I asked, trying to help her past the awkward moment.

She gave me the oddest look, like what I had said made no sense at all. “What we have here,” I thought, “is a failure to communicate.”

“No,” she said, and walked out of the room, disappearing up the stairs.

Well, you meet all kinds on the back roads of the Midwest. She’d probably gotten herself drunk and laid and was wondering where the hell she was. As for me, I finished my breakfast, which was quite good, and went up to my room to prepare for my morning presentation.

I came out again at nine, and I could hear a voice from across the hall. Figuring it was Schenectady, I stopped to listen. I knew I was being bad, but she was the only other guest I’d seen, and I had a nose that knew no modesty when poking in where it didn’t belong.

“No,” came her muffled voice. “I won’t put it on. I don’t want to.”

There was a pause. Either the other person was speaking too low to hear, or she was on the telephone.

“Yes, of course I will obey,” she said. “But I... no, I... please... ohhhhhhhh, I don’t need this... forgot... OHHHH... how good... yes... n-n-yes. Yes. Mmmmm. Oh, God. Oh, fucking christ, yes. I love it. I’ll ho-ho-hobey. Can’t ressssist. UNGH! Oh, YES. AUUUUGH! Yes Mmmmistress!”

Weird. Very weird. I’d heard of kinks, but this sounded like some sick fantasy of turning a reluctant lover into a howling, slobbering nymphomaniac. In a short conversation, she’d gone from bland defiance to enthusiastic participation. And was that a “Mistress”? So my hung-over neighbor was a lesbian kink-o-babe.

Maybe it was because I’d been on the road for over four weeks, or maybe there was some hidden perversity in my psyche, but it made me wet. I became aware that I was standing slack-jawed in the hallway. I shook myself back to reality and hurried out the door.

The day went well. Ignition Dynamics was very interested in hiring my company to secure its Information Technology infrastructure. Funny about sales. You put a tech in the room, and a CEO goes snake-eyed with boredom. I didn’t know squat about how the work was done, at least in detail, but I could sell it to executives because I spoke a language they could understand. I was a bridge between technicians and users.

Users with lots of needs and very little know-how, that liked a low cut dress that seemed tasteful but revealed more than a tasteful amount of cleavage.

By the time I got back to my little B&B, I was both elated and tired. I wanted to celebrate, but there wasn’t much in the way of nightspots out in rural Illinois. I took a shower, and decided to go down to watch afternoon TV before supper. I could make my report later that evening—it would give me something to do.

As I passed by Skinny Crew’s room, I couldn’t help but stop and listen again, and nearly fell into her room when she opened the door.

“Hello, Gina,” she said.

“Hi,” I said. My voice sounded a little too bubbly, like it was about to break. Caught. Shit. I stepped back, embarrassed.

I had to admit, she was transformed. Standing there in a cute little red warm-up suit, she looked radiant. I’m not sure I would have recognized her from the morning if I had seen her somewhere else. I know I wouldn’t have been sure it was the same woman. The puffiness around her eyes was gone, and she looked very much like any normal, attractive woman who was spending a pleasant day relaxing.

“I was hoping you hadn’t left,” she continued. “I felt bad about this morning. I was a little out of it.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We all have nights like that occasionally.” My mind ran back to the sound of her voice through the door. “Not often enough,” I thought. God, I was embarrassing myself with images that seemed to come from outside of me.

“Listen, I have a nice bar in here. Can I offer you a drink or something?”

“Sure,” I said, and followed her in. I mean, how could I not? I didn’t want to make her feel bad about the morning, after all.

I looked around for evidence of someone else—the person with whom she’d been so passionate earlier, but there wasn’t any. She was in a suite with a living room and a bedroom. Very nice. Much nicer than my little room.

There was a portable display case on the coffee table, full of what looked like gold hair bands. So she was there on business. I looked at the front of the eight-inch tabletop flipchart beside the case. “The Halo”, it said.

“What would you like? I have just about anything.”

“Coke,” I answered. She lifted her eyebrow suggestively. Oh, great. A drug head.

“To drink,” I said, and she laughed.

“I was hoping so,” she said. “I’ve been down that road. Don’t want to go there again.”

I sighed with relief and accepted the soft drink with a thank you.

She looked at her watch. “Um, I hate to do this, but I have to make a phone call. Do you mind if I leave you alone for a minute? You can watch TV, or read something. I won’t be a minute.”

“Sure, I’ll just catch up with the Beautiful People.”

“You don’t have any catching up to do,” she said. She was in her bedroom with the door closed before I had a chance to respond.

But I did respond. I didn’t want her to think I was up for a liaison. I wasn’t interested in women, and certainly not loose women. Being nice was one thing... sex was quite another.

I distracted myself by looking at the metal hair bands. I pulled one out and found it very strange. While it had the weight and feel of gold, it was flexible, like stiff elastic. When I rubbed my finger along it, it had an odd kind of tickly vibration, like a tuning fork.

She was taking longer than I had expected. I could hear her talking, but it was a low drone that was unintelligible. Feeling playful and curious, I put the band on my head and pulled my hair back tight.

At first it seemed to put pressure on my head, and then it adjusted itself or something, and I had to reach up and make sure it hadn’t fallen off. When my finger touched it, it vibrated again, and this time my head rang with it. My scalp broke out in waves of goose bumps.

The sensation quickly subsided. Schenectady’s voice was still droning on, and I decided to go see what this thing looked like. I got up to walk to the bathroom.

I noticed that my head felt a little wonky. The room seemed slightly out of perspective. I wondered if I was imagining it. I had to be. It had been a tough sell. I was just reacting to the release of stress.

I looked in the mirror as I leaned forward onto my hands. I put more weight on them than I needed, really. My eyes were dilated. I mean black with a sliver of hazel where the irises had been. It made me look somehow more sensitive. More vulnerable. (Submissive). Yes. Submissive. I looked submissive.

I liked looking submissive. (Receptive). Always a good idea. That’s how you learn. You should learn something every day. All the time. Learn about (obedience) the things that would make you more (malleable).

The room was spinning and I found I could barely move. So much for imagination. I needed to get out of here and (surrender) lay down (kneel).

I staggered back to the living room, alarmed. I could hear Skinny’s voice more clearly now. She was saying something. “Gin and tonic. Yes is stress.”

No. Her name wasn’t Skinny. It was Schenecta-something. Skinny Crew. I giggled and freaked. She must have laced my drink. My head was singing. I couldn’t get away from it. I needed to make a (sacrifice). Yes. A sacrifice. No. A phone call. I needed two quarters. Five (minds). Dimes. Ten (nipples). Nickels.

I fell onto the couch, sitting half-sideways. It felt so awfully good to be there. The singing was in my arms now. My torso. Moving down me like molasses. It hit my nipples and they began to sing back. They stiffened their little nipple necks and blistered me with pleasure. My head was a chorus of need. Of lust. There was a face in front of me. (Sister). Skinny. I smiled and tried not to. My clit hummed to life. I felt the song move across it. It was taking me. (Sacrifice). My body. For Her. Who? Her.

Skinny was talking again. She wasn’t on the phone.

She picked up the flipchart. I could see it clearly but couldn’t move. “Empty your little head, darling,” she said. “You can’t win. She has you now. You’ll never be free of Her. When you doubt, your body will remember and bring you back. You are Hers. Let go. Sacrifice your will. Obey. Say it. All you have to say is ‘I obey the Mistress in all things,’ and it will become so clear. The fog is your resistance. The fog is a shroud over the truth. You want the truth, don’t you?”

The flip chart was open. There was a word on it. I strained to focus. “TRUTH.”

“Truth,” I said. I couldn’t think of another word to say.

“Good for you,” said the woman in front of me. My back arched in pleasure at her praise. It was better than my strongest orgasm, and yet I hadn’t cum.

I slobbered and moaned. I didn’t care. This was sooooo good.

Words came into my vision. True words. I lost track of how they got there. I only watched and reached higher and higher pinnacles of pleasure and lust.

TRUTH = OBEDIENCE

OBEDIENCE = NEED

NEED = MISTRESS

MISTRESS = PURPOSE

PURPOSE = FOCUS

FOCUS = SURRENDER

SURRENDER = PLEASURE

PLEASURE = TRUTH

TRUTH = OBEDIENCE

OBEDIENCE = NEED

NEED = MISTRESS

ALL IS ONE

ONE NEED

ONE PLEASURE

ONE TRUTH

ONE MISTRESS

ONE SLAVE

YOU ARE SLAVE

SLAVE OBEYS MISTRESS

My body hummed in concert with the words. One with the words. Why think? Think truth. Mistress. Obey. The humming in my head grew to near pain it was so full of pleasure, like tickling that never ended, but I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bear to go on. Only obey. Slaves obey. The slave obeys. Obeys Mistress.

My mouth began working as squeals cut off while my throat tensed. Something wet touched my clit and my throat screamed. Words flew out of me that seemed so shallow compared to what I felt inside. “I obey the Mistress in all things!”

All things? Universal things. Beyond my ability to verbalize. My life for Her. Everything for Her. Every breath, Hers. Every step, Hers. Every pleasure, Hers.

The wetness at my crotch began to lick my anus and something harder filled my little slavecunt. Slavecunt. Me. Yes. Hers. To hell with anything but this, this TRUTH PURPOSE FOCUS OBEY MISTRESS PLEASURE NEED SURRENDER.

I screamed in agony and cruel, relentless pleasure as my soul was ripped from my bones and I became Hers, no matter where the road would lead. Orgasm? My life with Her was Orgasm. I fell off the edge of the earth, and drifted on the waves of my complete sacrifice, the only sacrifice worthy of Her.

She owned me beyond existence.

My Halo sang. New truth. We began again.

When I woke up, Schenectady was gone. I knew it had been her who had licked my pussy, and brought me such pleasure. Pleasure I would never have imagined existed. I licked her. Reveled in her screams of abandon. She was the instrument of... of what? What had happened? I had been drugged and seduced by a lesbian? I realized the word had no meaning to me. It was a label, and there was no label to describe what we’d done. Sisters, maybe. Something I couldn’t quite put together. I was way too wasted.

I put on my robe and went downstairs. It was time for breakfast. I was ravenous. I grabbed a handful of grapes and stuffed them into my mouth. I heard a sound behind me and turned.

There was a young girl with a backpack staring at me like I had escaped from a lunatic asylum. Something was familiar about seeing her there, but I couldn’t place it. I looked her up and down. My pussy juiced. Tasty. Inwardly I cringed at the rude thought.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I said. “Gina Donnet. Pleased to meet you.”

“Gin and tonic?” she said. “I’m Teresa Forrest.” As if her mind was opened to me, I could see her condescension. Then I remembered how I looked. I turned red and ran back to my room.

My Halo was waiting for me.

So here I am, with the memories of last night coming back to me and out of my pen. I’m doing this to talk myself out of putting on my Halo, of hearing my Mistress sing her Will to me.

I don’t want to, but it’s sooooo good.

My body remembers what my mind is trying to forget.

I wonder how Teresa will like hers?

Mmmmm. Yes. I forgot how good it feels for the slave to wear her halo for Mistress.

My mind is bathing in the ghosts of slaves to come.