The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Kyla stepped into the room. Clemence had called her in, and was sitting with her hands in her lap at the foot of her large bed. She was fully dressed, to Kyla’s disappointment. As Clemence’s full-time slave, Kyla herself was already naked. Clemence had kept her that way so long, Kyla hardly even noticed the cold of it anymore.

But it was a disappointment to find Clemence dressed— disappointing to realize that Clemence was not going to play with her, not going to use her body or let Kyla touch her own.

“Come to a kneel in front of me, Kyla,” Clemence said, and her words echoed in Kyla’s mind. Clemence had spent so much time in there, clearing it out, that there was nothing to obstruct that echo which passed from one side of Kyla’s mind to the other. Kyla kneeled as instructed.

Clemence’s hand was on Kyla’s cheek, then, since Kyla had kneeled within her reach. “It’s time, Kyla.”

Kyla understood— but it roused something in her that was supposed to be gone. Clemence had cleared everything out; the girl Kyla had been before Clemence had been cleared out with the rest. Clemence’s control had been very thorough; her cleaning of Kyla’s mind had missed nothing, or so Kyla, in her slave state, had thought.

For that instant she could almost remember being that other girl, the Kyla-before-Clemence— the girl who Clemence had ripped apart to make room for the obedience she’d demanded of her. And she understood, with that girl’s understanding, what it was time for.

Clemence had been preparing her, had been rehearsing her for a permanent state of obedience, for a permanent erasure. Even if Kyla had forgotten that some faint ghost of her old self lurked dormant in her mind, Clemence herself knew it. And she had run Kyla through practice after practice, this or that sequence of pleasure, this word, that word and then, Kyla would not be Kyla, and even the last ghost would be gone. If the sequence ran all the way through, correctly.

But Clemence had never run the sequence through fully in her practices with Kyla. She had only trained the necessary responses into Kyla piece by piece, in isolation from each other. She had not wanted to run the whole thing all the way through until Kyla was fully ready— until it was time for Kyla to truly cease to be.

Through all the practicing Kyla had not been aware of this. Or if she had been aware of it, it had not bothered her. But now, as Clemence spoke the words, she was aware, and she minded very much. She wanted to rise from her kneel, and run from the room. But in her mind, obedience was stacked on top of obedience, and Clemence’s hand was still on her cheek. She could not move.

“It’s time,” Clemence repeated. “Not to practice, not learn, but to perform— give your final, and most perfect performance as my slave, perform the glory of obedience for me, and in that performance, become perpetually obedient. You already know how… I have taught you on a level deeper than thought. And the commands wait in your mind for my summoning. It is time.”

Kyla, ghost of a girl that she was, wanted to speak, wanted to plead; but found herself as immobile as she had been when she had tried to stand and run.

A word was spoken by Clemence— a word which opened warmth in her. Warmth Clemence kept perpetually stashed within her, warmth that unfurled into pleasure, that ran through her body. This feeling was familiar. Clemence had spoken the word many times before, had sent this same pleasure through Kyla time after time.

But Clemence spoke again— a new word, this time, on the heels of the first. And suddenly Clemence was not Clemence, her voice was not her voice— it was only a strange voice, the voice of a faceless figure coming to Kyla from far away.

And then the warmth within her shifted, took complete control of Kyla’s body, erasing everything else. There was only relief, only pleasure. She didn’t exist. Nothing called Kyla had ever existed, would ever exist. The feeling had so totally possessed her… She was only an embodiment, only an extension of it. She was the feeling made flesh, was the feeling poured into the form of a woman. But there was no fundamental difference between her and it. There never had been. All existence had been illusion. She had always been this.

That voice from before was still speaking, but she was too far gone for language. Warm, sentient energy did not need language, and that was what she was now. But even in her uncomprehending form, she still felt appreciation for that voice— it was comforting. It knew the right things to do— it was the perfect expert on everything, and it was very satisfying to listen and obey it.

Even though she couldn’t understand what the voice was saying, she knew to the deepest levels of certainty that she agreed with it. She felt a slight shift in the energy that she had become— enough to understand. She realized the voice was telling her to put her hand between her legs.

She realized the energy had pulled back from her, released its grip, and even though it was still present, she registered this as a loss. This small gap of separation was too much, too far— she wanted to be back in that space where she had lost all awareness, had completely melded and merged to the energy that was now rooted inside her.

But she understood it was not for her to worry about this— she needed only to obey. And now, she needed to tweak her clitoris between thumb and finger.

It took all her concentration to do it, and once she had started the pattern of motion, she sagged into the movement. But almost immediately that energy surged forward to retake her, and the pleasure was everywhere; it was in her body, yes, but it was bathing her mind— her mind was soaking in it, and it had gotten into the deepest depths of her soul.

Only for a moment— only for the moment of obedience, when the task was achieved, and then it pulled back again. She was impatient for the next command. She wanted to obey, to feel it again.

The voice wanted her to increase her tempo. This took even more effort, but with a struggle, she managed.

The pleasure flooded in again, and for that moment of perfection she had again melded with it, and ceased to exist as a distinct entity. She could taste her first orgasm, could touch the edges of it. It would take her slowly, it would feel like slipping into a deep comatose sleep— and it would meld her totally to the energy that was claiming her.

She had never wanted anything more in her life than to cease her existence as an individual; to be given over to the appetite of this endless, insatiable energy of pleasure and warmth within her— to be devoured eternally. She could taste it— she almost had it. Would the voice never tell her to lose herself in it? The next instruction would surely send her into that endless abyss; she was on the very edge, only needed a slight push. And when she fell into it, she would never want to come back up again.

She waited, but no order came. It seemed another eternity passed, waiting for the command that didn’t come. As she had registered the loss when the energy separated from her, now she felt her own sadness, even in trance.

She wanted nothing more than to orgasm, to be fused and melded into the pleasure— to be the pleasure poured into a sculptor’s form and made human— but now she feared she would never orgasm, never achieve that union. And if she were to be denied, it could only mean that she had failed to obey as she should have, and now heaven would be torn away from her.

If she hadn’t lost complete control of her body, she would have cried.

But she heard the voice again. At last, it spoke. The lost excitement surged in her. This was it, this was going to give her her orgasm, this would join her to the cumulative energy of bliss. It asked her questions, questions she barely understood, and she felt an urgency that didn’t make it into her own voice. Yes, yes, yes— she wanted union, she wanted to be melded with the pleasure, she wanted to give up her existence as an individual, yes! Couldn’t the voice hurry up and give her the command? Couldn’t she orgasm already?

At last, the voice spoke only a single word— and even without knowing why she recognized it, she realized she had been given the command she was waiting for.

Distantly, because the pleasure was so close in her now… waiting like a predatory animal to leap forward and consume her… distantly, she felt her body move; her hand had come away, and she had flopped forwards. Her eyelids eased open from their close, and the room around her existed once more. She saw Clemence watching her with an unbothered expression, only remembered who Clemence was for that second, only understood it had been Clemence’s voice directing her all this time, Clemence who commanded the energy about to devour her.

But none of it mattered. She knew she was about to lose the room, knew she was about to lose all awareness, about to lose herself, about to lose her own identity and become only that pleasure. And the pleasure would burn in her so hot that it would seep out through the pores of her skin, to fill the room palpably with its energy, to burn in her— and she would burn as a furnace for Clemence. Any who entered would feel that heat coming from her, that heat conducting through her, but she… she would only feel…

One last incomprehensible word was spoken, and Clemence’s voice ceased to be Clemence’s. For a moment it was once again only a voice; then even that was lost. And— and. It happened.

It happened in an instant, and it lasted a thousand years. The pleasure, the energy, waiting so patiently in her like a lion prepared to pounce— leaped. It surrounded every part of her. It coated every muscle, every bone, every cell, every neuron in her brain. It coated them first, spreading itself over everything, painting her insides like it was a liquid. And once she was covered in it, dripping in it, drenched in it, it seized her.

It took all the territory it held, and swallowed it whole in one flash of perfection. In her mind she was screaming and crying, but she heard only a light “ah” fall from her lips. And the first sensation of orgasm painted a light smile on her face. It didn’t matter. Soon that sound was gone— her body was gone, the room was gone.

She was the pleasure. The pleasure was her. The pleasure had no eyes to see. All it wanted to do was fill the room, fill the vessel it had been given, pour itself into the sculptor’s form; and that was what it did. That was what it would always do. That was what it wanted. That was what she wanted, since she was no longer distinct from it. It would pour itself out. It would circulate itself infinitely. It would generate more of itself. There would always be more, burning hotter through her, hot enough to bathe the faces and bodies of anyone who was standing close enough to see her.

It was swallowing her— it had almost completely taken her now. She felt the smile fall from her face; felt the bliss, felt the sense of a vague dream, forgotten even in the moment it is dreamt. All that remained was her obedience, but as the pleasure intensified, even that slipped from her fingers— she was sinking— she was becoming…

Nothing. She only had that split second to realize it; and then, she was completely dissolved.