The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Sup, Gabi?” Brent asked, and I swear my pencil almost snapped in my hand. What was he doing here?

“Don’t call me that,” I said, getting that out of the way.

“Gabrielle, whatever. Are you studying, or something?”

This guy. “Yeah, man. It’s the library,” I said. “First time here?”

“It’s like 2 in the morning. You know you’re the only one here, right?” Brent held some bulky, metal box. He dropped it on the table in front of me with a thud. What was this about?

“What do you want, dude?” I asked, keeping my eyes in my book. I hated this guy. Smug, entitled, rich asshole who always seemed to get everything handed to him. And for some reason, getting under my skin seemed to be a fun game for him. But coming all the way here at this hour was a new level.

“I think it’s time we talked about us,” he said, fiddling with the knobs on the box. “I know you’re in love with me.”

You have got to be kidding me. “Nope,” I said.

“You don’t have to deny it. I have good news, actually. I think you’re cute, too.” He said with a grin.

“Seriously, fuck off.”

“So, if you ask me really nicely, I think I’ll let you be my bitch.”

I slammed my hands on the table. “Fuck OFF, dude! You’re a fucking douche. Do you really have nothing better to do right now?”

Brent just grinned his smug, self-important, infuriating grin. “Eh, whatever,” he said. And he pressed one last button on the box. It began to crackle, emitting some kind of static that grew louder and louder and then—

“Sup, Gabi?” Brent asked, and I swear my pencil almost snapped in my hand. What was he doing here?

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “And dude, I’m trying to study. That thing is so loud.” He carried some kind of box that crackled brightly. He set it on the table next to me.

“Come on, it’s late. At a certain point it’s not good for you.” As if I needed advice from Brent, who stayed up just as late doing coke and partying. At least I was preparing for my exam.

“What do you want, dude?” I tried to keep my eyes in my books, but that box was there, crackling. I couldn’t absorb any information with that noise going on.

“I think it’s time we talked about us,” he said. “I know you’re in love with me.”

You have got to be kidding me. “Nope,” I said. “And Christ, can you turn that thing off?”

“Don’t deny it. I think you’re cute too. If you ask nicely, I think I’ll let you be my bitch.”

“What the fuck?” I asked. But really, what the fuck? He comes in with this broken boombox and starts talking to me like this?

Brent had a smug grin on his face and fiddled with the box. “Already creating variation…” he said to himself, and the static overtook his voice. Overtook everything—

“Sup, Gabi?” Brent asked, and I put my pencil down in surprise. Brent?

“Come on, you know I don’t like that nickname,” I corrected him.

“Sorry, Gabrielle,” he emphasized. He was always dismissive of things like that, but that was Brent. A rich, popular boy like that was bound to be in his own world. I hated that about him. He placed a box next to me, which I realized was crackling like mad.

“What is that thing?” I asked, welcoming the distraction. I had been studying for so long, and my head hurt…

Brent sat next to me, looking gleeful. “Reality Bender,” he said. “It captures a moment in time and calibrates to it. Rewrites it to the specified outcome through repetition. New experimental tech. I got it through some family connections.”

“Uh huh…” I said, playing along. “And what are you, uh.. rewriting?”

Brent’s grin was scornful. “I’m using it to make you my fucking bitch,” he said. And he laughed.

I suddenly remembered what kind of person he was. Entitled, douchebag, bully! Why didn’t I tell him to fuck off when he came here? I didn’t—He wasn’t—

The crackles intensified. “Go away.” I finally mustered. This was weird. It was like I’d forgotten how much I hated him for a second. He gazed at me with gleaming eyes, like he was winning a game I didn’t know started. Narcissist. I felt sick, and the static was—

“Sup, Gabi?” Brent asked. What was he doing here? And he had some kind of box…

“Oh, hey.” I said, remembering. I texted him and asked him to come. God, I had a headache.

This studying was really getting to me. What time was it? He set the box down next to me. There was some kind of loud noise, like…

It was raining. The rain pounded on the library’s roof, thousands of drops culminating in loud…

(static)

rainfall.

“Did you bring the Tylenol?” I asked. I really needed something for this headache, so I could keep studying. That’s why I texted… Brent? Wait—

“Nah,” he said.

“Then why did you even come?” I asked. Why did he come? Why did I ask him? Of all my friends, I texted Brent? I hated Brent. The rain thundered, filling the room with its dull roar. I hated Brent?

“Look, I know you’re in love with me.” Brent said. No, I wasn’t. Brent’s cute, but he has way too much of an ego. Besides, there’s so many girls lining up to date him. I’m just his friend.

Except we aren’t friends. We aren’t—

My friend continued.

“So, I thought, if you asked nicely, I’ll let you be my bitch.” Oh no. He really thought I liked him. This was awkward. How was I going to let him down?

“Brent, I’m sorry—” I stammered. “I’m not.. I think you have the wrong idea.” For some reason, he was still grinning.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He said, eyeing me like I was prey. In that look I saw someone despicable, someone I would never be friends with—

Elitist, cruel, entitled—

Sometimes I had to overlook Brent’s flaws. He was rich. Obscenely wealthy, actually. Wealth did that to a person. Like, he thought I would just want to be his bitch? The ego…

Be his bitch?? What the fuck—

I felt bad, that he never had a chance of a normal life. I always felt like my friendship helped ground him in some way. Like now. He’s probably never been rejected before.

“I’m not going to date you,” I said, simply.

But one part of me seemed excited by the idea. Dating Brent. The

(monster)

Friend.

The friend who loved

(putting me in my place)

teasing me.

No, this was wrong. We weren’t friends—

I hate him, I hate him,

I (love) him,

I hate him. And the rain poured down. Loud, endless drops CRACKING on the roof, echoing all around me—

“Sup, Gabi?” Brent said. My heart fluttered. He came.

“Hey!” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “I’m sorry to text so late. It’s just I really needed—”

He slammed a clunky metal box next to me. It sent a sharp pain through my head. Inconsiderate, selfish, asshole—!

“Eh, whatever,” he said.

He was so sweet. Coming here so late, through all this rain, just for me. Why did he pay me any attention at all? He was rich, handsome, popular.

God, I hated—

I hated—

Couldn’t stand—

Had such a crush on him. He grinned, and it sent shivers through me.

He eyed me like I was

(prey)

special.

I felt special when Brent payed attention to me. He was the most important person on campus. I was just some girl, spending all her time studying while Brent partied and fucked cheerleaders.

But he was here now. I wanted to be his

(bitch)

girlfriend.

My head hurt. “Did you bring the Tylenol?” I asked.

“I got you one better,” Brent said, lighting a joint. But we were in the library—we couldn’t—I didn’t—

He exhaled smoke in my face and handed me the joint.

Rain—Static—Popping, ripping, tearing—Furious cracks in the air.

It wasn’t rain, it was—

The box!

Sudden panic washed over me. What was happening? He was doing something with that box. It was making me love him. It was making me love the way he broke rules, the way he was above everyone, the way he ordered people around like some pompous asshole—

I loved it when he did that. I felt so bad, pulling deeply from the joint. It was a thrill, doing this with Brent.

But the box was—

“I know you love me, you know.” He said, and I blushed furiously. “Admit it.”

I felt so vulnerable. It was like my mind was splitting open for him to see.

Splitting. Pain. The noise, I keep forgetting about the noise. That was important, somehow.

“I…” I felt so embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. It was true. I loved him so much. Why else would my heart be pounding out of my chest?

Because of the box. It was destroying me. Remaking me. Remaking… reality? How did I know that? Visceral de ja vu overtook me. Had this happened before? I thought I told him to fuck off because I hated him.

I hated how he abused people,

DOMINANT.

how he got everything he wanted,

DESERVING.

how sluts threw themselves at him.

JEALOUS.

I hated how much I loved him. I buried it deep down inside but I can’t deny—

I tried to hold on to the hate—

But I can’t deny—! My body was on fire.

“Say it,” he said, gleaming, forceful.

“Yes!” I gasped. “Fuck, I love you!” And the room shook violently, quaking, as my heart beat harder and harder and my skull vibrated.

“Sup, Gabi,” my boyfriend said, and I squealed in excitement. I dropped my pencil and jumped into his arms, kissing him. His hands immediately went to my ass, and I wiggled it in approval. There was some box on the table, but that wasn’t important.

“Thank fuck you’re here,” I said, hands pressed against his chest as he squeezed me into him. “I need to get stoned.”

Brent let me go and pulled out a joint. One of the benefits of dating the richest, most elite, sexiest guys on campus. He can do whatever he wants. Who cares if we got caught? We’re untouchable.

I inhaled a long hit of weed. I felt my brain slow down as the constant, deep throbbing pain that I lived with ebbed. The usual chattering static of the library lulled me into a dull peace.

I leaned my head on Brent’s broad shoulder. I knew what was coming next. Getting stoned with Brent often led to—

(I have to get away)

Often led to hot, amazing—

I was getting wet already, running my fingers along his chest, feeling him caress my leg.

“I needed this,” I said, feeling his closeness, taking in his scent.

(I can’t do this)

(He’s destroying me)

I leaned up to kiss him deeply. My sexy, magnetic, charismatic boyfriend. I wanted to fuck him here, in the library. He pushed me back forcefully, grinning madly. His eyes bore into me hungrily.

“Say it,” he ordered. What did he mean? The crackling was coming back now, stronger, like coils of electricity popping in the air. “Say that you’re my bitch,” he growled.

“I.. I’m your girlfriend,” I said, confused. I wasn’t his bitch. We were—I was—

I was his victim. He was assaulting my being.

I was his girlfriend. We were equals. We flaunted the rules togetherr. It was hot, smoking and fucking in the library.

“Come on baby,” I begged. “Please just fuck me…”

“You’re my bitch,” he snarled. “I’ll fuck you when you know you’re place.”

“But—” I said. How could he say this to his girlfriend?

Not girlfriend. Not even friend. I remembered who he was—Who I was—

“Shut up, bitch. You’re lucky to even be my whore slut. That’s all you are, and that’s all you’ll ever be. And you love it, don’t you?”

No—I— The room shook. The rain pounded all around. Cracks, static, thunder. The box. I had to stop that box, somehow.

But Brent wouldn’t like that, and I was his bitch—

So unbearably horny.

I needed him. My master. Just one of many sluts who would do whatever he wanted, because he was elite. He was better. He was—

“Please..” I begged. How long have I been in this room? In this moment? How long have I lived at the center of this storm of noise and chaos?

“Let me be your bitch!” I pleaded. Some girl in my head named Gabrielle screamed at me. She pounded and kicked and yelled inside of my skull. It was her, creating all of this noise and pain! This fucking stuck-up prude torturing me, keeping me from being happy. I wanted to be Gabi, Brent’s giggly, slutty plaything.

I kicked off my clothing. Brent had to know what a good girl I could be for him. In only my panties, I bent over on my knees and pulled them to the side. He had to see how wet his little slut was. He had to see how submissive I was. And all the while, the noise and shaking consumed me while I whimpered and pleaded for my master to take me.

The door to the study room opened.

“That’s what I like to see, bitch.” My Master praised, and I giggled, giddy.

I had been waiting in the library all night for him. I was playing with myself, driving myself to the edge of cumming over and over and over again like a good girl. Just like he ordered. And now he was here, looking down on me as I lie on the floor, legs spread wide, fingers in my snatch.

He set some box down to the side and fiddled with its controls. As he did, an enormous pressure lifted off of my skull. The room fell eerily silent, and with it, a hundred other possible lives vanished from my mind.

I let out a soft moan as the sudden change sent shivers through me, pushing me dangerously close to orgasm.

“Who are you?” My Master asked.

“I’m Gabi!” I said, eagerly. “I’m your personal little slut bitch!” It felt so right. In the empty silence that filled the study room, I couldn’t imagine life being any other way. I felt good.

I pulled two shining fingers out of my pussy so my Master could see how juicy I was. “And I’m sooo ready for you!”