The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Asha...

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I’m not sure how this was supposed to go, but this wasn’t it.

There shouldn’t be just one of us standing here.

I wish I could have stopped this. I wish I could have protected you from this. That was my job, after all: To protect you from harm, to guide you through life. To be the one in the driver’s seat of your life.

Not even the best driver can prevent all accidents.

This wasn’t my fault—I know that—but your life was my responsibility. Its hard not to think of myself as responsible now, hard not to tell myself I should have done something.

Even though I know I did everything I could.

You were my first. First a lot of things. First slave, first sex partner, first girl I stayed with for more than a couple of months.

First real love.

You were the first person I confessed my secret fantasies to. I remember the night: We were star-gazing at ‘make-out point’. A little drunk, a little romantic, a little, well, a little in love I guess. You asked for a fantasy of mine, something I’d never told anyone.

I was just enough gone in the moment to answer honestly. I stared up at the stars, and described holding my own harem, using whatever I could find that worked to keep the women under control. To have them serve me utterly, no matter what.

I’d realized what I’d said just as I finished, tried to pass it off as a joke. Rolled over at looked at you, to tell you that I didn’t really mean that.

The look on your face... You’d taken me seriously, and you hadn’t been offended. You hadn’t been horrified. You’d been... aroused.

I’ll never forget your next words: “I was wondering how to tell you that was my fantasy.”

I’ve been more in love with you in the thirty-some years we’ve been together. But never since have I felt it as much.

I think you were ready right then. Ready to be my harem-slave, for the rest of your life. I didn’t understand that, and I didn’t know what I was doing, not yet anyway. So we played at it for a while: you were ‘normal’ most of the time, but you play-acted being my slave in the bedroom.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Turning you into my slave kinda crept up on me. At first, it was just the bedroom: we’d change outfits, put on our characters, and play for a while. The sex...

It’s been a long time since I tried to recall what the sex was like before. You enjoyed it more as a slave, I enjoyed it more as your master.

Gradually, it drifted out. You’d “Yes, Master” me around the house, or I’d try one of the hypnotic triggers I’d started to experiment with in ‘public’. One day I realized it was affecting everything we did.

I sat you down at the table, and asked you what you thought of this.

You said I needed to enforce my control more, and to use it more.

I asked how I should know if you wanted to be free.

Your answer: “Why should I want to be free?”

There was more. You weren’t a mindless slave, after all. You served me of your own free will, and you explained that to me. Explained how it made you feel, that you did trust, and yes, even love me. That I’d proven to you that I would be a good master, that I already was a good master.

And that you didn’t want to serve me of your own will. That your will shouldn’t have any bearing on what you do. Only my will should matter. You’d chosen to serve, and you knew it. Every time I’d asked you to do something, you’d known you could refuse, and that was the one thing you really wished could be changed.

I’d gone for a walk, without answering you. A long one.

I thought about a lot of things on that walk. I thought about what you’d offered. I thought about what I wanted. I thought about what was ‘right’. I thought about whether I had any right to take your will from you. I thought about slavery, and it’s history. I thought about what I’d have to tell people. I thought about what if things went wrong.

I thought about how we’d both enjoyed the last few weeks.

When I got home, you were kneeling at the door, naked, head down, waiting for me.

It was the look on your face that decided me. If I didn’t accept this gift, the gift of your will, of yourself, I would be rejecting you.

And I could never reject you.

The next few weeks are a blur to me. I’d accepted, finally, that you were serious, and that I had a slave of my very own to train, and to use. And once I’d accepted that, there was a lot of training. Brainwashing, hypnosis, and just plain physical workouts all figured heavily.

I’m proud, so proud, of what you became, Asha. You took everything I gave you, and you amplified it, constantly trying harder and harder to make yourself into my perfect slave. I’m proud of the program I put together, I’m proud of the result, but most of all I’m proud that you felt I was worth it. That you accepted me as your master.

But you did. You handed me your life, without reservations, without hesitations, and without restraint. Anything I wanted, you were willing to give to me. All I had to do was ask.

And you were proud to be my slave.

Prouder than I’d thought you’d be, actually. Once I’d accepted it, you didn’t hide it, nor how happy you were with it.

And you knew both our fantasies had included a harem.

I don’t know how you did it, but you wanted to not be alone as my slave, and it is because of you that you were not. Because you convinced others that I was safe, that you were happy, that you had wanted this. That they could want this.

I am forever in you debt. For your presence in my life, for your gift of yourself, for your leading the way for others. And most importantly, because you showed me that I am not a monster for these desires in my head. That I can treat a woman as a slave and still love her desperately, with every part of my soul.

I never told you I loved you, I think. It just never came up. But, with every move you made, every word you said, you told me just how much you loved me.

And I swear that I returned it all.