The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sister...

You’re not my sister, not biologically or in any normal sense, but its what I’ve called you for so long...

‘Fellow slave’. That’s what I mean, but it doesn’t convey what we are.

We knew each other on the playground. I called you Asha then, and you called me Thea. We weren’t best friends, but we were friends. I went to your sleep-overs, and you came to mine.

That’s really where this all started, isn’t it? At a sleep-over. We were what? Twelve? Fifteen? Somewhere in there.

God its been so long.

‘Truth or Dare’. Everyone knows that game, and its been the source of more childhood humiliation...

Though we get over it, usually.

I don’t remember what the occasion was, and I don’t recall who asked the question. All my mind retains is how embarrassed I was at sitting there telling people about how the idea of being a slave made me hot. I can still hear the giggles.

And I remember you didn’t giggle. You didn’t say anything either, but you didn’t giggle.

I guess I would have expected us to drift apart. We weren’t that close, and there was no reason I could see for us to stay in touch...

And we did, a bit.

Then you started dating Harold.

(Even thinking that name sends shivers... But he is part of this. Harold, Master, Owner. The one we’ve served together. Who we dedicated our lives to.)

You told me later what had happened. That you’d found out that he shared your dream, and that you’d remembered I also shared it. That you wanted to share the dream, or at least to dream that you would share it.

So you got back in touch, as if we hadn’t gone our separate ways. More as a way to pretend you’d have someone to recruit, at first I think.

We talked about my lack of love life, and about your success. About jobs, about going to school. All the normal things for girls our age.

We talked about exercise and clothes, after you started really working out.

I noticed the change in you then. That you didn’t just get fitter, that you didn’t just spend more time on your appearance. That you were more focused, that you deferred to your boyfriend more, that... Well, that you’d found a focus in life, and that it was making you really happy to have it.

You did drift away then, but not from me. From everyone else. Somehow, with your new focus, you just got closer to me.

The odd thing to me was that I didn’t know what your focus was. I was your best friend, apart from your boyfriend.

I just didn’t see it.

Not until the day you accidentally called him ‘Master’ instead of ‘Harold.’

I called you on it, of course. You said something about it being something you two played at together.

I think you knew you were lying. And that I’d want to know more.

You let me work to get it out of you. That you were a sex slave, and that you were enjoying it. That you’d dreamed of it, just as I had, of being part of a harem. That you’d found a guy with the same dreams, and that you’d given yourself to him.

Of course I had to meet him. If only to know if you were sane, and he could be trusted with my best friend.

He was everything you’d described him as. That’s still the amazing part to me: that even as besotted with him as you were, you didn’t exaggerate one bit. You didn’t need to.

He was your perfect master.

And... you wanted to share.

You’d remembered my long-ago disclosure, and you’d sought me out when you’d found a way to make it real for yourself. You knew I might not choose as you did, but...

You wanted to offer me the choice.

You were so happy. And all you wanted to do was offer me the same happiness. I could see it in your eyes. You honestly wanted me to share your man.

I agreed to talk to him.

That was a long talk, just me and him. I can’t remember all that we went over, but in the end we settled on a trial, just for one afternoon.

You were sent out, on some errand. Not that we hid what we were doing: just that we wanted this to be about how I felt about it.

He was... I could see why you were happy.

More trials followed, and I started to worry that I wanted to steal him from you. That I was jealous of what you had, of your absolute service.

The day I admitted that to myself I came to your place after work. I knocked on your door. Harold answered. You were nowhere to be seen, which I’d learned usually meant you weren’t in suitable condition to face company.

I waited until he let me in before falling to my knees. “Master, I wish to serve you.” It was the only thing I could think to say.

He didn’t accept me right away. He had questions. He wanted to know for how long, and what I meant. But it didn’t take long to convince him that I was serious, completely.

I remember looking up at him when he accepted me. When he said he would be my master. He was smiling, and nervous.

And you were right behind him, in a mostly-topless (and bottomless) maid’s outfit, absolutely beaming with joy.

Then his pocket-watch started swinging in my eyes, and I drifted away...

I remember that night vividly. I came to naked, tied into his bed. He stood next to me. “What are you?” He’d asked.

“Your slave.” I known the answer easily.

I felt you before I saw you: Your tongue was my reward for a correct answer, an immediate answer. Only the first time was a surprise.

I shouted my service to Master until it blurred whether the shout or your attention brought pleasure. Only then did Master let us rest.

We did it again the next day.

I learned to look up to you, as Master’s first slave. As the one who knew what he wanted, what he desired, who could teach me how to serve better.

I learned to love the taste of you, to love the feel of you, as we performed for Master’s pleasure. If I close my eyes and think of it, I can still taste you...

I envied you as well. You were Master’s favorite. Even after... You were always the one he’d go back to, the one who knew best how to please him. I tried to compete with that, I really did, but...

I never could.

I know it won’t help, that it is not what you would have wanted, but Master’s been disconsolate since you died. We don’t know what to do.

He misses you, he really does. You were valuable to him, and he cared for you.

I promise, sister, that I will do my best to take care of Master for you. To make him happy.

But it won’t be as good as if you were here to help.