The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Of course I don’t play fair; I can control minds! I can make anyone do anything! Rules aren’t made for me. The only thing that stopped me from taking you back was convenience. It would have been work to enslave you again and extract you from the Embassador. I would have had to send slaves all the way to fucking Germany to take you. So much hassle!”

She raised her eyebrows. “But now you’ve made me come here, to make sure you didn’t out me to a criminal system I don’t control. And you don’t even have insurance against me!? I mean, technically you do, but that only works if I don’t make you my slaves. There’s no dead man switch! I asked. Tom obediently answered. So well-behaved.”

“Please…” Iris said.

“Shut up, bitch,” Beatrice said, raising a hand. One of the slaves flanking her punched her in the side of her torso, and she went down with a yell of pain before the slaves pulled her back to her feet. As she righted herself, another slave approached her with something that looked like a flashlight, and shone it into her face.

Iris looked confused for maybe five seconds as her eyes seemed to be drawn to the light, then her expression smoothed over and she visibly relaxed. The slave kept pointing the light into her face, and Iris wordlessly stared at it, mouth hanging open slightly. Simone looked back at her daughter, who looked mortified. Simone wanted to say something to comfort her, but there was nothing she could think of that she could possibly—

“—As I was saying,” Beatrice continued. “There’s literally nothing to stop me from enslaving all of you.”

“Someone will report us missing! We’re important,” Cora said, and Simone could clearly hear the almost unmitigated panic in her voice.

“You’ll be back home in a couple of hours, making all the necessary arrangements to ensure that no such thing will happen.” Beatrice said with a grin. “Turning you into my slave will take maybe fifty minutes; your mother will be even faster.”

“What?” Simone said, her attention snapping back to Beatrice.

“Oh, yes. We’ve come a long way since you last were my fucktoy, twenty-four. The march of progress has been quite unstoppable. And with all of your former programming, your brain is primed to be enslaved again.”

“No,” Cora said. “This isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“—she can,” Simone said heavily, looking Beatrice in the eyes. The woman looked like she had been about to say something herself, but now she was only smiling, looking almost satisfied. It hurt Simone like running her hands over a cheese grater to say anything that Beatrice wanted to hear, but she also knew that indulging her was the only currency that could buy them any time now.

“I know that you’re going to enslave us, Beatrice. You win. All I ask is for a moment to say goodbye to my daughter.”

“Mama, was passiert—”

“—please, Beatrice!”, Simone begged.

Beatrice still smiled. Simone would give anything to wipe that smile off her face just once before it all ended for them. But she had no more illusions now of getting anything she wanted. She braced herself for it all to suddenly be over, for a hand signal, for slaves grabbing her from behind, for a frantic moment of struggle before they took her mind.

“Sure, twenty-four, why not,” Beatrice said instead.

Simone turned to her daughter. Cora was crying. It broke her heart.

“Mama… bitte sag, dass das nicht passiert,” she said. Please say this isn’t happening. Simone was still not there, either. Some part of her insisted that this couldn’t be it. That this wasn’t real. That there was a way out.

“Cora. Schatz. Ich hab dich so lieb. Komm her,” she said and stretched out her arms to embrace her daughter one last time, and Cora fell into her embrace, sobbing, crying, shaking. I love you so much. You’re everything I could ever wish for in a daughter. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.

“Du bist das beste was mir je passiert ist,” she sobbed. “Ich liebe dich.”

Cora cried alone with her for a long moment where they just held each other.

“Wie… wie fühlt es sich an?” Cora said finally. Her words weighed a million tons.

How does it feel? To be a slave? Simone knew the answer. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, even now.

“Friedlich. Man denkt garnicht mehr. Wie ein Traum. S’ist okay,” she said, struggling with her own tears as Cora sobbed bitterly in her embrace.

It’s like a dream. Peaceful. Without thought. It’s all going to be alright. She almost believed it herself. It was almost true. Except for the part where Cora would crave obedience like sex. Except for the fact that she would get wet and climax at Beatrice’s command, and be fucked by anyone who would pay for her.

“Ich liebe dich, Mama,” Cora said, and hugged Simone more tightly than she maybe ever had. Then, she let go, and the terrible, cruel world around them returned. Cora turned to Beatrice, face tight.

“Fuck you,” her daughter said, her voice collected and almost calm, and in that moment Simone was prouder of her than she’d ever been. “Do what you must. I have found peace.”

Beatrice looked at Cora with a crooked smile.

“Cute,” she said, sounding almost bored. “Heard that before. Enslave the mother.”

The slaves were upon her before Simone could properly react. They had been ready and waiting for this, and she had still been caught up the emotion of watching her daughter, her beautiful, brave daughter—

There was a light in front of her and she at once knew what it meant—and despite that, she could not look away. It was just too otherworldly; nothing could have prepared her for it—how it danced and shifted. It seemed to have colors and patterns that just shouldn’t be. It was just a small point, and yet it was impossibly large, and she couldn’t fathom how something so small could be everything that there was, how all those patterns were so smooth and calm in her mind, and how her mind went with it. She could feel it drag in her whole attention with detached fascination, and suddenly, in a way that she noticed but couldn’t stop, only the colors and the patterns mattered. Only the colors and patterns that were hynotizing her now. Somewhere, here daughter was screaming, but only the colors and patterns were important, and that made her feel so calm and relaxed. This was so much easier. She felt so relaxed, and she knew that she was being hypnotized. It didn’t worry her anymore. How could it? How could anything possibly worry her? She was calm, and open, and entranced. She was calm and open and entranced. She was… calm… and open… and… and…

Her mother’s eyes went dead, and Cora screamed.

She screamed until she was out of breath and her voice was coarse like gravel by the end of it. Nameless, thoughtless Slaves held her with unbelievable strength.

Beatrice had told them not to entrance her. Beatrice wanted her to watch, and her slaves held her, making sure she couldn’t turn away.

They made her watch how her mother started quietly repeating every last thing they said to her. They made her watch how they commanded her to strip, and watch how she obeyed them without thought. They made her watch as they raped her.

Her mother was lying on the floor now, masturbating. They had told her to, and she had obeyed them. There were two vibrators inside her, connected to the light that a slave was still shining into her eyes. There was no thought in them. The slave was telling her things, and her Mama was repeating them. Cora wanted to cover her ears, but the slaves were to strong.

“You are a slave,” said the toned woman that had entranced her mother with the flashlight.

“I am a slave,” her mother said, and Cora could tell that she was starting to believe. It was like lashes against Cora’s skin to hear her say it. Her father and Iris stood passively at the other end of the room, looking at nothing, doing nothing. Cora’s screams hadn’t woken them. She was alone.

“I am property,” her mother said, and Cora could hear the joy in her voice, and it was sickening.

She hung her head in despair, weakly whimpering “No,” over and over and over. “You’re free,” she sobbed.

She had screamed it earlier, until her voice had given out. It hadn’t worked. Her mother was only repeating and believing the thoughts that the slave was feeding her.

Simone moaned, and Cora winced. She closed her eyes just long enough to be able to bear it. Her mother was becoming a slave. They were making her want it. They were making her enjoy it. She was moaning as she became what she had dreaded. She’d screamed with pleasure as she’d repeated what they wanted her to think. Cora had looked away at first, then decided that it would be better to witness it. Not to flinch away. This was her mother. She would not abandon her like that.

“I am an obedient slave,” her mother said, and Cora could almost hear her lick her lips. With every repetition, she could hear the belief deepen. With every repetition it sounded less like her mother and more like someone else that was very good at pretending to be her. Cora felt numb.

“Obedience is pleasure,” Simone moaned, arching her back, screaming with pleasure again as another belief of hers was overwritten. Cora wondered how much longer it would last.

The answer turned out to be not very long. All in all it had been maybe half an hour since she’d held her mother for the last time.

The woman that had been her Mama pushed herself up to sit. Her body glistened with sweat. Some deeply wrong part of Cora thought how pretty and youthful she was before the rest of her saw the expression in her face, and something inside of Cora died.

Simone looked happier and more relieved than she had ever looked, and it was the most horrifying thing Cora had ever seen. Then, her mother moaned so loudly and shamelessly that Cora knew that she had to be doing it on purpose, just to show how much she loved it.

“YESSS!!!” said the woman that had less than an hour ago cried and begged for exactly this not to happen. “Oh my God, Yes!! I am… I am… I am…”

“You’re welcome,” Beatrice said.

“I’m still me, Mistress!” said the slave, but Cora heard in every single word that it wasn’t true. Not really. Her mother hadn’t wanted this. Her mother would have—

“I’m me, but I’m a slave! How…?”

“The march of progress, slave Simone,” Beatrice said.

“Mama,” Cora whimpered, despite herself. A begging plea for this not to be true. For her mother to still be there, even if she knew it was hopeless.

She could see her pause. Like she had just noticed something important. Her mother looked at her and for a moment said nothing. In her eyes, there was a deep emotion, and for a split second, Cora felt something like hope.

Then, her mother slowly—languidly—slid her middle finger down between her legs.

“She will obey,” she said through a deeply satisfied grin as she started masturbating in front of her daughter. This time, no one had told her to.

Cora’s mouth fell open, and the slave that had been Simone grabbed her breast with the hand she wasn’t using to pleasure herself, and squeezed it between her fingers.

“She must obey,” she moaned, and came.