The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Did I do the right thing?” Summer asked the next morning as she and her father watched the news and heard the reports. “Boiler explosion” and “binge drinking gone horribly wrong” were the excuses used for the massive destruction at the school and barely coherent students scattered across the field.

“You did the necessary thing. You’re not dead, the door isn’t being broken down by the cops. Whether what you did the objectively right thing—no, don’t tell me the details, I’m your father, not your conscience—or not, you did the necessary thing, and I’m clearly not the only person who thinks that. So now you have choices to make that you might not have anticipated. You can go cold turkey and give it all up, you can go to college and learn how to become a more ethical controller, or you can take up Anya’s mantle in Russia. Don’t worry about the parents. I’ll handle them. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“How many friends do you have left, dear?”

Summer and her father both turned their heads at the sound of Summer’s mother speaking from the kitchen. Summer’s mother emerged. “Don’t think I don’t know. I don’t understand all of it, but I remember when Dawn went back to babbling the moment you started to crawl. It was enough to keep myself from having you run amok as a little girl. And you’re still our little girl. You take good care of people. It’s when you start leaving them behind that you know you’ve strayed.”

“Well?” Summer’s dad asked.

“It’s not leaving them behind if keeping them means you stray further. You’ve both been fantastic. I love you both so much. But I can’t stay here. There’s still so much to do. Summer Doby, American college student, doesn’t have the resources for that. Olga Petrovna Dobrieva, chosen heir to Anya Grigoryevna Dobrieva, does.” She took out her phone and sent a series of group texts to call a meeting at the skate park, then crossed her fingers that she wasn’t about to destroy everything.

“How many, Shan?” Summer asked as she went over the crowd.

“Not a one left you. Even the ones from other schools played hooky. You forget—if it hadn’t been for you, we’d all be up various levels of shit’s creek,” Shannon said.

But Summer still felt uneasy as she took out the simplified rules and began handing them out. “When we started, I gave you one ultimate, overriding set of commands: to be my friend and to trust me. Now I need you to trust yourselves. The next phase involves my late Aunt Anya. She had an empire of oil and coal that is rivaled only by Pittsburgh and Arabia. To take her throne, I have to attempt to show the coldest, most vicious controllers in the world that I own enough people to join their ranks. I won’t force you to follow. What they ask is more than poking and prodding—it’s debasement and violation. I don’t like it, but if enough of you are willing to follow me through the coldest of hells, you’ll be rewarded with the sweetest of heavens that no man has yet imagined. That’s all I can offer you.”

She waited to let the truth of her words sink in. “Those who wish to stay, meet me at the store between six in the evening and midnight, and I’ll free you. I won’t ask you to forget what happened last night, but I’ll ask you not to remember. You deserve innocence. Those who wish to follow me, meet me here tomorrow at this time. Those of you I don’t see at all... I won’t judge you. But before you decide, read the rules. Study them. Look into your own mind and determine just how deep your trust in me goes. If you envision yourself living by those rules, then return here, and I’ll file to have you erased from the world.

“Because that’s what I’m asking of you if you join me. The moment you board the plane—no, the moment you board the bus to the airport, the life you were born into will end, and you will exist as my thrall, a worker under my domination. You’ve felt the warmth of my best days and the merciless chill of my worst nights. You have to decide for yourself. I’m leaving now. No, you stay too, Shannon. I leave alone. I’ll be at the store if you decide to leave.”

Before she could say anything else—before she could make pleas that would sway their minds away from any decision they were making—Summer walked to the car and drove alone to the mall. For a while, she sat in the driver’s seat, contemplating the Russian passport in the name of Olga Dobrieva, wondering if anything that sent people to such depths could possibly be the right thing, no matter what promises she made to herself, no matter what power it gave her

The reminder of her power nudged her to a despicable job she had to do. She got out of the car and went to the back room of the store, where the five dolls awaited blankly in the back room. She knew they had to be altered to pass the tests the Rasputin Society would put them too, and likely the Llewellyns would be the only perfect ones; the other three had been taken too far before Summer had ever gotten her hands on them.

She spent hours working on them to make sure that they were as empty, mindless, obedient, and vacant as they would need to be to prove her power. Day had turned into night by the time she was done. She emerged from the store only long enough to pick up her new glasses, then put on a nametag and minded the counter just to pass the time.

The clock ticked to 6:01, and the jangle of the bell above the door let Summer know she had company. She looked up—and almost burst into tears at the sight of Shannon and Ron. “Hey,” she said, her throat closing.

“Damn it, Shan, I told you we should have come before the deadline,” Ron said.

“You’re right. Cherish it.” Shannon turned to Summer. “Easy there. I’m not asking to be set free. I want to live for you, to help you, to make you stronger, to keep you balanced.”

“I don’t want to be let loose either. You made us more dedicated than ever, and I don’t want to lose that. We don’t want to be slaves, but we still want to be yours,” Ron explained.

“But you want to belong to each other, too. You want to settle down, have a family, raise a child,” Summer said, realizing the dilemma.

“Yeah. I know, it sounds so trite—we’re only eighteen! And we’ll go with whatever you decide—if you want to keep one of us, but not both—” Shannon’s eyes closed and her face twisted in emotional agony—“we get it. But we really, really want to be together.”

The voice Summer had privately dubbed her Olga voice said, How dare they! I trusted Shannon with more than anyone else, and she dares to ask this of me?

Summer told that voice to pipe the hell down, because Shannon had been her friend long before everything had gone crazy, and she valued Shannon’s true happiness more than a cheap imitation bought through enthrallment. Looking for an answer, she looked up at the ceiling of the store—and then it hit her. “I still have holdings here, and I want to keep them. Every little bit helps. Someone’s got to run them while I’m in Russia. Shannon, take the register. Ron, supply’s coming in fifteen minutes, so head over to the loading dock. Any other couples in the same conflict?”

“None that I know of, but there’s still time for something to come up.” Shannon came around the counter and gave Summer a hug. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“One other thing you have to do, though. Ron’s right. Lay off the hitting, even when he’s being stupid. It stops being funny after a while.”

Ron came around the counter and gave Summer a hug. “Thank you!” he said.

At the end of the appointed time, no one else came in. Privately, Summer was hoping for no-shows more than a united front. She studied the rules and shaved her dolls one at a time, then dressed them in pink and blue fetish outfits with gaudy makeup, until they looked like life-size Barbie and Ken dolls—albeit anatomically correct ones. She fed them a simple salad and took them to the airport, where they were packed appropriately; once upon a time, this curious hybrid of a cargo hold and a passenger section would have frightened her, but now she looked on with no expression as the five dolls were placed in narrow compartments strikingly like coffins, where they would remain until they were unloaded.

Then it was time to go home for the last time, to sleep the last night in her bed, to taste the last batch of her mother’s pancakes, to hear the last advice from her father, to see her parents one last time before she embarked on a journey she didn’t even know the final destination of. “I kept the store. Shannon and Ron will take care of it for me. I’ll have to keep an eye on my holdings, of course, but if this works out as I hope, it’ll be such a small part that I won’t see them too often,” she said as coldly as if she were Anya herself.

But her dad knew better, and he hugged her, a proud smile on his face. “Good luck, Summer,” he said.

She took the car out to the skate park, where the buses she had chartered were waiting. As nine drew closer, the cars began to pull in and drop off. The sight was a little frightening, even to the one who had inspired it. The guys all seemed to have settled on green muscle shirts and shredded jean shorts that showed their excitement at leaving; most of them had also shaved their heads, and the few that hadn’t had dyed their hair her bright green. The girls wore green-and-black striped knee-highs, fishnet tops that barely obscured their braless breasts and erect nipples, denim skirts that revealed green lace panties or bare pussies, and black boots with heels a stripper would have been proud of.

As she entered the park and got a closer look at the people who were gathering, she saw that most of the girls had green hair; as she took an even closer look, she realized that none of them had dyed it. She recognized the shapes and sparkle of the various glam wigs the store sold, and knew that not a single strand of fake green hair was left at the store.

The remaining eight from her crew made their way through the crowd to stand at her side. They had all tweaked the general uniform a little bit, but the ideas remained the same. Priya still wore her cricket shirt, but tied up so high that it looked like a bra with sleeves; Katelyn’s homebrew cheer outfit would have made even a porn actress blush; Vanessa wore a suit jacket, but no blouse underneath, and wore black-rimmed glasses to complete the ‘sexy librarian’ look.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” Summer said.

“Say that you understand,” Emma answered.

“Say that you’ll care for us,” Kylie answered.

“Say that you won’t betray our trust,” Priya answered.

“Even if we trust so much we won’t know we’ve been betrayed,” Katelyn finished, adjusting the green wig on her head.

“I made you no better than the jocks,” Summer groaned.

“No, because you gave us a choice. You’re keeping, not taking. We chose to stay with you. We went to the drugstores and bought out every razor, razor blade, tube of shave gel, and bottle of Nair in a mile-radius because we trust that the goal is important enough for us to adhere to these standards. Just don’t expect us to be flashing all the time,” Dana said with a wink.

“I’d be grossed out if you did, unless you mean boobs,” Summer said with a warm smile. “All right, everyone here? Other than Shannon and Ron, I know they’re staying to take care of things here.”

“Eight ran away, all from the last batch when you were rushing for manpower,” Evelyn reported in an almost dead tone of surrender.

“All right. Everyone get on board the buses. We’re on our way,” Summer ordered.

They filled the buses and headed to the airport, where Anya’s plane and an additional one Summer had hired were waiting. Summer directed them onto the planes and took her place in Anya’s private cabin on her plane. As soon as the wheels were up, she had the pilot send the signal. In the space of a few heartbeats, 140 people were stricken from record, cover stories put into place, their existence obscured in all databases. Those who knew honored their sacrifice and recognized their heroism for the monsters they’d helped destroy.

“Olga Petrovna Dobrieva, of the family Dobriev, designated but unproven heir of Anya Grigoryevna Dobrieva, do you have dolls and thralls to present for confirmation of your abilities?” the stern man behind the bench snapped in crisp, mind-splitting Russian to Summer. To either side of him, other senior members of the Rasputin Society watched; some wore the tools of their trade, while others kept their weapons sheathed.

“I do, Mikhail Grigoryevich,” Summer told him. “Enter!”

The group marched in with military precision, and Mikhail looked at their garish attire with an expression that blended fascination and disgust. “Ninety female, fifty male. A good ratio to start. Undress!”

Summer gulped, but the clothes came off. So far the quick and dirty Russian language lessons she’d given her people on the plane were working.

“Twenty incompletely shaved, though the important parts are at least done. Do you have a test pose, Dobrieva?”

Before Summer could answer, her crew bellowed, “DA!” and took their positions. Summer fought to keep a straight face as she watched each of the guys lift one of the girls, the strongest women in the back lifting the last twenty to make up the numbers. In unison, the girls each bent their right leg behind their heads. Summer had come up with it, but Katelyn had perfected it, as a nod to where they came from and as a final ‘fuck you’ to the enemy.

“Unprompted! Excellent. I must ask you to leave now, Olga Petrovna, so that we can test without your interference.”

Summer nodded her understanding and left the room. An hour later she was allowed back in. Mikhail reported, “Twenty ruled servants by trance break, fifty vassals, seventy serfs. That is right at the minimum fifty percent for consideration of admission to the Tsar’s table. Impressive for your youth, but we would need something more to tip the balance. Do you have any dolls available for testing? One flawless doll will be all that we need.”

“I have five. Three were repurposed, therefore inherently flawed. The other two are not, but they are related, and I will not have any of my property subjected to that barbaric test. I accept my membership to the Society with pride and humility,” Summer said, knowing even as she said that, she had ceded most of Anya’s empire.

“Your nobility is noted. But are you certain? Incestuous intercourse is the ultimate mind break. It would automatically and instantly confirm the doll state and your right to the duchess’s titles,” Mikhail pushed.

“I understand that. But there are other standards that can be met. The two I transformed myself were controllers themselves, the creators of a slaver cult that used dolls for murder and torture before selling them to the highest bidder,” Summer said.

That drew gasps from the crowd. Mikhail swiveled his head to each side to quell them with a stern look that had authority if not mental force behind it. “Document the dolls and the incest test will be waived,” he said.

Before Summer could ask for the bag that contained her documentation, before she could say a word, Priya began to speak. “It began almost thirty years ago, with the brother and sister Owen and Bronwyn Llewellyn...”

Not in chorus, but each person taking their turn in a seamless sequence, Summer’s cult told the story, leaving out no details: the history of Glassville High, the beginnings of the hive mind, the atrocity that happened after Pinkerton, the entrance of Cassidy, the acceleration of technology, the casual cruelties and escalating violence of the jocks, the process of creation, the equipment that forced synchronicity on its victims, the death of Dawn Doby and how it catalyzed Summer into taking on her power, the way Summer had built her group, the takedowns of Cassidy and her mother, into the final battle on the football field and its aftermath.

“The documentation is accepted. Your servants’ loyalty is noted. Bring forth the dolls. Include the flawed for judgment as standard dolls,” Mikhail ordered. Summer nodded and went into the hall to summon her dolls. The four Barbies and single Ken entered in formation, glassy eyes showing no sign of taking in their surroundings.

“Good. We must ask you to leave again, Dobrieva, so that we can put your dolls to the test.”

Summer left and waited. And waited. Four hours passed in loneliness she hadn’t known since before she’d taken up her power. Everyone she knew and trusted was either on the other side of the door or on the other side of the world, and they might as well have been one and the same. Every so often she heard screams or moans, and she thought that meant the test was going well.

At long last, the door opened and she was allowed to re-enter the chamber. Mikhail’s face showed no emotion as he spoke. “We have tested your creations and found them acceptable. Even the three flawed ones showed perfect technique in their erasure. Therefore we welcome you to the Rasputin Society, Olga Grigoryevna Dobrieva, and confirm that you are the true and worthy heir of Anya Grigoryevna Dobrieva. Kneel and accept her titles.”

Summer understood what the change in her name meant—all of the Society’s members were ceremonially the children of Rasputin himself, and to bear that patronymic was to show her power. She knelt and waited for Mikhail to speak again. “By the power vested in me by the Society, I, Mikhail Grigoryevich Yagudayev, declare you Grand Duchess of Siberia and the Bering Coast, and Lady of the Midnight Sun.”

“A question for you,” Summer said. “Lady of the Midnight Sun, that was my aunt’s personal honorific?”

“Yes,” Mikhail said.

“Then let that remain her personal title. I wish to take for myself the title Mistress of the Summer,” she said, and her voice was sharp and piercing.

“Very well. All that was Anya Grigoryevna Dobrieva’s is now yours. You may dress your slaves and leave,” Mikhail said. The court adjourned.

Summer’s people began reaching for the scraps of green and black clothing they’d torn off, only for Summer to tell them in English, “Don’t worry, I arranged for sweatpants, t-shirts, undies—all that knockaround kind of stuff—for this. Get comfy—you deserve it!”

“All for you, Olga,” Dana said with a smile and a still-naked hug that Summer appreciated.

“To you guys, it’ll always be Summer. I took that title for a reason,” Summer told them.

The pilots came with the comfortable clothes, and after everyone was dressed, they headed back out to the planes and to their new lives.

“Gas prices have soared in the wake of a shift in power in the Russian supply chain—more on that in business. In other news, over two dozen teachers from the Pennsylvania town of Glassville have been arrested by the FBI on charges ranging from statutory rape to human trafficking, as the fallout from ‘Grizzlygate’ grows uglier by the day. Authorities are still searching for Glassville High’s principal, Bronwyn Llewellyn, and her daughter Cassidy, who they tell us lured students into so-called dream jobs that led straight into the underbelly of the American economy. We’ll have more on that after the break.”

“Thanks, but I think I know enough,” Shannon said to the television. She switched it off and gave Ron a kiss, knowing that Summer had made it, that the wrongs of decades were starting to be righted. She picked up the phone and called the number in the furthest reaches of Alaska.

“Shannon! Don’t tell me you need me back already,” Summer teased.

“How did you do it? I read those rules—I couldn’t have stayed that deep, even for you.”

“They trusted me that it was the only time,” Summer said with a smile. She looked across her desk at the knockout blonde who sat dazed across from her, resume scattered on the floor as she remained frozen in Summer’s blinding light. “I’d love to talk, but this is kind of a bad time. I think Katelyn’s around—hang on a sec.” She put the phone down and yelled, “Kate! Shannon’s on the phone, anyone want to talk to her?”

She transferred the line and got back to work on the blonde. “Irina, do you trust me?” she asked in Russian.

“Yes,” the helpless woman moaned.

“Then undress for me and we’ll start your training,” Summer said.

Winter was winter; Summer remained Summer. The cycle would never end, but the girl born Summer Doby who had grown into the woman known as Olga Dobrieva was determined to keep it turning on her own terms.