The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Juliana fought the urge to swallow. She had made the mistake earlier of swallowing just for the sake of swallowing, and she wouldn’t repeat it. She’d heard a news story once about starving people eating dirt to make the hunger go away. She’d thought swallowing her own saliva might have the same effect on her thirst. So, she’d spent some time swallowing, just to feel like she was drinking liquid again. It had given her temporary relief, but in the long run it had made her thirstier and given her the beginnings of a sore throat. So now, even though she wanted to swallow again, just for the satisfaction of feeling liquid pass through her throat, she was resisting the impulse.

She’d lost track of the number of days she’d been in captivity. No one had come to see her or explained to her why she had been taken captive. But there were people around. When she fell into sleep, they brought her food and water. She had not trusted either, at first, but when she couldn’t hold out much longer, she’d broken down and eaten, and drank.

The food had not had any effects on her. She had eaten the food first, and was relieved to find it was not drugged, and did not alter her in any noticeable way. The water, however, was a different story. She doubted it was really water. It was almost certainly drugged, but it was like no drug she’d ever heard of. For one thing, in the dark of the room where she was held, it had a slight but noticeable glow to it.

That was not what really bothered her, though. When she drank it, it was like an immediate shift. Her body flooded with arousal, and images filled her mind. She did not know how it was possible that a liquid drink could put images into her head, but it did: horribly degrading images of her in sexually compromised positions, and apparently enjoying them. A few sips had been enough to convince her she wanted nothing to do with this liquid.

But no other liquid had been offered to her to drink in its place. Her choice had been made very clear: drink the strange drugged liquid, or drink nothing. This had left her swallowing her own saliva to try and take the edge off her thirst. But the more time dragged on, the more her thirst increased.

She had a pretty good idea of what would happen to her if she drank the liquid as she wanted to. The combination of the mental images and the manufactured arousal painted a very clear picture. If she drank the liquid, it would turn her into the slave she’d seen in her mind’s eye. Even the little bit she had drank had had a striking effect on her mind. It had made her feel strangely dizzy, and disoriented. Even though it had been days and days since her brief sip, her mental clarity had not returned. Just as her arousal had not again decreased. Whatever effect the liquid had, it was clearly permanent. This made her even more certain she didn’t want to drink it.

She had resolved she would die before she drank it again—die, before she would allow her captors to turn her into a sexual plaything. It grew harder and harder to keep her resolve as time passed. The memory of the brief drink she had taken was alluring—and now, she was starting to think that the slight but noticeable glow of the liquid was enticing too. As dim as it was, it was the only light source in her cell, and she’d had to turn away from it so she couldn’t see. It was like a beacon in the darkness, calling her closer, tempting her with satisfaction. She told herself that the price of satisfying her thirst was too much to pay. She almost believed it.

What made this harder for her was that the food was normal. It was safe to eat. It did nothing to erode her free will or turn her into a sex slave. It just satisfied her, and made the hunger go away. This was the greatest frustration of all. Clearly, her captors didn’t actually want to kill her. They were perfectly happy to keep her alive and keep her prisoner as long as it would take for her to break down and drink. But they were not slipping secret drugs into her food, and they had not forcibly hooked her up to some kind of intravenous drip. She was their prisoner: they could have.

No, what unnerved her was that they clearly wanted her to choose her own enslavement. They wanted her to choose to become a slave. Somehow, this was crueler than if they forced her to be one. It was torture sitting in the dark, feeling her throat ache and burn from the lack of hydration. But it was also mental torture: the remedy to her pain was right behind her, and all she needed to do was drink. Nothing was keeping it from her but herself. She need only give in, and drink that cursed liquid, and her thirst would be quenched.

The isolation was also amplifying her suffering. She’d ran out of mental distractions days and days ago. Now, the best she could do was try to keep her mind clear. Again, as her mental clarity had taken a hit from the liquid, this was a challenge in itself. But she tried. She tried to keep her mind empty and not think any thoughts at all. When she thought, the only thing she thought about was how thirsty she was, and how the solution to that was right there.

Apart from the thirst, she had not experienced any other symptoms of dehydration—headache, nausea, lightheadedness. She’d come to suspect that they were keeping her body physically hydrated (or close to it) through her food somehow. She doubted she really would be able to die instead of drink. It seemed like they were prepared to keep her alive indefinitely. Somehow, she didn’t doubt that they would leave her as she was for years if they had to. She was stubborn enough to test them. She wasn’t about to lose herself to slavery willingly.

When she slept in the night, she dreamed about the liquid coursing down her throat and satisfying her. She dreamed about becoming the slave she’d seen in her mind, and how good it would finally feel to give in. She would finally be released from her thirst. Then, she could drink it and drink it forever and ever and become an even sluttier slave all the time. There would always be more liquid, and so there would always be more obedience. And if there was more obedience there would be pleasure. And more pleasure would make her a better slave.

Her dreams were very clear about this. For the most part she managed to keep these spiralling thoughts out of her waking life… for the most part.

Now, she was focusing very hard again on keeping her mind blank. She was pointedly not paying attention to the arousal that was still circulating in her system. She was pointedly not thinking about how her throat was burning. She was pointedly not thinking about how this was her life now, and this would be her life forever if she never gave in. She could sit here, with her pride, and be a captive forever, and spend her endless days consciously clearing her mind over and over again. It would never end. And if she gave in, and drank, and obeyed… that obedience would actually give her freedom. The choice to keep her mind free imprisoned her. The choice to surrender her mind would free her. Remaining “free” and un-enslaved trapped her. Obedience and enslavement were the true freedom.

She kept not thinking those thoughts. She kept her mind blank, as always. She was going to hold onto her pride and her “freedom” if it were the last thing she did. It probably would be the last thing she, Juliana, non-slave, did. But she was still going to do it, as long as she could. She could keep eating her allotted food, and sitting in silence and darkness for hours, only to fall asleep, wake up, and do it again. She would keep doing it, as long as she could.

The more time passed, the more she knew she was going to fail eventually. She wouldn’t be able to resist the thirst forever. She would break down, and give in, and it was going to feel so good when she did… it would be so satisfying to drink that liquid, so satisfying to drink more of it all the time and drink it forever. It would feel so good to drink the liquid, and feel it setting her free, even as it took control of her mind forever…

But, even if her surrender was inevitable, she could put it off for a little longer. If only as a testament to her own willpower, if only as a testament to the self she would lose forever… she would resist for just a little longer…