The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Bronwen turned the corner and found herself once more standing in front of the door.

It was a door she forgot about at all times, except for when she was once more standing in front of it. And even though seeing it again signalled that something was about to happen, it didn’t carry any memories of what lay on the other side with it.

Yet the sight of it seemed to take her away from herself; as soon as she saw it she felt her body no longer belonged to her. It unlocked a pattern for it to follow: she walked forward without setting the mental intention to do so. Then the doorknob was in her hand, the knob was turning, the door was swinging open: she stood in the open doorway.

It no longer mattered to her when she had been in this position before. With the door open to her, it only mattered that she follow the pattern required of her. When the door was open, when she was standing in it, there were things for her to do: it only mattered now that she do them.

With the door open, she stepped through. To her left stood another girl; she was always there. Sometimes her face was different, but she was always there, with an outstretched hand.

Bronwen closed the door behind her, and next disrobed herself. She passed her clothing into the outstretched hand of the waiting girl, and stepped past her, forgetting her again as soon as she’d moved past her.

It wasn’t a large room. It had been chosen for its nondescript size. The information drifted through her mind as she stepped deeper into it. It didn’t matter where she’d learned it, how she knew it. It was worth remembering for this second only: so she would remember.

It was an unused room on an unused floor in the building. It was small enough that the architect of the building had left it as empty space in the schematics; hadn’t even bothered to sketched out the room’s basic shape. So it was the ideal room: small enough not to figure into any of the official sketches or floor plan layouts, but large enough to fit several people at one time.

The room did not have windows, or doors beside the entrance. It did have overhead lights, but they were not stocked with regular lightbulbs. The lightbulbs used in the room were multicolored, and not stationary, so while the lights were on, the room was strobed in changing colors.

Those colors unlocked other steps in Bronwen’s mind. At the front of the room, parallel to the bare, white wall, were three mats on the floor. The wall was plain enough that it could easily soak up the colors that passed over it, creating the illusion that it was changing color itself.

Two of the three mats were occupied by other girls like her. Their faces were as interchangeable as the girl who stood guard at the door. When Bronwen was in the room, the two girls were always to the right of her mat— leaving the mat closest to the left corner of the room for her.

She knelt onto it. Like the girl she’d passed when she’d entered, the two girls to the right of her were forgotten as soon she’d taken her place.

The sensation of the mat pressing into her knees opened other things in her head. Now, it didn’t matter that she remember anything from the other times at all. It didn’t matter that she be aware of anything around her— except the colors around her, and the feelings in her body. She’d been brought fully into the present moment. No moment had existed before it— and for her purposes, no moment would exist after it.

She’d come to hold obedience in her mind— she understood this now, on a level that was without words. The colors could help to show her how it was done. She only had to watch them washing over the wall, and her mind would follow them into the heart of the feeling she was being asked to hold.

She watched for awhile, but the colors did more than guide her mind. She found her body following them, too: they led her hand to rest between her legs. They dictated the tempo for her stroking to follow. Then it felt as if they had somehow slipped inside of her, and were stirring through her pleasure centers, leading her to delicious sensations, through them, and to more intensity on the other side.

Or it was the feelings inside of her projected up onto the walls. Somehow the two were merging in her perception. The colors felt like what was happening inside her. What was happening inside looked the way the colors did.

Translating one from feeling to image only served to turn one into the other. The colors became sensation… the sensation became color. The two were one and the same; of the same quality, only distinct based on the medium in which they appeared: her body, the wall. They could go on trading positions. Bronwen was happy either way.

Obedience looked like those colors on the wall… or felt the way the pleasure did in her body. Her own obedience was projected on the wall for her to watch, or it was filling her body, or it was doing both at once. Because there was too much for her to hold all of it in her mind; too much even to fit inside the room.

It was important that it could flow into her and back out again— that it could slip from the wall into her body, then from her body to the wall again. She was part of a circuit that extended through the entire room, through the other girls in the room she was only just remembering. Remembering only because it was right to remember them now.

As the obedience passed through the room, and the through the others in the room, and through her, it multiplied. The only way to keep it confined to the room was to expend some of it. The only way to expend was to serve.

The other two girls to the right of her were of use to Bronwen, then— and worth remembering. She could serve them, they could serve her. The two of them seemed to have the same intention at the same moment, and all three of them met on the center mat.

The colors on the walls could direct all three of them in concert, then; while the fourth girl kept guard by the door, and watched. It was equally important for her to stand there, only to watch.

The three on the mat could best serve the obedience circulating through the room. The colors on the walls, the colors that painted over everything, and the way they felt when they translated to internal pleasure guided the three of them together. Bronwen remembered to be one of three, but during that time, that was all she was. Not even Bronwen any longer: just one of the three on the mat, serving— easily interchangeable with the other two.

All three of them served each other for a time. Serving that obedience, and being its conduit reduced some of the tension in the room. It was better to use it than to only let it multiply; and serving it and putting it into use brought the reward of release to each of the three of them.

When at last all three girls were spent, the fourth girl stepped away from the door to reach the light switch. She flicked it off, reducing the room to a dim glow; and each of the three girls remembered to be themselves again. All three stood, and walked to the door, taking each of their outfits back from the the guard at the door and pulling them back onto their bodies.

Something registered in Bronwen’s mind just as she put her clothing back on. Next time, it would be her turn to be the guard. But then the door opened, and the three girls were in the hall again. And then it didn’t matter that she remember that information any longer. When she found the door again, and passed through it, she would remember then.

As each girl walked away from the door, each of the three of them went their own way, leaving the others behind them. And the longer Bronwen walked the more distant the door became to her, until it was forgotten entirely.

When she got back to the north side elevator, she noticed she was on the third floor, and thought how strange that was, as she worked up on the fifth floor. She looked down at her watch, and noted that she had just five minutes until her break was over.

It never occurred to her to wonder what she’d been doing on the third floor during her break. The elevator arrived before she had the chance, and by the time she was on her way back up to the fifth floor, the third floor was only a distant memory in the back of her mind, waiting for her there, along with that same old door.