The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Saturday night party at Doc’s had swirled around her, peachy yellow and more colourful than before.

All of a sudden, in this polychromatic world, she felt she could have anything she wanted. She could take anything she wanted, anyone she wanted, and she would. It was nothing less than her right and her duty. She was just—better than other people. Fact. Anna glanced surreptitiously around. She was surprised people hadn’t noticed how she glowed; how special she suddenly was. Well, they would. She’d make sure of that.

Without warning, a pure and familiar impulse, but stronger than she had ever felt—and the clear certainty in her mind—fact!—that whatever she wanted she could, and should, take, instantly and without question. She’d never felt more awake.

Anna took the bottle of Peachy Yellow from his hand, looked him straight in the eye and licked her lips slowly. “Thanks,” she said. “Now, I need something else. No strings. No boundaries. No limits.”

And later that night, after she’d taken her fill of him, along with a couple of the other guys, and even one of the female objects too, she began to draw up her own special secret checklist of things to do.

But now, in the alleyway, she suddenly knows there is something wrong. It’s just a vague down feeling at first, nagging at her as Doc zips himself up, pats her on the bottom, tells her how special she is. She sees a woman watching her from the doorway, shadowed. Anna straightens up, adjusting what passes for her clothes. The figure looked familiar, somehow. Who—? She squints in the fading light.

“Anna?” the figure says. “Is that you?”

Fucking Kathleen. What the hell does she want? But something is gnawing at Anna. What is that feeling? The Peachy Yellow doesn’t seem to be working as it should. She feels sullied, somehow. The fierce joy of her superiority is ebbing.

“Large as life, Kath, and twice as bad,” she says, without conviction. Her vision is darkening at the edges.

“What have you done to yourself, Anna? I’ve been looking for you for two weeks, after that night. Why didn’t you call me? What are you doing here?”

Anna says nothing. Doc has vanished into the shadows now. Kathleen walks towards her, into the pool of the overhead streetlight.

“You look like a complete slut, Anna! What have you done to your hair? And—oh my god—what’s that on your back?”

Was she talking about her wonderful mission statement? Kathleen was just another object, she reminded herself, but it somehow didn’t feel that way. It was Anna who didn’t feel real. She felt—what was that feeling?—suddenly weakened somehow, diminished, the peachy colours dimmed. Average. She ached for another pill.

What was it Doc had said about that? How much was too much? What was the worst that could happen? She gulps one down, then another, a third, ignoring her boring and irritating ex-best friend. Things are different now. Kathleen R.I.P.

“Are you on drugs?” squeals Kathleen. “You’ve been behaving like such a horrible person! I know this isn’t you, Anna.”

“Fuck you. I’m special, now,” Anna manages to slur. But her heart isn’t in it. She isn’t feeling right at all. Another Peachy Colours, just one more, swallowing it dry, surely four will be enough…

Something snaps in her head. The world goes peachy cream and white, and Anna sinks to her knees, helpless.

Distantly, at the end of a long dark tunnel, she hears Kathleen’s voice. “My god. You’re coming with me, Anna.”

When Anna wakes up, the first thing she realises is that she isn’t at home. She’s in Kathleen’s bed, a haze of pink, surrounded by fluffy toys. She tries to feel the old contempt for that, but it’s gone. The second thing she realises was that she can’t move; Kathleen has tied her to the bed. She tugs experimentally, but nothing shifts.

The third thing she realises is that she feels very odd indeed.

She’s grown used to being horny of course, and grown used to doing what she wants these last two weeks—because that’s her right!—but this is weirdly intense. A kind of deep arousal, nagging at her. She tries to remember what it felt like, being special, but she can’t. Everything is fuzzy and indistinct. She tries to imagine taking the initiative, hunting her prey out there in the world, but the thoughts skid away like beads of mercury on a tabletop. An absence of affect; Anna feels somehow distant, disconnected, passive.

Kathleen pokes her head around the door. “How are you feeling, Miss Cold Turkey?”

Anna gathers herself as best she can. “Weird. Why am I tied up?”

“Major withdrawal symptoms. You could hardly move when I got you home, but then you started thrashing around, demanding to be ‘special’ again, crying about ‘peachy yellow’. You’ve been out forty-eight hours.”

Kathleen fumbles with the knots, untying her. Gingerly, Anna sits up. Distantly she notes that Kathleen is dressed a little out of character, quite daringly for her, and she has her dark hair scraped back in a tight ponytail.

Anna’s mind feels numb, absent all willpower. The only thing she can feel is a hungry sexual ache. She feels empty. The world feels empty. Dimly, she remembers; and the adventures of the last week flash through her mind, but they don’t feel real. She can’t imagine herself doing any of that.

Kathleen is holding up the plain white little bottle of pills. She shakes it. “This is what you’ve been taking, bitch?”

“Just painkillers...” Anna mumbles.

“Bullshit. I spoke to your friend Doc. I know all about this stuff now, Peachy Yellow. And the other stuff, too.”

“The other stuff?” Anna is finding it difficult to speak.

“The antidote. I gave you one already. Here—take another. One a day, to help you play,” she chants.

Kathleen’s being unusually assertive, but she’s glad her friend has taken charge of the situation. Dutifully, Anna complies, washing the pill down with a swig of water. She thinks of Jack Daniels, and shudders. A warm glow of love and well-being spreads through her body, all tension leaving her. The world looks faintly blue.

Kathleen is looking at her, hands on hips, smiling.

“Just look at you lying there. ‘Instant gratification’, is it? Turn over and show me, then.”

Anna does as she’s told, adopting a hands and knees position on her friend’s bed. Kathleen has been so good to her, she thinks. She doesn’t know what she’d do without her. She would do anything for Kathleen, she thinks, and on all fours she feels the warm glow of pleasing someone.

Kathleen’s voice is cool. “Everything has an antidote. Peachy Colours ratchets up your impulsiveness, assertiveness, control. The antidote does what antidotes do: the opposite. Aren’t you feeling better already?”

Anna would like to nod. The feeling is good.

Kathleen’s hand is on her tramp stamp, stroking it. Her hand moves to Anna’s buttock, squeezing. Anna thrills to her touch, rolling her hips slightly under her hand, knowing she’s wet.

“Very good,” says Kathleen. “You know what I did last night, while you were asleep? I did some of your precious Yellow, just to understand. And it was a revelation—I suddenly saw the pattern! So I went out and did exactly what the fuck I wanted for a change. God, it felt good. And then I tracked down your friend Doc, and explained to him exactly what I’d do to him if he didn’t fork over the goodies, and the antidote, right there and then. Which he duly did, in his own best interests, of course. I think I may have frightened him, actually.”

Anna dimly wonders how many pills Kathleen has taken, to come so far, so fast.

Kathleen is still talking, her words running on fast, but oddly neutral in tone. “I like Peachy Yellow. Makes me feel special, as special as I really am. Unique. You remember that, bitch? But you, Anna, you treated me like a doormat. Remember the stuff I used to take from you. Then you didn’t call for weeks. And then guess who’s there when you need help? Me. Well, you don’t get to treat me like that. So you don’t get to have any Yellow, and you’re going to keep taking the antidote, and then we’ll see what happens. Don’t you just love the warm and wonderful feeling of it?”

Anna would like to ask a question, but something stops her. She realises it’s because Kathleen has not invited her to speak. She’d like to shift position, to look Kathleen in the face, but she can’t, because she hasn’t been asked to do that, and her body just doesn’t want to. Dimly, she knows it’s only the drug, the antidote, but that makes no difference at all. Her personality seems to be dissolving.

“And today I bought a present, especially for you, bitch, since I know what you like.”

Anna starts as something wide and long slides into her, and she trembles in position as it starts to vibrate, sending waves of glorious pleasure through her helpless body.

Everything is amplified. Everything is blue.

She hears Kathleen’s voice, still talking, up close, but heard as at a distance. “Is that big enough for you? I’m going to dress you up, later, just how I want you to look, and then I’m going to play with you properly, and after that we’re going to get you some new body art, get you all nicely labelled up so everybody can know exactly what kind of a bitch you are. And then you’re going to be my servant, and you’ll just do everything I say. I can make you do anything I want now.”

Anna doesn’t argue. There is no argument to be had, in this strange and happy state. Her head is full of warm cotton wool; the vibrating inside her is pleasantly distracting. She hopes it stays there for a while. She dimly wonders what Kathleen has in mind, hopes it won’t hurt; somehow Anna manages to mumble the question, and Kathleen smacks her on the ass, hard.

“Objects don’t talk. Anyway, that’s just the start. I’ve got good plans for you. A whole checklist of new and interesting things. Activities. Changes! See?” Kathleen waves a little piece of paper in front of her face and Anna reads what’s written there with a slow dawning realisation.

“I’m going to make you really special, Anna, just like you wanted. I bet you can hardly wait, can you?”