The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Two hours had passed since the last dialogue box appeared, and Trixie kept talking the entire time. Gone was the taciturn young woman. The busty redhead she had become could not remain silent for the life of her. Really, she was amazed. Her chatter never grew uncomfortable. Her big mouth never felt dry. The nanomachines that transformed her body also made sure she was biologically made to be a chatterbox.

There was only one thing...She had nothing to say. She had been erased, turned into a blank slate, and she knew it. As much as she desired to remember who she truly was, her mindscape was an empty wasteland, scoured clean by the headaches. And still, she kept talking. She avoided the implanted memories for her alter ego’s songs as best she could, but it meant she had to soliloquize on the furniture.

“Dang, now I’m regrettin’ having never taken shop class. Heck, maybe I did and they erased that too. And for that matter, is Trixie really still mah alter ego? Reckon I’m her, really, only, yanno, not stupid and bubbly. Not that I regret it. ’Cos let’s face it, I...”

The other thing that really bothered her was, well, her “freakin’ huge boobies”, as she had no choice but to put it. She couldn’t remember her size before the transformation, but knew the weight of the two juicy melons felt very unfamiliar. Oh, she couldn’t deny how sexy they made her feel, and how pleasurable to the touch they were. But she was grateful Candy Records had thought of leaving a fitting reinforced bra in the wardrobe. Without it, she felt as if she could lose her balance at any moment.

Still, her new knockers felt sexy and right. Whoever she once was probably felt that nature owed up a better rack. Hell, for all the awful stuff they did to her, Candy Records did her a solid in that area at least. A contented smile painted her lips as she playfully made them jiggle.

“They’re right awesome, they are! With mah thinned waist, I reckon I look like a model! Hmmm? Aw, gee, is that the sound of a key I’m hearin’?”

It was.

“Ohmigawd! Someone’s comin’!”

She briefly entertained the idea of hiding and rushing through the door, but it opened before she even began coming up with the specifics of her plan. Worse, no less than four people showed up behind it. Two bouncer types, Ian Horne—not that poor Trixie could remember him- and a tall, lanky guy in a lab coat. No way the buxom redhead could make it through them.

“If yer planning to pretend I’m an amnesiac Trixie or whatever, don’tcha bother!” She shouted, though it was more of a plea than an assertive declaration.

“We won’t.” Laconically said the tall guy. “Your future manager enjoyed pretending that, but it wasn’t necessary then and it isn’t necessary now.”

“Damn ya and yer power!” Whined Trixie. “So what, are ya going to just flip a switch and turn me into that bimbo?”

“No. We’re just going to tell you the truth. Mister Horne?”

The man who pulled poor Brooke into this trap stepped forward.

“Thank you, Mister Chapman. You see, Trixie Smiles isn’t real. She’s a virtual singer. A perfect artificial voice...And the woman you once were just happened to match her close enough to fool the human ear.”

Somehow, Trixie couldn’t retort. She couldn’t accept the idea of a virtual voice real enough to sound like her, or that it could somehow lead to kidnapping and brainwashing. And though her voice had become an infinite ammo vocal gatling gun...Hearing people talk made her shut up. She would have celebrated this piece of freedom, but she caught on the fact that Candy Records had merely programmed her to listen dutifully to her interlocutors.

“So Candy Records hired its sister company -which is to say, mine—” continued Mr. Chapman, “To make her real. To achieve that, we had to obtain a blank human first. And that’s what you are now. A basis. Completely brainwashed, and rewired to be talkative. We did this to you, and there is no use pretending we didn’t, because the rest of the process rests entirely in your hands.”

A pause. Trixie understood she could talk again.

“Whaddya mean, in mah hands? There ain’t no way in heck I’m gunna do yer biddin’, y’all bastards! And...”

“Yes you will.” Drably said lab coat guy, instantly closing her yapper shut. “You are nothing. You have no memories but whatever you remembered from the pop songs. You are a blank sheet, and if you don’t realize that your brain needs an identity to latch on, you soon will. You need to be someone, and the only identity we’ll let you absorb is Trixie Smiles.”

The poor brainwashed girl hung her head down. She couldn’t really argue with him. Only a few hours had passed, and this state of non-existence already felt intolerable.

“The person you were is gone forever. You are nothing but raw materials for a real-life Trixie. Either you give in and start turning into her, or you remain a clean slate.”

“I...I see...”

“This is why we’re just going to step back and watch you transform yourself. Because we know you won’t be able to resist the appeal of being someone, anyone, even a bubbly bimbo.”

Lab coat guy snapped his fingers, and one of the bouncers handed him a purse. In turn, he knelt down and left it on the floor.

“Here is what you will need to rebuild yourself as that bimbo. Good day.”

He turned around and went out the door. The others followed suit, only the handsome thirty-something making a friendly wave of the hand as he left. The door closed shut, and was locked immediately after. Trixie was still crushed under the weight of the revelations, but she could feel the chatter coming back. She had only seconds of sweet silence to enjoy.

“This is bullcrap, y’all.”

Bullcrap as it was, Trixie had nothing but the hardest time resisting. Her struggle was lost before it even began. That cold asshole was right...She needed to be someone. Her mind kept wandering to whatever Trixie Smiles told about herself through her songs. And though she did not actually remember growing up with five sisters, the implanted memory of their existence felt genuine.

The brainwashing victim had tried to distract herself, sure...But she had nothing but furniture and a sexy, sexy body to work with. She was content with covering her juicy melons under a greasemonkey t-shirt, but she soon felt the urge to fix her flowing red hair. With the aid of two accessories present in the medicine cabinet, she absent-mindedly tied her new mane into low-hanging pigtails.

And when she commented on her utterly adorable, buxom self in front of the the mirror, she realized something was missing. A smile. She looked way too great to be wasted on a dour expression. Putting a smile on her face entailed accepting Candy Record’s programming...But it felt natural. Inevitable.

And so she opened the purse. There were pills, a helmet and a belt with an inward-facing strap on. The helmet was attached some manner of lockable collar. Clearly, once she put it on, there was no turning back. Trixie peered inside it, and saw little doohickeys, as she put it. It was too dark for her to identify them clearly though, but that was no ordinary headgear.

“Trixie, ya in there?” She tentatively asked to the helmet’s interior. “Heh, ’course yer not. That’d be crazy. But...well, looks like I’m gonna be the one to make ya real. Tell me, how’s it like, being a dumb, sexy doll? I...I’m scared. I’m going to become ya. I just wanna know if ya can make me happy.”

She spent minutes babbling to Trixie, fiddling with the pills. Probably drugs, she thought. Her mind needed to be made soft and pliable if she was to change. She didn’t want to take them. She was scared. But every second spent talking to Trixie made her heart ache a little more.

“Yer not even real. Just a voice cooked by white ol’ men in cubicles. You destroyed mah life just to get inside of me, and yer still the best friend I have. Ya sing pretty well, by the way. Wouldn’t mind listenin’ to more of yer music, but them bastards have no need blastin’ it in here anymore. Next time you ever sing, it’ll be through mah mouth. I wonder if I’ll even realize I was sumbody else once? Maybe next time I woke up, I won’t be rememberin’ any o’this. Maybe I’ll believe Candy Records. Maybe I’ll feel good.”

The blank slate cried, still feeling the weight of her balloon tits. She couldn’t bear this limbo. As frightening as the change was...it was better than oblivion.

So she took both pills and went back to the corner, awaiting, trembling, for the effects to kick in. And not five minutes later, they did. Trixie felt warm and lightheaded.

“Oh gawd, here I am. With them drugs and the thing in mah head, I’ll...I’ll...”

She crawled to the strap-on, trembling, an unfamiliar heat in her crotch. She felt throbbing, wetness...And the overwhelming urge to get rid of her pants. She looked at her private area, knowing full well she had taken a powerful aphrodisiac but still confused by its potency.

“Mah gawd, it...it feels so weeeiiird. I...Gawd aaaannh...Mah hand feels so good...But it ain’t enough...I need sum’thing in...anythin’...”

The purple vibrator did not slide in easily. Candy had decided Trixie needed to be something of a fuckbunny, but Brooke was a virgin. Not that it mattered. When the plastic cock was inside, stirring her insides made extremely sensitive by the nanites, the poor girl lost all self-control. The shock of her first sexual experience left her so disoriented, the staff had to activate the microchip in her brain to get her to fasten the strap-on’s belt and put the mask on.

“W...What...Wait, no, don’t...I changed mah mind, I wanna stay nuthin’, don’t make me...mmmpfh!”

But her controlled hands put the mental restructuring device on, imprisoning her in darkness, with only an opening under her nostrils. She was forced to fasten the collar...And control was given back to her.

“Mmmmpfh! Hlllph!”

She wriggled on the floor, struggling against the strap-on and the helmet, but it was no use. They were secured in place. Still disoriented, Trixie began to panic when she felt the thick dildo begin to whir, agitated by a powerful motor. It felt good. Too good. So good it made her lose control. Her arms flailed around wildly, trying to get this otherworldly pleasure out of her. but before she could hurt herself, a screen lit up inside the mask, displaying a parade of soothing lights.

“Relax, Trixie. Don’t fight the pleasure. Breathe. Relax.” Said a male voice.

To her surprise, she found herself calming down. Not anything close to really relaxing, but calming down.

“Good. You know what you need, Trixie? A good chat. You love talking, don’t you doll? Well, in a few seconds, you’ll feel yourself doing just that. Even under the helmet, you’ll be able to talk as we finish melting your brain. Don’t worry, all your troubles will be over soon. You’ll be stupid and happy and free to talk to your heart’s content. So babble away, my little chatterbox. Babble away.”

Suddenly, the screen flared up, showing a much more chaotic field of colors. It was dazzling, mesmerizing, and she found her gaze completely captivated. Her thoughts slowed down, and her body started to go limp, free to be ravished by the indicible pleasure. And then, she heard Trixie’s voice.

“Hooowdyyy! Yay yay yay, I finally get to be a real girl! Awesum!”

And amazingly, she didn’t just hear it. She felt herself saying it. In a single moment, a heartbeat between words, what was once Brooke Wendell understood. Candy Records was letting their fake starlet invade her mind through her voice. She would, literally, talk herself into becoming Trixie.

“Boy, maaan! I luv Candy Records soooo much! They always here for me! Like when I told ’em I was no good at that brainy computer stuff, they understood! They’s no use tryin’ to teach me fancy stuff, I’s just a honest country girl, yanno? ’puters don’t do no singin’ and lovin’! Only a real girlie can! And I’ll be one now! Yeepeee!”

She felt everything. The happy, bubbly tone, the impulse to say the words, everything. As far as her brain was concerned, she, and no one else, was saying those words. And with the pulsating colors slowing down her thoughts, her brain was free to misinterpret the chatter as its own, too busy being rocked by the sex hormones to question it.

“Hmmm, I luv playin’ with mah boobies! Just love it!”

And rocked it was. Succumbing to the auto-suggestion, the clear slate began to fondle herself. She merely massaged her generous orbs at first, but soon talked herself into pinching and squeezing her nipples, sending her even further down the depths of mindless pleasure. The blank tried her best to think over the airheaded prattle, but each jolt of carnal bliss shed another layer of critical thought, like a good, simple and naïve country girl.

“Gawd, a real pussy done feel so good! I’s no two-cent hooker but nothin’ wrong with havin’ a big heart, right? Mah fans will luv knowin’ I’m open! No hickory tower for me, no sir! I sing and live for mah fans! Don’t even want that money stuff, that thing done corruptin’ many good folk. Candy Record needs it more, I says! They done sooo much stuff for me! I’ll give ’em everything, I just wanna sing and make luv’ to mah wonderful fans! Plus Mistah Horne needs that money too! I luv mah manager so dang much! Heck, he’s should be the first to make luvin’ with me!”

Soon, there was no resistance left. Trixie just kept reciting her hours-long soliloquy, imprinting it as a gospel in her influenced brain. She adored and trusted Candy Records. She was in love with her handsome manager. She wanted to be famous and meet her wonderful fans.

She was Trixie Smiles.

And as Trixie, she talked. Talked and talked about herself and her hobbies and the nice men of Candy Records and how grateful to them she was. Her chatter had felt so natural and carefree that she didn’t even feel the stupendously illegal drugs melting her brains to childhood levels. But she didn’t need much of a brain—she was set for life. A great body, a great personality everybody loved, and a whole company just to take care of her. She truly was a lucky little songbird. So when she drifted off to sleep, nothing but the most pleasant dreams visited her.

And the happiness didn’t end on the threshold to the waking world. The helmet and dildo were gone, and she was in a big, fluffy bed with big, warm pillows. With a content smile, she reached for one and hugged it tight as her implanted memories slowly coalesced into her new persona. The soft fabric on her big, sensitive boobies felt great, and she wriggled a bit, enjoying every pleasurable shiver. The sound of a door opening flew well under her notice.

“Good morning, Trixie. Wake up!”

Upon hearing her one and true name, the transformed girl pushed the blanket away and got up. She covered her juicy tittays, not by prudeness but to satisfy her brand new habit of fondling them. With big, curious eyes, she looked to the man at her bedside. He had been with the nice man who gave her the Trixie-creating thingies. He was with Candy Records! That alone made her smile, but not as much as the realization he could even be...

“Manager? Mistah Horne?” She asked, excited.

“Yes, beautiful. I’m your manager.”

She gasped. Her brain had thoroughly assimilated the admiration for the authority figure Candy Records programmed into her. To the buxom redhead, Mistah Horne was a boss, a father and a lover rolled into one. He was sexy, smart, powerful, and represented her creators. She stammered, her head swimming, her breath shortening. She wanted to say so many things. So many words of meek, subservient love...But hadn’t the first idea where to begin.

“Ohmigawd...I...I...”

“Shhh...”

Ian gently put his finger on her lips before caressing her hair. Now, more than ever, he was impressed with how total the changes were. He could barely recognize the woman who once was the morose Brooke Wendell. Everything about her fidgeting , buxom form and her starry eyes indicated that she had completely accepted her new existence as Trixie...but how completely?

“The deed is done. Candy Records and I erased everything you were. We cleaned the person you were born as and turned you into our soft-brained starlet. Everything you are now is a complete fabrication, and you inflicted the last step on yourself. You realize that, right?”

His victim hung down her head, and nodded solemnly.

“So, how does that make you feel?”

Silence. The girl trembled. An outburst was clearly making its way to the surface. she closed her hands, raised them at head level, drew a deep breath, and...

“It’s AAAAAAWESOOOOOOOOME!”

Trixie hopped, her mouth an ecstatic crescent.

“I luv what ya turned me into sooo dang much! I gots mahself the right best boobies, an adorable face, awesum hair and all the like...heck, havin’ a whole new personathingie feels soooo weird but I...I...I’M JUST SO EXCITEEED!” She shrieked with uncontrolled euphoria, waving her clenched hands around. “Everythin’ feels so super now! Candy Records done be the best people EVER! I’m a true, honest-to-gawd real life Trixie Smiles and y’all my creators and Masters! I can’t wait to meet mah fans so I can work hard n’ repay y’all! Thank you soooo much, Mistah Manager Sir!”

The completed Trixie threw herself into Ian Horne’s arms, pressing her generous boobies against him, hugging him with wild abandon.

“If you want mah pretty body, it’s all yours, Sir! Gosh you’s soooo hunky! How’s a silly airhead like mahself supposed to be chaste when workin’ for a stud like you?”

Horne smiled wide, grabbing her huge boobies and massaging them, eliciting adorable little moans.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about such big city girl concepts, Trixie. You’re a simple soul, and if you want to be a fuckbunny, you can just be. You’re straightforward and honest with your desires. That’s a great thing for a girl to be. Men will want you. I want you.”

“Tee-hee!” She giggled, embarassed. “Then...You can just use me. Do whatever...Bein’ transformed’s the best thing done happened to me! I trust you with everythin’, Mistah Manager! I luv ya...”

“I know.”

Trixie still felt a bit lightheaded from the afterglow when her beloved manager led her through Candy Records’ clean hallways and into an office. She really wanted to ride his cock again, but he said this was really important. And as she told him in her endless chatter, horny or not, Trixie wouldn’t be caught dead causing trouble for her creators.

“Trixie honey, this is Candy Records’ senior legal agent.” Explained Ian to the confused bimbo.

“What’s a legal agent?”

“Well, you know how we turned you into a real-life Trixie? This man is going to make your new self real in the eyes of the world. It will be as if you were born as the new you.”

“I sooo wish I was, Mistah Horne! I love who I am soooo much!”

“Yes, we all know that, darling. Now be a good girl and go to the man. Do whatever he tells you.”

“Sure thing, Sir!”

The helpless cutie skipped to the dour-looking man’s desk.

“Howdy! How can I help ya?”

“Take this pen,” Said the lawyer as he handed her said object and a binder full of documents, “And sign “Miss Trixie Smiles” wherever there is a X on the bottom of the pages.”

“Okiedokie!”

Trixie began to sign the legal documents without a second thought. She did read the writing on them a bit, but it was full of big words she barely understood.

“What’s ‘power of attorney’, sir?” She candidly asked. “Izzit a thing where you shootin’ lasers from the eyes and the like?”

“No, sugar.” Condescendingly smiled the specialist. “It just means Candy Records gets to take hard decisions for you.”

“Candy Records’ amazin’!” She joyously squeaked as she signed her rights away. “Do I gots, like a real singin’ contract in this here binder?”

“Of course, Trixie. The record contract was the first thing you signed. You’re an official Candy Records artist now.”

“Awesuuuum!”

One week had passed, and Candy Records verified Trixie’s loyalty at length. The sister company had done miracles. She was always psyched and ready for a singing rehearsal, and submitted to any employee like it was the most natural thing in the world. Trixie was as happy as she was at ease with her new self. The artificial personality had set so well, in fact, that the executives decided it was safe to reveal her true identity to her.

They were right.

That evening, Trixie came back from the head office, skipping and singing happily, her juicy boobies still buzzing a little from the titfucks she now loved doing. She was holding a file. On its cover was a picture of a young woman with short, sleek black hair. Trixie sat down in front of the computer, put down the file and played with her low-hanging pigtails for a bit.

“Hmmm, how do you turn this thing on again? I just keeps forgettin’...Aw yeah, the button to the right! Ah, naw, the left! Here!”

The computer whirred and turned on. Trixie was amazed at all that technology. It made recording her thoughts and talking to her fans all around the world possible. She was really grateful Candy Records had made a computhing easy enough for a silly girl like her, though she still largely preferred human contact. She followed the instructions, and soon, to Trixie’s delight, the webcam lit up. She loved being recorded.

“Howdyyy! I can’t believe it’s been days since I first showed mahself to y’all! Well, mah manager says it’s a recordin’ and Candy Records fixes it when mah mouth says somethin’ it ain’t supposed to...but still! I love you sooo much, fans! I’m so lucky to have y’all! I can’t wait to perform on stage! Hmmm...Dang, I wanted to tell y’all about somethin’...What was it? Oh, right! Mah manager done give me this!”

She showed the file to the camera, smiling from ear to ear.

“I’m told this is me! Can y’all believe it? I was this gal once! Mah name was Brooke! Funny, I can’t rememberin’ a thing about it. Mistah Horne told me she’s the true me but I just don’t be feelin’ it. I mean, I know I was created from a blank state thing, but I ain’t fake! I’m me! Plus, Brooke don’t have no boobies at all. It’s sad, a girl without boobies...If I was this Brooke gal, I couldn’t wait becomin’ me! I mean I’m sooo happy! I can just sing and make love to the nice Candy Records folks all the t...Huuuh...Huh hoh.”

Trixie pushed her index fingers together, pouting like a scolded child.

“Mah big mouth done talk about the forbiddin’ thingies again. Mistah Horne told me it ain’t no big deal, they can just fix it in post, whatever that means. Feel awful tho...Can’t help talkin’ about stuff but I don’t want to hurt them Candy Records folks. I owe them everythin’...”

Then, in a split second, she was back to smiling.

“Aw heck, no matter! I have a concert comin’ up! I’ll sing to y’all in the flesh! I can’t waaiiiiit! Lil’ old me, finally on stage! Like, heeeeee! I’m soooo exciteeed!”

And so she kept babbling to the camera, throwing her arms up and down and generally being the hyper, peppy yet humble bimbo the public loved. Upon rewieving the recording, Ian Horne knew he had to cut most of the beginning. But it was alright. He had the positive proof that Brooke had fully become his little Trixie. Even telling her the truth couldn’t sway her bubbly little brain one bit.

She was still an artificial person, but soon, she would begin to have real world experiences. Her new persona would grow and completely smother Brooke. Hell, Candy Records even planned on giving her a new, genuine country-folk family. After all, her first few videos had been hits. Making Brooke believe she was Trixie was only the beginning. Now, Candy Records had to convince the whole world their bimbo pop princess was the real deal.