The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Choose Your Own Transformation: Prisoner of the Master

AUTHORS NOTES:

World-building. Another mechanism of the enigmatic Weaver. Currently my last of the three story types planned. All feedback appreciated. Please send it to . Enjoy!

SYNOPSIS:

College student Katherine Nichols accidentally discovers The Weaver’s Choose Your Own Adventure portal, unaware that the choices she makes will alter her reality.

DISCLAIMERS:

  • This story is a work of fiction; any apparent resemblance between the characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.
  • Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18 or if explicit sexual fiction is illegal in your jurisdiction.
  • This story contains mind control and explicit descriptions of a sexual nature. If any of these concepts disturb you, please find something else to read.
  • This story is a work of erotic fantasy. It is not meant to reflect real life, nor should it be read as an endorsement of the actions and attitudes contained within.

In the beginning, all power came from words.

Entire realities were created and shaped by words.

Stories were the ultimate power and the Weaver, being keeper of stories, was powerful indeed. Not a god, though that confusion would be understandable, but the first people still told stories as acts of fealty unto him.

Stories of the seasons, so that the seasons would be kind.

Stories of victories, so that their enemies would know defeat.

Stories of love (and lust), because people needed to celebrate their victories somehow.

As words became commonplace, because people started to toss them around without true meaning or intent, stories became common. In turn, the Weaver’s power waned, but never diminished entirely.

“What good are stories?” the Weaver pined, but with a twinkle in his eye and hint of smile on his ancient face.

He knew, one day, perhaps this day, this story would be read.

And on that day, perhaps today, through some small sliver of belief, a fraction of his power would return to him.

All stories start with “What if?” the Weaver’s most powerful tool.

What if, for instance, the Weaver crafted a website where people could change their story, their personal reality and truth, by simply picking between a series of either/or options?

* * *

“Okay, class, your assignment for next session is to revisit something from your childhood that brought you joy and see how it affects you now that you’re a big, bad college student.”

Sure, Mr. Van Kamp likes to pick on his mostly Freshman class, but as I throw my tablet into my purse, I think this is why I love Psych 101. The assignments are easy, don’t overload you with tons of reading you don’t have time for, and seem to actually be quite fun. I’ve noticed there’s even been time for some of the other students to hook up. Mech E majors, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Of course, on the walk back to my dorm room, I rack my brain trying to think of something I enjoyed that won’t reflect on me too poorly. And access. I mean, where am I going to get a Barbie doll or a My Little Pony close to campus? And on a student’s budget? So I start to lean toward movies or a TV, but I’m sure everyone in class is going to go for that.

Think, Katherine, think.

I pull out my cell phone and dial.

“What’s up, Kitty Kat?” My mom answers and I shudder.

My annoyance is tangible. “Ugh. You know that wasn’t even cool when I was five.”

“Sorry. I appreciate the fact that you were an early blooming stick-in-the-mud and that now you’re a grown woman, even if your father and I still cover your expenses.”

“I could drop out of college, if you want. Maybe hitchhike across America, taking odd jobs to make ends meet.”

My mom changes subjects, “I’m fine, how are you?”

“I was wondering if you could help me with something for my psych class.”

“Maybe a little OCD,” mom replies.

“What?” I ask.

“What what?”

“Why would you say, ‘Maybe a little OCD?’ You don’t even know what the question is.” Sometimes talking to my mom was surreal, like an absurdist comedy skit.

“Oh. Alrighty. What’s the question?”

This call was a bad idea. “What was something I enjoyed as a kid, that isn’t dolls, or shows, or films?”

Mom goes quiet, thinking. “Well… you always had your nose in books.”

“You’re right. Thanks, mom. For the answer and for covering my expenses so I don’t have to hitchhike across America.”

“You’re welcome. You coming to visit soon?”

“Sorry (fake noise) you’re (fake noise) breaking up.”

“Your father and I miss you and love you.”

“Love you, too, mom.”

I hang up.

Books.

It’s not a bad lead. More unnecessary reading, perhaps, but at a grade school level, so not brain-drainingly terrible.

I swing by the library and see if they have a children’s lit section. They do, and while I briefly consider some of the titles, there are no solutions here. That’s when it hits me. One of my favorite things to read as a kid was the Choose Your Own Adventure series where the story was as long (or as brief) as the choices made. I’d often cheat, flipping forward to see what the results of my choice were, but I always got such a serious kick out of them. They don’t keep any in the college library and when I call the campus bookstore, the person who answers doesn’t know what I’m talking about, despite the fact that everyone I knew read them. Everyone. It was totally a thing.

I check online, and I can get a whole set for like twenty bucks, but I feel pangs of guilt from my mother’s barb against me and how her and dad pick up my bills. Serves them right for having kids. But I search the web for maybe an online version. All of the experience, all of the fun, none of the dollars spent. And, for once, I wouldn’t be able to flip back and forth and would have to pick an answer and stick with it, so this will be an altogether unique experience on top of all of that.

I hit a jackpot. Someone called The Weaver has assembled an online version with a handful of oddball titles that seem vaguely familiar, but ultimately make me laugh:

The Cave of Remaking

Mystery of the Grand Tetons

The Secret of the Box

Slice of Heaven

Journey to Uranus

The Lost Canal

Prisoner of the Master

The Curse of the Pink Cookie

Treasure Trove of Wonder Untold

Invaders of the Nether Realm

Inflation!

Wow. Some of these could easily be misinterpreted. Maybe the writers were always pervs and I was just a lot more innocent when I read them as a kid. I was never one for the fighting ones, always leaning towards stories of adventure and escape. With a heavy chuckle, I choose Prisoner of the Master.

The way the screen flashes after I select it, I feel a little sick and pray I didn’t just foolishly download some kind of computer virus. After a couple of seconds, it seems to right itself. I duck out of my browser and check to make sure I have no notifications of malware. Assured that all is good, the first screen asks for my name. I type in “Katherine Nichols” and the little girl inside me kind of hopes the site is complicated enough to actually thread my name throughout the story. Apparently, even after a decade since I last read one, I still think Choose Your Own Adventure stories are cool. That feeling, that realization, is probably enough to consider this assignment done, but I’m intrigued to make my way through one again.

From here on out, all of the sections will end with two options to continue.

Do you understand?

Yes.

No.

Ready to begin the story, I select—Yes.

To which gender do you identify:

Female

Male

I select—Female.

Happily, it only took those two questions to get me to the story part.

Your hands are tied behind your back. You have no idea when your captor will return, nor what his plans for you are. Worse of all, some stray hair has fallen out of your pigtails and down in front of your face, tickling your nose.

Katherine, what color is that hair:

Red

Blonde

Pigtails? Really?

Hair color also seems like a weird choice to kick the story off, especially since the reality of the story will be fantastically ruined by my utterly and completely brown hair. Since I have to pick, though, I hope the saying is true and they do have more fun.

I select—Blonde.

After the click, I notice that some of my own blonde hair has fallen out down in front of my face. Thankfully, unlike my character in the story, my hands are free to tuck it back into the pig tails I have the rest of it pulled up in. Admittedly, it’s somewhat cool that the character and I share the same hair color and style.

You test the ropes. The knots tying your hands together are tight, but there’s probably a way for you to get out of the chair:

Katherine, do you:

Wiggle out because of your excellent fitness

Bust out because of your curvy bodaciousness

Honestly, neither, computer screen, I think. I’m pretty much average, neither specifically trim or curvy in the slightest. I guess that’s part of the entertainment value of these stories—imagining a different you. I have to decide whether I want story me to be fit or curvy.

I select—Bust out because of your curvy bodaciousness.

Taking a moment to stretch my shoulders back sends my breasts up into the air. If I had to say I’m a specific body type, I’d go with hourglass. Big up top, little in the middle, big down below… or at least behind. Ample in the right areas, but not cartoonish or freakishly so. This web story version of me so far fits me to a T. I start to wonder if there’s a camera sneakily feeding the website details about me like my curvy body or my blonde, pigtailed hair.

Walking towards the kitchen and the front door, you see headlights coming down the driveway. Your captor is clearly on his way back. You’re worried for your safety.

Katherine, you’re worried for your future, concerned you might never get to:

Become a housewife

Become a famous actress

Um, future congresswoman, actually, but why is story Katherine not looking for a back door or a window to sneak out of? I’m free from the ropes, thanks tits and ass, but I’m not making a bigger, actually effective escape and instead pondering a possible future career? Weird options. Maybe… hopefully… that’s my next choice.

I select—Become a famous actress.

I know it’s probably weird, and I know I probably shouldn’t spend as much time on it as I do, but I take a little reprieve from the story to check my makeup. You never know who could knock on the door at any given moment. As a future famous actress, I have to be prepared for any big break that might come along. I always have to look my best. I keep my hair up in my signature pigtails to give myself personality, but my deep red lipstick contrasts my light blonde hair and says that I’m someone with levels. Lots of levels. An onion just waiting to peel in front of the camera. Maybe I could even play me in the movie version of this story. I’m kind of perfect for the role. It’s pretty much like it’s built just for me.

The key jiggles in the lock. You freeze, unsure of what to do. He’s back, the man who abducted you. You never got a good look at him. Maybe he never got a good look at you either. Maybe your secret is still safe.

Katherine, you just hope he doesn’t find out about:

Your tattoos

Your piercings

Again, my character chooses to think and not be active. Sheesh, how would I play this on the screen? So pensive. So internalized. At least these choices add some kind of depth to her. Evidently, she has an edge. She’s not just your standard damsel in distress. Personally, I have no tattoos and no piercings, but I think I have to go with what I feel would absolutely motivate her more.

I select—Your piercings.

I wonder where my character is pierced. Same places as me? Are we still eligible to be twins? I know I got my ears pierced when I was just a little girl. I begged my mom and she finally relented on my tenth birthday. I vividly remember that sweet sting as the point pierced my flesh. I longed for it after. I think that’s how I ended up with a row of three going up my right ear, and four up my left. And the nose piercing at 15. And the tongue piercing at 16. And at 18, my nipples, both of course. I keep coming back for that sting. Just thinking about it puts a smile on my face and a thought in my head. I’m going to have to go for the clit next. Clearly. I flush and feel warm just thinking about it.

The man enters. He’s older, but rugged. “You shouldn’t have done that, Katherine. You shouldn’t have tried to escape. Now… I’ll have to punish you.”

Katherine, what turns you on more:

His age

His power

Absently teasing my nipple piercings, I realize I can’t move on in the story until I choose one of these options for my character. Neither age or power have ever really been a turn on for me. I like boys my age and an equal footing in my relationships. Oh well. Let’s see where this goes.

I select—His power

A shiver goes up and down my spine thinking back to the part of the story where I was… where my character was all tied up. Why would I ever want to escape that? I just imagine myself at the mercy of someone, anyone… and I’m so turned on just thinking of it. Realizing I was a submissive was the most joyous, freeing moment of my life. I got my nose pierced because a boy in my class told me to. I got my tongue pierced because my boyfriend at the time told me he preferred his girls that way. My next boyfriend told me to pierce my nipples because it was, in his words, “hot.” I squirm in my seat thinking back to all those commands, all of those times I yielded to another’s power. I want to frig myself to a screaming orgasm, but I’m compelled to finish the story and no one’s hear to command me otherwise.

“What is your name, girl?”

The girl replies, “Katherine.”

“Katherine, sir.” He chides authoritatively.

“Katherine, sir,” She echoes, head bowed in deference.

“I’m going to call you Kitty.” He says. Clearly his mind has been made up.

Katherine, do you accept this new name:

Accept this new name wholeheartedly

Stand up for yourself

Well, if his mind has been made up and he’s an authoritative figure.

I select—Accept this new name wholeheartedly.

Oh Kitty, what are you doing to yourself? Getting all hot and bothered by this simple, straightforward story of a girl and her master. Were the stories like this when I was a kid and I just wasn’t aware enough or mature enough to notice? Maybe I missed out on all of this just skipping ahead to the ending I liked best. I guess sometimes the journey is its own reward. I really wonder how this particular story ends. I feel very invested in Kitty at this point, like we’re sisters, but even more connected.

“Strip for me, Kitty, then get on your knees.”

Kitty starts to take off her school girl outfit. First the shirt, to reveal a white lacy bra underneath. Next, the pleated skirt, which showcases panties of the same lacy quality that are clearly already very soaked through. She slowly rolls her knee socks down, one at a time, deliciously bending forward at the hips to do so. She unclasps her bra to reveal her big breasts and pierced nipples, which stand at attention. Finally, she pulls her panties down, revealing a thick mound of hair and the groomed, wet pussy below it.

Naked, she gets down on her knees, as commanded.

The man steps forward and grabs her hair, pulling her head backward so that she looks up into his eyes.

“Kitty, you are a stupid slut.”

Kitty, which bothers you more:

Slut

Stupid

I’m turned on, yes, but turned on does not a slut make. As an incredibly intelligent girl, though I find one of those answers just a hair more offensive.

I select—Stupid

I wish I could trade places with Slut Kitty right now. She’s there with a master controlling her and I’m stuck in my dorm room alone, vigorously rubbing myself.

Ever a slut, Kitty goes for her master’s zipper, but he forcefully pushes her away.

“While I like your initiative, my little Kitty slut, I didn’t say you could do that. You get presents when you’re a good girl and you get spankings when you’re bad.”

Kitty, which do you want:

Presents

Spankings

What the fuck am I going to do with a present right now? I need a master. I need to feel him in any way I can. I need to cum.

I select—Spankings.

I rub myself furiously, leaking juices all over the chair just thinking of his rough hands coming down again and again on my bare ass, leaving it red and raw, and making it painful to sit for days. I feel so hot. I can barely breathe. Every piece of me tingles, as turned on as I can ever remember being. I need it rough and I need it now.

His large hands come down upon Kitty, leaving a deep red on her ass with each strike. She whimpers in both pleasure and torment. Pleasure at the pain and torment that she hasn’t been completely taken by her master already.

“I want you inside me, please, sir.” Kitty screams with every slap.

“Soon enough, my Kitty slut. Soon. Enough.” He pauses and reaches behind him. “First, though, I’m going to have to turn on the camera since you like it so much. You’ll make an excellent addition to my stable of slutty young cam girls. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Kitty, do you accept this as your story:

Yes

No

I quickly, vehemently slam my hand down to select—Yes.

I cum, screaming, as the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had sweeps over and through my body, but I feel empty at the same time. Empty because I am alone. Empty because, unlike the Kitty in the story, this Kitty doesn’t have a master to call my own. Thankfully, at the very least, I have an audience of studs watching and giving me both commands and money.

Naked and gasping, still in the afterglow of my orgasm, I look to the cam that’s been broadcasting my whole stripping and fingering session. “Thank you for watching Kitty cum, boys. If any of you think you have the potential to be Kitty’s master, send me a private message.”

As I shut down my feed for the night, I see I have another window open… some kind of online Choose Your Own Adventure. Man, I remember loving those as a little girl.