The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The movers came after lunch.

Heather did her best to keep Tara out of the way, but the movers still got a few eyefuls when Tara flowed in or out of a room they were in. Heather couldn’t blame them; her eyes wandered toward the young woman often enough.

She didn’t feel right about touching any of Aunt Evelyn’s possessions trying to find spots for her assorted furniture and belongings. It was a huge house, there was certainly room. But she was cutting it close, it was almost 2:30 and she needed to get to work.

The UPS driver dropped off two envelopes in the rush and she put them aside. She instructed Tara to unpack the rest of her stuff and stow it all away while she was gone, assuming Tara would manage to neatly and logically find a proper place for it all. In the hubbub, Betsy had called again to check on things and promised to drop by the next day. Heather assured her everything was fine.

Fine. That was one way to look at it. The other way to look at it was that Heather didn’t have any idea what she was doing. Had no idea what to do NEXT. She was already worrying about Tara as she pulled the gold Jaguar sedan out of the garage and drove away.

She checked her phone fifty times at the restaurant, but there were no messages. No emergencies. No news reports of a woman walking into traffic or falling off a cliff.

It was midnight by the time she returned to Keller Manor. The exterior lights had been turned on, but just a single room was lit as Heather made her way to the front door fumbling with keys she hadn’t managed to organize on her now-full keychain.

The light was on in the front sitting room, but Tara was there in the Great Room—naked in the dark—when Heather snapped on the light. There was sex in the air, and even as Tara turned toward her, not with the robot movements of the day before but with a shallow sign of anticipation, Heather could tell her thoughts had been of her Aunt Evelyn. She could understand that. She may have had her money, evidently, or her home, but Heather knew she didn’t have Evelyn’s poise, her character and, most importantly, she didn’t have what Tara had needed when she allowed her aunt to wipe her mind clean of everything but servitude and obedience to her.

“Hi, Tara. You didn’t have to wait up.”

There was the smallest flicker of a smile on Tara’s face as she spoke. “I had to, Miss. I waited for you.”

Heather smiled. It had been a long time, maybe forever, since someone had said that to her. That way. She crossed the room and sat next to Tara ... and her openness, her nakedness made Heather’s insides seize.

“You go ahead and get into bed. I’ll be along. Okay?”

Tara looked almost wounded, but not quite, before giving Heather the gentlest of smiles. “Yes, Miss.”

Even the simplest “Yes, Miss” made Heather’s nipples harden. She went and grabbed the binder off the nightstand, again offering Tara as sweet a smile as she could just to get that soft, somewhat empty smile in return.

God, what a sleepover! Heather found herself wishing to just dive on that perfect, gorgeous body and lose herself in lust ... and need. She didn’t even think about Tara being ANOTHER GIRL anymore. All she saw was the ideal object of sexual fulfillment. There, in her bed, was unfiltered ... worship.

All evening long, while she did her job at the restaurant, Heather had tried to process what had happened to her life. It was good, great, awesome she told herself. She was rich beyond her wildest imagination. But with it came an emptiness she couldn’t understand. As if she had been catapulted to heights she was unfamiliar and unsuited.

Heather tried to shake herself back to normal as she plunked on the couch in the Great Room. What the hell am I doing? She was a gazillionaire and all she could think about—all morning, all afternoon and all evening—was Tara.

She opened the binder and in big red letters was written: “Heather, do not enter the room at the end of the second-floor hallway for six months after your arrival.”

Hmm. After that was a three-page letter from Aunt Evelyn telling her how much she loved her and how she hoped she was and would be happy. She asked for understand. She told Heather to keep Betsy close and how Betsy would always be there to guide her. The letter mentioned not trying to go in “the room” too. But no explanation why.

Heather couldn’t help but feel numb. So what if her aunt was a lesbian. The way Heather had been thinking for the last two days it seemed like the most normal thing about this crazy situation she was in. But her aunt had loved her, maybe as much as her own mother did, and she made sure that Heather would never need of anything. Especially companionship.

It wasn’t about having sex, although Heather knew that somewhere in the next 60 years she and Tara were going to. It was about having a place in the world. And having Tara in it.

Heather slammed the binder shut.

She needed to know ...

She rose from the couch and went to the shelf, where Tara’s “lessons” were lined up, in even rows, small volumes.

She opened the first book and read.

“I obey. I MUST obey. I obey. I MUST obey ...”

Holy shit!

She opened another.

“Obedience is pleasure. Obedience is pleasure. Obedience is ...”

Line after line, page after page, all the same. Tara’s “lessons” were mantras for a mindless slave. Heather went down the row and opened another.

“I live to serve. I live to serve. I live to serve ...”

Heather stepped back, as if pushed. Programming. Daily, constant reinforcement of Tara’s brainwashing. Heather could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the prickly stings of her pores opening, the fuzzy weight of shock enveloping her brain.

A small stack of volumes fell over, and Heather noticed that behind the row of books were two more volumes of books in a line, in blue and brown. She reached her hand into the deep shelf and pulled out a blue book. Opening it, she read ...

“I am Miss Evelyn’s slave. I am Miss Evelyn’s slave. I am Miss Evelyn’s ...”

Her eyes blurred as she read the repetitive lines, each page exactly the same and she flipped through. Slave, slave, slave, slave. Aunt Evelyn’s slave.

And the next ...

“I am Miss Evelyn’s sex puppet. I am Miss Evelyn’s sex ...”

Heather’s hand slipped under her skirt and she gently massaged her pantied clit. Then she froze, yanking her hand away, ashamed at her arousal. It was all beyond comprehension. This is what Tara had really become. What filtered through her blank mind all day, every day for three years.

Heather reached her hand inside the shelf once more, almost afraid of what she would find inside the brown volumes. She even pulled her hand back for a moment, too frightened and suddenly too horny to dare uncover fully what was forever sealed in Tara’s emptied head.

Yet she opened the brown-backed book and read the unbelievable.

“I belong to Miss Heather. I belong to Miss Heather. I belong to Miss Heather. I belong to Miss Heather. I belong to Miss Heather. I belong to Miss Heather. I belong to Miss Heather. I belong to ...”

Heather collapsed to the floor. In a daze. Overwhelmed.

She suddenly felt sick and rushed into the nearest bathroom, gripping the marble counter before splashing her face. It didn’t calm her. She gasped, a hand over her mouth as she collapsed again and began crying. She didn’t even know why. But the tears flowed out of her, hard and insistent, washing down her face like a dam-break.

She pulled her knees tightly under her, burying her face between them. Heather wasn’t even sure who she was crying for. Tara? Aunt Evelyn? Herself? Everyone. No one. Her world was upside-down. Everything that should have been a wondrous fantasy come true struck her with nothing but fear.

A gentle hand on her shoulder made her jump.

It was Tara.

Heather looked at her, lost. But Tara’s even face soothed her. Those once-blank eyes were a deep hazel, full of compassion. They weren’t the eyes of a robot. There was just enough sadness and support and caring—like a child comforting a lonely puppy—to melt Heather’s pain.

Heather threw her arms around Tara and she didn’t flinch. She wrapped her long, golden arms around Heather in return and let the last gasped breaths of crying dissolve against her bare shoulder and fall away.

Her lips begged for Tara’s and she found them waiting. Soft, tender lips that held Heather like an embrace. Heather didn’t know what she needed, but Tara knew. She didn’t need to be told, commanded. Heather’s moans told her what was required. Heather’s only thought to herself as she peeled off her clothes was a wish, a prayer, that it was something more than that.

The sunlight hit Heather’s eyes and she awoke. She found she had been clinging to Tara tightly in her sleep. As she broke contact, Tara’s eyes opened and those two hazel orbs glittered with life.

“Would it please you, Miss Heather, if we made love again?”

“Again?” A laugh caught in Heather’s throat. Made love? Tara thought so, at least she said the words. “Was that lovemaking for you, Tara? Or was it sex?”

Tara squinted trying to make the distinction in her head, and Heather touched her cheek. “Never mind. I think I’m good. More than good. I’ve never done that before. I kinda lost count. Did we do it three or four times? Haha.”

“Three, Miss.”

Heather’s smile joined her short laugh. “Yeah, well you should know. Thanks for keeping track. Felt like one looooong one to me.”

And the smile back, genuine yet full of devotion, made Heather climb onto Tara once again and kiss her so deeply that Heather felt Tara’s tongue forced between her lips. She sucked on it eagerly.

Heather had been too lost in the passion of it all during the night to full realize that Tara’s movements followed the unspoken call of Heather’s need. But now she was ready to vocalize what she wanted. To command her.

“Tara. Suck my nipples.”

Heather’s head fell back onto the pillow as Tara’s mouth, tongue and lips found her most sensitive spots, left and right, then ... “Lower, Tara. Kiss me all the way down.”

She couldn’t be sure which was making her more aroused, the hands and lips on her body or the thrill of commanding another human being to service her. But the combination made Heather climax quickly, even before Tara’s fingers found their way into that warm, wet place Heather willed her toward.

Heather was a new kind of lost. She was lost in domination. She made Tara spread for her, finger for her, obey her. She saw Tara’s eyes turn glassy, then sharp and focused on her tasks, then glassy again. She made her mouth and hands go everywhere on her, controlling her with breathy desire.

“Eat me, Tara. Now!”

And she did. No pause, no reflection, need for reciprocation. And Heather barked and moaned and pulled. Her shiny toy, her gorgeous bedmate, living only to obey.

Heather reeled in the pleasure of it all ... her slave. Her OWN slave. A slave that she desired far beyond the need to control, but to enjoy. To be with—mind, body and soul.

Heather opened one of the UPS envelopes when they finally made it out of bed and Tara assumed her domestic duties. More forms. She tossed them aside without looking. She opened the second.

There it was. It was a check. A check for $531,445.06. It was real.

The truth was there in the multiple digits. She was rich.

Tara saw her joy and asked to please her, but Heather was happy enough, sated enough sexually, to just kiss Tara’s face. Pay off her debts. Maybe go back to school. Buy a few—no ALL—of the things she had longed for in the shops and websites that she dreamed of having for her own.

She gave her two-week notice to Mr. French over the phone. She just didn’t have it in her to face him, just up and quitting. At some point, she told herself, this mirage would probably evaporate and she would be her old self, and unemployed ... alone, unloved and going through the motions of what life was supposed to be in her mind. But for now, she was going to ride the wave.

She thought of Betsy. Without her, Heather figured she’d be getting plastered somewhere, buying drinks for the house and whooping it up in some mad explosion of hollow fulfillment. Or not. Betsy had been keeping her sane. She was the only person Heather could count on to help her through this.

Except for Tara.

They took a long, slow walk around the grounds of Keller Manor after breakfast, hand in hand. It was if Heather was there for the first time, its familiarity now changed into something new and mysterious and wonderful.

As she and Tara sat on one of the decorative wooden benches which overlooked the vast gardens, Heather’s need grew again. She turned toward Tara and her slave reacted to the scent of arousal, the lustful want in her owner’s eye. Yet, this time, Heather gently eased Tara back mid-motion.

“No. Let me,” she said, and lowering herself onto the grass she lifted Tara’s skirt and dove in. She lapped and licked and nibbled. All she wanted—all she NEEDED—was to feel the spasm around her head, taste the treasure that Tara spilled forth as a woman, not as a brainwashed slave.

And when she came, Heather came simultaneously. Her hands never nearing her own body.

The doorbell chimed and Heather was surprised to find herself at Tara’s shoulder as they opened the door together.

“Well! Look at you two!”

Betsy smiled broadly at the two young women, hand in hand, smiling back. “Hello, Heather. And hello, Tara.” She gave them each a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, Miss Betsy,” Tara replied, before moving aside to let Betsy enter.

“I see you two are getting along.” That was followed by a wink to Heather. “And the smiles. So nice to see.”

“Yeah, well, Tara and I did some exploring last night ... and this morning. Didn’t we, Tara?”

“Yes, Heather.”

Betsy’s eyebrows raised at the omission of “Miss.”

“Well, c’mon in! We just came in from a walk around the grounds.”

Betsy entered the foyer and gently put her hand on Heather’s back. “Excuse us for a few minutes, Tara. I need to talk to Heather.”

“Yes, Miss Betsy.”

Once they were alone, Betsy steered Heather back into the office and closed the door. “How are you doing, honey? I can see some things are going well.”

Heather tried not to blush but couldn’t help it. “Well, I quit my job. No point now, really. And the check ... well ... kinda made that easier than it should have been. But I do have a question.”

“Fire away. That’s why I’m here.”

“Why can’t I go into that room at the end of the hall?”

Betsy’s eyes moved off Heather, but she tried to act nonplussed. “I don’t really know, Heather. But those were your aunt’s instructions. I would guess she wanted you to be all moved in a acclimated before you found out what was inside. I really don’t know.”

Heather bit her lower lip. “There’s something else I wanted to ask you.”

“Yes, dear?”

“You know, you can stay here, if you want. There’s really no need for you to stay in some crappy motel. We have plenty of room ... and you’re really family.”

Betsy’s reaction surprised Heather. It looked almost ... pained.

“Besides, Tara ... Tara and I would really like it if you did.”

Betsy tried to smile. “No ... no thank you, dear. I think it would be best if you and Tara were here alone. And I’ll still drop by. I’m very busy these days. But I don’t want you to think I’m avoiding you. It’s only ... now isn’t the best time for that kind of thinking. Alright?”

Heather nodded more forcibly than she needed to. “Sure. Just wanted to make the offer. The two of us, well, we don’t take up much space. Especially now that we’re on top of each other half the time.”

Betsy laughed pleasantly, and Heather took in a deep breath hearing it, knowing she hadn’t made a mistake by asking.

Heather woke. Noticing her “security blanket” wasn’t there in her arms. It was late. 2 a.m. Where was Tara?

Heather went downstairs to the Great Room, but it was empty. Room by room, she checked. It was a big house, but Tara only went into five or six of them. Heather was about to panic, thinking possibly that Tara was outside wandering, mentally whited-out in the forest. She hurried up the stairs toward the one place she hadn’t checked—down the end of the hall and THAT DOOR.

“Heather, do not enter the room at the end of the second-floor hallway for six months after your arrival.”

She remembered what her aunt had told her, maybe what Betsy had written, in the red binder. The binder she never did finish reading. Either way, she had gotten the message in bright, red lettering. Yet she found herself drawn to it, faintly hearing the sound of humming inside as she approached. Maybe even a voice? She strained to make out words as she leaned into it.

“Tara? Are you in there?” She said it loud enough to be heard. She knocked softly, then slightly louder. But as she called again, her knock became a bang, her voice more desperate.

“Tara! It’s Heather! ... Miss Heather. Please open the door!”

There was no keyhole, no lock. There was no way in as far as she could tell. The humming was pulsating now, louder then softer. And the voice—Tara’s?—growing weaker and slurred, although Heather couldn’t make out what was being said.

“Tara!” Heather yanked on the knob. She checked around the door again. The only thing she could see was a small peephole in the center of the door. She looked into it, but the light from inside was blurred and distorted. No movement inside. She ran her hands down the jamb and looked at the floor. There. From three feet back were two horizontal indentations in front of the door. Markers.

A thought occurred to her—something from out of a spy movie. She lined her bare toes along the indents and stared forward into the peephole. She waited.

Click.

Tara opened the door and entered cautiously.

The room was unlike any other in the house. Thickly paneled, with bookshelves, a divan, a bed ... and a desk, which looked strangely out of place—more like something belonging on a space ship—with a half-dozen computer monitors across the top and three separate banks of keyboards.

Wires of many thicknesses snaked out from under it and led to what appeared, at first glance, to be a large tanning bed on the far side of the room. A thin, silver metal hood covered it, resembling more and more like a space-age coffin the longer Heather looked at it.

And extending from the bottom, feet.

Heather recognized those perfect feet, long and wonderfully sculpted. She slowly lifted the metal cover ... and lying there in blank repose was Tara.

She was awake, eyes wide—but asleep. Covering her face, from her forehead to her mouth, was a pair of light-blue rectangular goggles. They were translucent, and Heather could see dancing on the lenses bright flashing colors which reminded her of the fireworks of Keller Manor. Exploding and shimmering. She had no idea how they were being projected onto the lenses, but they were steady, unbroken, distinct.

Heather leaned close and saw Tara’s eyes transfixed in the colors. Her eyes were raining light. Strobing, flaring. Heather had to blink-blink fast to keep from falling head-first into them. Then a voice.

“Yes, Miss Evelyn. I obey.”

Heather felt herself creaming. This is where it was done. Was still being done. Aunt Evelyn’s “resources” had created a brainwashing chamber. And Tara willingly, stealthily, had entered and submitted to it.

Covering her ears were large headphones—obviously drilling the new and recurring programs deeply into Tara’s mind.

“Yes, Miss Evelyn. I obey.”

With trembling hands, Heather lightly brushed against Tara’s elongated nipple on its way to one of the headphone cups, lifting it gently off her ear and bent down to listen.

It was Aunt Evelyn’s voice. Calm, loving. Heather sucking in air to keep her emotions from bursting out of her. The words were soothing. Knowing in their effect, caring in the robbery of any thoughts other than Evelyn’s in Tara’s psyche.

“You lessons will now include the brown books,” Evelyn voice strummed with command through the headphones, “Tara, my love. Read the brown books, left to right, right to left. Night after night. Heather is your new Miss. Always remember, Tara, Heather is your new Miss.”

“Yes, Miss Evelyn. I obey. Heather is my new Miss.”

“Seal in the programming now, Tara.”

And the humming grew louder, forcing Heather’s eyes downward between Tara’s legs and discovering a long phallus on a rod pistoning in and out of her sex. Faster and faster. The hum louder and louder.

Heather covered her open mouth. The sight was shocking, erotic, mind-numbing. Tara’s back arched as she came. Again. And again.

As Tara climaxed one last time, the humming halting abruptly, she nearly screamed: “I am Miss Heather’s slaaaaaaaaaaave!”

Heather moaned, grabbing her breasts hard, and came.