The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tara blinked.

She lifted off the goggles and swung her feet gracefully off the “bed”—nearly kicking Heather, forcing her to hop back a step.

“Tara?”

Her slave was a BLANK. Her facial muscles were completely loose, her mouth open slightly, and even though the sparkling images were gone, Heather got the distinct feeling that it was still raining light behind those glassy hazel eyes.

Tara got off the machine and moved to the desk, not acknowledging Heather’s presence in any way, and began hitting buttons and typing commands. Heather wanted to say something, shake Tara awake, but she also wanted to see.

Heather stepped closer to the desk to watch Tara eject the CD, putting it carefully away among the stacks on one of the shelves. She then reset the instruments on the “tanning bed,” which dimmed slowly as it was shut down. Tara moved back to it and disconnected the dildo from the rod and sucked it into her mouth as she closed the metal cover.

After cleaning and putting the dildo away, Tara returned to the desk, again hitting buttons. Heather shuddered at the realization that struck her in that moment—Tara doesn’t even know Evelyn is dead. She’s HERE. And she always will be. Tara had said that Evelyn was “gone.” But maybe not gone gone. She had gone here, to this room. Heather abruptly turned and quick-stepped out of the room—as if being there any longer was an invasion of their private time together.

When Tara returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, Heather was lying awake face-up in the bed. Tara fluidly slid in beside her and they both turned toward each other. Heather stroked her cheek.

“Are you feeling okay, Tara?”

“Yes, Miss Heather.”

“Just Heather, Tara. Remember?”

And she smiled, the command of informality re-registering in her mind. “Yes ... Heather.”

Heather reached over and down, keeping her eyes firmly on Tara, and slowly slipped her middle finger inside her slave. She was moist, heated. A low gasp left her lips.

As Heather began to finger her, Tara’s eyes fluttered. “Tara, are you happy?”

“Oh yes, Heather,” she said through a deep inhale. Heather then sought out her G spot and found it in the moan that escaped Tara’s lips.

“Why?”

Tara’s face went blank, but her lips parted as she jutted her hips into the finger pressing inside her. “I’m happy being your sla—... obeying you. Obedience is pleasure, Heather.”

Heather closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the those words—“Obedience is pleasure”—to brush against her stiffening nipples. When she opened them, she looked hard at Tara again.

“And you will obey me, won’t you, Tara?”

“Yes, Heather. Always.”

“Then,” she pressed her forehead to Tara’s as she spoke, “tell me about the room you were just in.”

Tara’s mouth opened to speak as Heather leaned back, but it was if a hand had been placed over it. Heather could almost see the hand keeping Tara from betraying the secret Heather wasn’t suppose to know until she was meant to. It was Aunt Evelyn’s hand. And Tara obeyed it. Her face showed no sign of struggle, merely an inability to respond.

Yet Heather pressed on, with her finger, with her voice.

“Tell me, Tara. You must obey me. I am your Miss.”

“You are my Miss.”

Heather removed her finger from Tara’s slickened pussy and rubbed it against Tara’s lips, willing the invisible hand aside as it entered Tara’s mouth for her to suckle.

“Tell me. Now.”

So, Tara did.

Tara led her in. She placed her feet carefully on the indents and the door clicked open.

Tara knew exactly what to do, what CD to get, what buttons to press. It was almost as if Heather wasn’t even there until Tara smiled at her—that sweet vacant smile—and pointed to the machine.

Heather undressed and climbed in without hesitation, but inside her skin she was scared. She had to know! But she was also afraid of losing herself, losing who she was—unsure what kind of Heather would emerge from the machine afterward.

“I am ready, Heather,” Tara said obediently from behind the control panel. “It is only the first program. There is nothing to be frightened of.”

Heather relaxed. That Tara could sense her unease, even in her slave mind, made Heather more sure of what she was doing. She knew this was where it had all been leading. From that very first day watching Tara read from her “lessons,” the words that leaked more of herself out into nothingness.

“Tara, turn it on. But don’t let me stay in here any longer than I should. Do you obey?”

“I obey, Heather.”

The goggles and headphones were in place. Heather tried to relax, tried to breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. Tried to make herself open and willing and ready.

Then a voice ...

“Hello, Heather. My darling, beautiful niece. Since you are listening to this, I know that I am gone and that you have take possession of Tara and are treating her well. And I know you will bring beauty and joy to Keller Manor, my wonderful home. Your home now. I also know that you couldn’t wait the six months, as you were instructed to. Nor did you read every page of the notes I left behind for you. I know you so very well. You are always so impulsive, but not headstrong. Curious, but not ambitious. Needy, but not intrusive.

“I’m here with you now, Heather, to explain it all. I watched you from far and near your whole life. And I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. But, even more, for the woman you want to become. You see, I know why you’re lying here with me.”

Then the hum started. Low and steady. White noise making Heather feel as if she were moving forward. Then the first images appeared. Oval disks, growing in size behind the background of the goggles, which had changed from blue to a cool green. Spinning and twirling, whites and pinks and reds, like the petals on the flowers in front of the Manor caught in the wind and floating ... upward then diving down only to be caught on the breeze and lifting again and bending.

Heather could feel her lips part, her jaw drop. The muscles in her face go soft. Her body sped forward, deeper into the center, the point where the colors bloomed.

“Heather, there are 1,500 hours of my words, my voice, to guide you through this process. Do not be frightened, my sweet niece. The reason you are here, right now, with me, should calm you. Calm you as you watch the pretty colors swirl. Calm and relaxed. Calm and relaxed as you watch the pretty colors. And then ...”

A bright flash of exploding light ... making Heather think she blinked, but hadn’t. The fireworks had started. She felt her hands fall flat and open. She felt the hairs on her body stand. Her scalp massaged. The swelling of her nipples. The blood surging to her clit. She could tell she was falling asleep, eyes wide, even as her body became more awake than she had ever felt before.

“I know how you loved my fireworks, Heather. The way your eyes just lit up, transfixed, when you watched them. You were so happy and relaxed. No other thoughts but the fireworks, the bright colors, the expanding light.” And there was silence for a moment. Heather could feel the drool washing over her teeth and out the corners of her mouth.

“They were for you.”

And Heather vaguely heard a gasp, then a moan. She wasn’t even sure if it was her. She was slowly sinking out of herself, leaving behind an empty vessel in the machine. All thoughts, all identity flowing out of her. Leaving her a blank, mindless shell.

“Yes, Heather. Doing so well. This is your first taste. Enjoy it. See how it fits. And when you awaken, you will remember this feeling. Because today, I’m only going to satisfy your curiosity. Satisfy your impulse, your need. Sink into the lights, my sweet niece. And let my words guide your thoughts. Today and tomorrow. Let my words guide you through the first steps.

“The first steps toward becoming a slave.”

And Heather felt her body spasm. She hadn’t touched herself, but the bounty of her orgasm spilled down over her ass. She flexed her legs and they shook helplessly. Aunt Evelyn’s words were subtly dominating. The way Heather had heard her on the phone as a child talking to someone who worked for her. Or the way she always talked to her father. Stern, but not angry. Direct, yet keeping that inherent poise and kindness.

The words were like a warm blanket on her mind, comforting and encompassing. There was nothing left of Heather to keep them from melting over her toasted warm and empty mind.

“Time to return now, Heather, my sweet girl. When you awaken, you’ll remember this experience. And reflect on it. Is this what you truly want? Do you wish to continue? If yes, then you will know exactly what to do next. I love you. I will be here waiting. Awaken, darling Heather. Awaken now.”

The humming stopped, the lights fading into green then blue. Heather shut her stinging eyes, then blinked back the wetness. She didn’t awaken with a start, she was calm, relaxed. Then felt ten million thoughts flow back into her, filling her back up.

Tara was there, and with her slender hand helped Heather up and out. They faced each other. Tara’s programming allowing for a look of concern as Heather stood there wobbly, then slowly becoming herself again.

“Holy shit ...”

The faintest knowing smile crossed Tara’s lips, and Heather responded to it immediately. She grabbed Tara’s head in both hands and kissed her deeply.

They side-stepped and fell into the bed. Heather could feel the smear of juice across her thigh as Tara began to ride it.

“Eat me, Tara! Eat me right now!”

That mouth, those lips. Heather quickly came in bright, colorful gushes filling Tara’s mouth. She commanded, she stroked and forced. She dominated her as an owner would a slave. But, back there, deep in Heather’s consciousness was the reason. She wasn’t ordering Tara so she could get off. She was ordering her so she could watch TARA get off.

Heather was aware, even as her body shook with sexual gratification, that what she was desperate for wasn’t what she was becoming. But what Tara was.

Heather stopped by the restaurant the next day and told Mr. French she wasn’t even going to work her last eight days. There was just no reason, outside of guilt. And her boss reluctantly let her go without a fight.

Then she headed to Betsy’s office. It was late enough that she thought she could catch her at the end of her day. She and Tara hadn’t gotten out of bed until past noon.

Her timing was just off. As she pulled into the lot she could see Betsy walking to her car. She thought of hopping out, they could meet over coffee, but something held Heather and her car in place until Betsy drove away.

She followed Betsy home. She had a weird sensation that what she was doing wasn’t right. She had a couple of chances to wave to her at a red light, but kept back, hiding behind other cars. When she drove into Betsy’s neighborhood she needed to be closer, not knowing where she lived. But it was simple enough to keep her distance until Betsy pulled into the large, yet unobtrusive Brownstone.

It had been a warm Spring, but the sun still set on schedule. It was nearly dark. Heather didn’t wonder why she was there. She had asked herself over and over in the car ride. She wanted to tell Betsy about what had happened in “the room.” Yet, something stopped her as she reached the house. She didn’t knock on the door. Instead, she jogged around the side of the house peering through windows before finding Betsy in the kitchen. She watched her.

She was a lovely woman. Even here, alone, Heather could see her grace even doing the most common things—reading her mail, tellingly reheating last night’s dinner. Heather could see it all. This wasn’t the high-powered lawyer. The wealthy widow. The woman who drew attention when she entered a room. No. Here. Here she saw a woman alone. A woman who in a few, short years had lost her husband and her two best friends.

Heather returned the following night, even though Betsy had visited that day. Heather didn’t mention the brainwashing room. She just couldn’t. Not yet. Betsy had remained sweet and polite—and seemingly unfazed—when she came upon the two young women sunbathing naked in the backyard. There were more papers to sign. Heather had a moment of embarrassment as she threw on her robe. Surprisingly, not from being naked, but for the two nipple covers she had to wear. Tara’s dark areolas had no such concern.

And that night she saw Betsy’s evening ritual unchanged. A bit of TV, a while checking emails, a book to read. Heather, ever self-aware, had made herself stop watching when Betsy adjourned to her bedroom and changed. As she drove home, an hour later, she got herself off in her car.

At home, she and Tara had become inseparable. Tara was opening up just enough to be good company. Great company actually, Heather thought. Tara wasn’t dumbed out. She was just “steered.” She didn’t initiate, but she conversed. She knew what the flowers were outside Keller Manor. She told Heather exactly what she wanted to hear without making it seem forced.

For Heather’s part, she swam in it. The simple way Tara lived her life. No concerns other than pleasing. No stress. No thoughts outside of being exactly who Heather wanted by her side.

Heather understood it all now.

The simple emptiness of the brainwashing. Pleasure and obedience and submission and need sparking brightly in the dark, cavernous hole Evelyn had created in her mind. The colors becoming sound—Evelyn’s strong voice—the sound becoming truth, the truth becoming more profound every second Heather sat in that machine. And she could see it all on Tara’s face—what her own face must have looked like for that brief time she was under the machine’s spell—whether she was cooking or picking flowers or worshipping Heather between her spread legs.

And they made love constantly. Room after room, moment by moment. Heather steered, Tara obeyed. When Tara’s eyes caught fire, Heather swooned. She had found an ideal connection with someone, no longer even considering that the mind inside the body was brainwashed so slickly that Heather herself, with Tara, was never going to need be concerned by another worry or stress ... or stray thought again.

“Tara, you obey me always?”

“Yes, Heather.”

They had just managed to get to bed, an hour in the shower not cleansing either one of them of their earthy desire for each other. Heather climbed on top of Tara and fixed herself on her eyes.

“I know you will. Now, I want you to command me. Command me to make love to you. To please you.”

Heather had built up the courage, and part of herself expected Tara to refrain, to recede into her programming. Instead, Tara took charge. It was what Heather wanted, after all. And her voice, her manner became thick and lusty and domineering.

Tara commanded and Heather obeyed, the tickle of elation lighting up her eyes and her mind. She did as she was told, and fell deeply into this new role. And she made Tara cum. For herself. She wasn’t commanded. Tara wasn’t climaxing at the bliss of satisfying her owner. Heather could tell from the shaking body beneath her that Tara was cumming because of Heather, not for her.

It was Friday night. And for the third night in a row Tara was outside Betsy’s home. A simple meal, an hour watching CNN, a change into a nightgown and robe. And, as in the two nights before, no phone calls. No one visited.

This time, Heather knocked on the door.

“Heather! What in the world ... is there a problem?”

Heather bit her lip. Betsy was wearing a long, silk lime green robe over her sheer mid-length nightie. Her blonde hair was down, with the beginnings of a braid weave resting on her shoulder. And without makeup, maybe because of that, Betsy looked more lovely at that moment than Heather had ever seen her.

“I’m sorry. I need to talk to you.”

“Of course! Come in.”

“No. No, I’m good.”

Heather hadn’t remembered most of what Aunt Evelyn’s program had put in her mind, but she knew she was standing there of her own free will. Betsy’s face gave her the strength to continue.

“I went into the room, Betsy,” she began, her heart pounding. “I know what it does. And I know you’ve been in there too. The way Tara maintains it, the way the pillows are spread out on the bed there. The same way you have them organized on your own bed.”

“Heather ...?” That pained look had returned to Betsy’s face. It made Heather reach out and clutch her hand.

“I’ve been ... kinda watching you. I’m sorry. I couldn’t get up the nerve until now to talk to you. But I’m here.

“You know, I wondered why Aunt Evelyn told me not to go in there for six months. She knew I would the first chance I got. But then it occurred to me. Those six months weren’t for me, Betsy. They were for you.”

Betsy shuffled uneasily, body language Heather had never seen from her before. Betsy tried to keep her emotions in check, but her eyes fell making her look both younger and older at the same time.

“I’ve been watching you. How you are. Here, away from the world. How lonely you are. You loved Evelyn and she loved you. But I know you’d never betray your husband. And, after he died, Evelyn got sick. How hard that must have been for you.”

Heather stepped closer, forcing Betsy’s eyes up to meet hers.

“You’re the strongest person I know, and that strength has keep you shut up here. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen how you are with Tara. She loves you, and I can see you love her too. The way she is now. But you never allowed yourself to be with her. Well, I’m giving you the chance now, Betsy. What do you want? Anything. Just ask. I can give you the world.”

Betsy’s eyes got moist, but her lips remained pursed. There was pleading on Heather’s face, and that gave Betsy a voice.

“Heather, dear. Tara can’t be my slave. I told you that.”

“No, you don’t understand.” And Heather felt her mind sinking back to the room. The way she felt. “I don’t want Tara to be just your slave. I want ... I want to be your slave too!”

Betsy’s eyes widened, blinking out a tear. Her soft smile showed both sadness and understanding. She gently brushed a bang from Heather’s face, eliciting a low moan. Heather reached up and gathered the knot of loose hair in her hands, the hint of white roots exposed. She began braiding.

Betsy sighed ... and her smile turned. Turned to one of affection. Over, under, over. Three thick strands woven together. When Heather finished, Betsy put her hand firmly on Heather’s shoulder and eased her down. Her eyes narrowed, not in dominance, but in desire, as Heather descended. She knelt. Her face close to the hem of the nightgown, which then rose slowly. The mix of white and gray and blonde fur surrounding her inviting, damp cleft.

Betsy took Heather’s head in her hands, but held it still.

“Are you sure, Heather?”

Heather breathed into Betsy’s sex. “Yes, Betsy, I’m sure.”

Tara knew exactly what to do.

She readied the machine as Heather climbed in it once more. Betsy stood back. She had played this moment over in her mind before, but the reality of it kept her still, kept her from moving lest she break the dream and awaken.

“Heather,” Tara said, almost naturally. “I’m to skip to program 13. Miss Betsy is here now. We are both here for you. Place the goggles and headphones on, please. Miss Evelyn will enter your mind.”

Heather lay back and tried to breathe deeply, but she was nervously excited. She wanted to relax, but a laugh came out of her: “Aunt Evelyn will make me relax anyway.”

Then the fireworks started. There were no slow-moving colored disks this time. The bright flashes of color exploded right into the back of Heather’s mind and she gasped. Then her jaw dropped. One by one, her thoughts leaked out, like so many drips from a faucet.

Then Evelyn spoke.

“Hello, Heather. My darling, beautiful niece. Since you have come this far, I know that you have made a decision. I also know that Betsy is there with you now. For as much as I wanted this for you, if you had chosen this, I wanted this for Betsy, my only love.

“As my time shortened, I told Betsy my intentions. For Tara. And for you. But I knew it would take time. I knew you and Betsy needed to get to know each other again. And, if this was meant to be, then six months seemed to be about right for both of you to be certain you wanted this too. My instinct is ... you are here much sooner. And your needs, both of you, are much greater than I could have hoped.”

And the humming started. Like thick syrup entering her mind, and sliding along its sticky density were the words of Evelyn seeping into every empty space. Heather wasn’t curious anymore. She let herself go. With every exhale, she could feel her thoughts, her worries dissipate.

As Evelyn spoke, Heather could feel the program soaking into her, covering her like honey. She felt as if she had been with Evelyn for days when the machine shut off just 15 minutes later.

She rose, and felt more at ease that she could ever recall. Recall. Recall. Her thoughts poured back into her mind. But they had changed. She felt lighter, freer. She knew where she was. As she stood up, she remembered who she was, that she was a millionaire, that Evelyn was dead.

Yet there were gaps, sugar-filled and thoughtless. All that she knew was true and real was deep in the back behind the void. Up front was what sat naked on the bed before her.

Betsy had reclined, and her face beamed with anticipation as Heather neared her. Tara hadn’t moved a muscle once she turned off the machine. Nothing disturbed Heather ... or the deep, mindless need to please and obey Betsy that followed her in her wake.

The world around them didn’t pay much attention. There were onlookers who may have been slightly shocked to see the two attractive, young women walking so intimately hand in hand in the Shopping District, buying whatever struck their fancy.

They may have noticed the happy, carefree laughs and bright smiles of the two women lunching at the most exclusive bistro in town. Or those same smiles when they were joined by the elegant older woman, who was clearly more familiar with them than an aunt or mother.

Betsy continued to work at the firm, although her working hours had gradually decreased from month to month. She had what she had barely allowed herself to even dream. And it fulfilled her. She had two, wonderful slaves. But not a moment ever went by that she didn’t appreciate them for who they really, deep down, were.

Heather accepted Evelyn’s programming easily. She was still rich. She still had decisions to make, although she almost always deferred to Betsy. Betsy would take care of everything. All Heather wanted to do was take care of Betsy in return. She was a slave now. Not as erased at Tara, but she didn’t need or want that. She was aware. And helplessly submissive. Her mind was free of nearly every outside thought but deep obedience. She had inherited happiness. Betsy would be there to make sure.

And so would Tara.

Heather sometimes thought ... she looked for it in Tara’s eyes. In her smile. She had loved Evelyn. But now she had real love. Heather loved her, made love to her, without end. And Betsy was what even her kind Miss Evelyn had not been—grateful.

Tara had finally found peace.