The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I know you’ve been worried about me, so I’m writing this to let you know where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to. Pardon the length, but I can’t make it any shorter. By the time you get through it all I think you’ll understand.

So much has changed for me, and after all our years growing up together, I simply had to share it with you, so here it is! If it doesn’t feel as personal, Jen, forgive me... I’m just trying to explain where I am and why I’m staying. I know a lot of this will initially shock you, but try to set it aside until the end, okay?

This is the history of my enlightenment.

Don’t worry if you don’t know what that means.

I remember everything. I don’t know if I’m supposed to or not.

It’s not even valid to think about, considering the fact that I remember whether I want to or not.

I was still called Lisa when I got to Paris. Names don’t mean much anymore. Not yours, Jen, and not mine. Names give a sense of individuality, which is an illusion. I know you don’t believe me, but that matters as much as what you call yourself. We are all just the same, underneath.

I believed the same things that you do now, four months ago: that I knew who I was, that I was “the sum of my experiences” or words to that affect. I ate hamburgers and fries. I experienced hamburgers and fries. I am not hamburgers and fries. I am not the carpet in my living room. I am not the dildo that I love to plunge in and out of my burning cunt.

I am... here. I can’t tell you who I am, or what I am, because no matter how I try to do otherwise, I’m always the one looking outward. I can only see myself through others, and if I only recognize myself in others, then we are all the same, more or less.

Oh, there are differences. But they are like the skin of an apple... they are all on the surface, and amount to very little of the whole, although they add a certain coloring. If the skin is purple, it is still an apple.

Apples are apples. People are, more than anything else, people.

Fucking is fucking, and pleasure is pleasure. Well, sometimes pain is pleasure... it depends on if I see it that way. I see it that way if I see myself in someone else seeing it that way.

This is the unfolding of my enlightenment.

I have gained and lost, loved and hated, and now, I am reborn.

I saw myself for the first time, recognized myself, in Erica. As you know, this was my first trip abroad. I had just checked into my hotel at ten in the morning, and I decided to go back out to the Brasserie at the corner of the street for an espresso. I saw her come walking up, with her short crimson hair, green jacket and backpack, jeans and hiking boots, just disheveled enough to be disarming.

She eyed me as I took my petite cafe, sipping carefully to cool it to less than a scalding temperature. “You’re an American, aren’t you?” she asked boldly with a slight smile... as if she could tell without looking.

“Yes... I just got in,” I answered, happy to be able to speak easily with someone. I can’t speak enough French to buy a train ticket, and was already tired of having to rely on the good graces of strangers for help.

“Well, I stay at this hotel every year,” she bubbled.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one glad to have the company of a compatriot.

Spontaneously, we both sat down at a nearby table on the small veranda. It was almost as if we had choreographed it in advance, the soft upturn at the corner of her mouth, the answering look downward from me, and the amused formality of coming to rest across from a stranger who felt immediately familiar.

“My family used to come here when I was young,” she continued. “I grew up nearly as much in the streets of Paris as the streets of Cambridge.”

“It’s my first time,” I admitted. ”My youthful ‘vacation’ time was spent harvesting potatoes on my uncle’s farm in Illinois. My parents thought it would build character.” I tossed my hair back with a flourish. “Obviously, it worked. I’m in Paris.”

We laughed, continued to talk as the morning wore on, and although I didn’t recognize it at the time—had no reason to recognize it—we fell in love almost immediately.

Jen, I know you. You’re asking yourself among other things, “Why wouldn’t she recognize it?” You see, I was on my first real adventure. It was hard to tell the difference between my natural enthusiasm for France and the infatuated mists of falling in love. Paris wasn’t just old. It was a city that was greener, more alive, more... let me put it this way: the “culture” everyone talks about isn’t something you see. It isn’t something you touch. It is something that flows through everything around you and then it flows through you, too. It flowed through me like fine wine that opens your eyes to what wine can be.

That was probably why everything happened the way that it did. There is no rational explanation – only reasons, and reasons are bits of dust that float on the wind.

As we sat and talked, there was obviously a bond... I caught myself looking at the way her skin wrinkled at her thumb as she lifted her espresso to her lips. And they were the lips I secretly wished I possessed; not overly full, but they sat out from her face, round and inviting, whether she smiled or made a mock grimace. Her smile gave her the slightest trace of dimples... and her nose was perfection... matched with her large eyes, it was long and sharp... on any other face it would have been a distraction... on her, it was the completion of natural beauty.

Our conversation drifted to museums and places that she knew—places where no tourist would venture, with streets and sights that only were available from years of exploration and familiarity. I was captivated by her stories, her remembrances, and finally by her suggestion that she show me Paris as it was meant to be seen.

We ended up spending the entire afternoon and evening together, shopping, sharing wine and dinner, laughing, joking and flirting with passers by and each other. We had a contest to see who could make more strangers smile. Can you imagine such a thing?

If you can, imagine not having to imagine. It was a day beyond words.

When I finally went to my own room to sleep for the night, I had a feeling that I had only experienced after the most torrid moments with my short list of boyfriends. I was lonely. Not sad, but aching with the desire to be cuddling up to someone, bodies shared gently, almost casually, with only the intensity of breathing and unending playfulness as evidence that something much deeper and passionate was happening.

This is the revelation of my enlightenment.

These were my thoughts as I drifted off to sleep.

Jen, you know my dreams have always been strange things. And my dreams that night were strange, even for me.

I was lying in my hotel room, my eyes closed, and it started before I knew I was asleep. I could hear voices in the hall, talking softly, intently. I heard my door open and feet pad to my bed. My eyes popped open and I started to scream as a hand fell over my mouth. I hesitated and looked at my intruder and relaxed. It was Erica.

“Don’t scream, Lisa,” she whispered. “I’m sorry to scare you like that, but I couldn’t stop myself from coming in to see you. I mean, I’m not like a dyke or anything, but...”

(But you’re starting to question it,) I thought. I realized that we were the same in another uncanny way. The scent of her hands wafted into and then lingered in my nose, adding to the ethereal sensation, and that’s when I realized in the back of my thoughts that I was dreaming, even though I was still too deep to wake up.

I sat up slowly, my eyes feeling sluggish as they moved in their sockets to look at wonderful, crimson-haired Erica. I saw a dim reflection of myself in the mirror too, half-lit by the unshaded window, blonde and waif-like, my nightgown sitting loosely over my petite frame. The eyes in my roundish, chipmunky face went wide with a start as I realized I was wet. Very, very wet.

My sleepy adventure took a weirder turn. Erica took my hand and said, “I got an ‘oil change’ last night. You need one, too.”

“What... what does that mean?” I asked, feeling my thoughts circle around in confusion as the scent of her skin distracted me so much that my words only possessed mild curiosity. Leave it to dreams to put together car maintenance and romantic taboo.

“I’ll show you,” she said leaning close. She kissed me fully, passionately on the lips, and I couldn’t help myself... I responded. When I broke the kiss... I found that I couldn’t—it wasn’t like her lips were stuck to mine... it was like we had grown together, fused into locked pleasure and swirling tongues. I surrendered to the enhanced feeling, even as the dream-scene switched from odd to fearful.

Water, but thicker, sweeter, gushed out of her mouth and into mine... flowing down my throat, drowning me directly my lungs, entering my bloodstream there... I could feel it moving through my veins and hitting my brain, my body convulsing and revolting, drowning in this “almost-water” pouring from Erica.

At the same time, my body began to react, ignoring the terror in my mind, squirming almost hungrily as pleasure began to travel its curves and crevices, moving in a ballet with Erica as she ground her body grinding against mine, guided by her motion.

I was a mirror image locked in a building dance of lust and corruption... so far beyond the control of my increasingly reeling mind that it was useless to do anything but follow her into the throes of ecstasy, passion and release. My pussy was a boiling cauldron, heated by the fire that was her, that was us, together, one mind bent on more and more pleasure, until we shook together in the ancient rite of explosive paradise.

Erica broke away – as I lay still, unwilling and unable to move at all.

I remember thinking that this must be what dying is like. The body stopped, the mind careening in confusion and then... serenity. Pleasure. Bliss. None of it mattered. I wasn’t breathing, my heart wasn’t pounding, there was nothing. Well, except the smell of Erica’s hands and the singing of her voice in my ear.

Singing secret things that ended my nightmare.

I felt my legs move under the blanket and realized again that it really had been a dream and that morning would come. Just like that. That’s how reality shows itself. It doesn’t offer excuses or apologies, and it doesn’t knock. It just lets you know when you’re back in it.

I slowly opened my eyes. There was no sign of Erica.

This is the journey of my enlightenment.

I don’t dream anymore.

I slept in for a bit the next morning, but when I went down to the little breakfast room, I still managed to get croissants and coffee served by someone who spoke about as much English as I did French. She still smiled at me, I suppose because I was rather embarrassed at not knowing her language, and didn’t show typical American snobbery. She seemed relieved that I smiled back and gave her a look that showed the helplessness I felt.

I froze as Erica walked in and sat down across from me. My dream from the night before was still very much present in my thoughts, and I couldn’t shake the sensation of her kiss. She didn’t seem to notice and started talking about where we would go that day.

Finally, sensing my distraction, she looked at me in the eyes and said, “Are you okay, Lisa? You seem a bit... elsewhere.”

“I’m fine. I had a weird, weird dream last night. You were in it.”

“Oh?” she said, smiling. “I’m not that kind of girl, you know.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and laughed, breaking me out of my pensive mood. I didn’t mention to her, though, that her antics suddenly made my pussy start pulsing softly in yearning.

I should have been shocked, but I wasn’t. While I didn’t freeze again, my mind began to whirl.

I wasn’t a lesbian. I’d never even seriously considered it. I had always found the idea of two women together curious, but a little nauseating to consider for real. Yet I had found Erica alluring from the first moment we had met.

Where is the border between affection and lust? For me, it had always been a black, easily defined line, with no crossing. But now, it felt hazy, like a thick fog that looked substantial until I was in the middle of it. By the time I was, it was too late to avoid and too easy to get lost.

So easy.

I decided that it was because she was sort of my savior. She was witty, intelligent, fun... and she was keeping me from being totally lost and alone in a city that I was realizing was much more overwhelming, even sinister, than my first impression. I thanked whatever Goddess had sent her to me, to guide me through the maze of this foreign land. It was incredibly good fortune on a trip that would have otherwise been a terrible mistake.

“I dreamed, too.” she said, looking at me with an odd sort of open-mouthed distraction. “About you. ‘And that’s ahl Ah have to say about thayat’,” she concluded.

“Okay, Forrest,” I laughed. “What’s on the schedule today?”

This is the mystery of my enlightenment.

There is no turning back.

We spent the early part of the day wandering around the shops near the Sorbonne, and wandering up and down the Seine. There’s something about wine and cafes and light conversation in Paris that feels so... appropriate.

All morning long I let Erica lead me from place to place, finding every suggestion and discovery more delightful than the last. It was uncanny—almost as if she were reading my mind about what would be fun, except that it was hidden to me until she mentioned it. After awhile I dismissed the oddity of it and just accepted that I should let her guide me. After all, who was I to question her knowledge? She was taking me further along on my adventure, and she was the one who knew Paris. She was the one who knew what we should do next.

Not thinking gave me that much more excuse to give in to my growing obsession with her.

By early afternoon I had quite a giddy buzz, and as we took the Metro to the Port D’ Orleans station, I found that my earlier easy balance on the subway was a bit more of a struggle.

As we ascended to the sunlit street, Erica suggested a little sidewalk cafe she knew for a bit of lunch. She led me for blocks and blocks through twisting streets followed by more twisting streets. By the time we got to the small rustic cafe, I was more than ready, and besides, it was an excuse to sit for while.

Erica ordered two Kirs while we waited. I’d never had one, but coming from Erica, it sounded like a wonderful idea.

I went inside to use the bathroom, and smelled the definite remnants of burned cannabis in the air. When I returned to the table, I told Erica, and she looked at me in surprise and said, “Oh, do you imbibe?”

“Well, not for a few years now, but I certainly had my time,” I said, blinking innocently.

She gave me a curious look, and when the waiter came to our table, she began a flirtatious conversation in French that was as beautiful as it was impossible for me to follow. He brought us two more Kirs, and handed Erica an envelope. She stood up and motioned for me to follow her and we walked through a small passageway around to the back of the place.

She tore open the envelope, and pulled out, to my surprise, two joints, one of which she pocketed, and the other which she put between her lips. Her beautiful, beautiful lips. Pulling a small vial from her pocket, the dabbed some drops of a yellowish liquid along the lengths of the little cigarette.

The aroma of the liquid made it to my nose and I reeled, realizing that it was the aroma of my dream. I had to stop and think for a second. Then I figured it out. If the aroma was that strong, and she carried it with her, then I probably had smelled it yesterday, too. It had merely became part of my dream, like all kinds of trivial happenings of the day.

Finally, she lit the joint. I watched her, fascinated with the way her hands moved. I could tell I was getting very far away from the girl I had been… the one who had arrived at Orly International the day before. But this is why I came to Paris. Something new.

Something different. (Something wonderful,) whispered my mind.

Taking a huge hit, she passed it to me and choked out, “Special blend.”

Feeling quite wicked, I took a hit myself, and immediately felt the buzz creep into my brain. Whatever she had done to the pot was impressive, that was for sure, although the taste was the same. This had an immediate affect, and my head was in that otherworldly, slightly jerky-eyed place before I even released my first toke.

Erica’s eyes were already glassy as they stared into mine, and I was reminded again of my dream from the night before.

Erica started talking but I was too busy in my own head to hear the first of it. “...happens when you get an ‘oil change’,” she whispered.

“What?!?” I nearly screamed.

“This pot is powerful... I only added incense, so it must have been zapped by a mold strain. I was only kidding,” she said.

I laughed and nearly fell backwards but she caught me before I keeled over.

“What were we talking about?” I giggled, my thoughts already getting lost like they do when “under the influence”.

“Take another hit,” she said. “That’s what you were thinking. You need to take another hit.”

“Why?” I was slightly confused.

“Because I said so,” she said quietly, smiling.

I giggled again. “Silly me.” I took a deep drag off of the joint, letting it send more waves of distance through my body and mind.

“Take another. Take a really, really deep one and hold it until I tell you to let it out. It won’t bother you at all, I promise.” She sounded very sincere. Almost demanding. The authority in her voice combined with the high was definitely teasing my libido. Hell with that... my body was screaming for her.

“Yes, Ma’am!” I said, saluting and smiling. My voice sounded like someone else talking, almost like a child. I giggled again and pushed out all my breath. I pulled in a full breath of nothing but the pungent smoke, and held it, sure I would be coughing my lungs out in a few seconds.

It didn’t happen. It didn’t hurt. My eyes went wide as I realized that I didn’t feel any need to breathe. Nothing. I was just holding it in, looking at her. She was saying something I couldn’t quite hear. I was in love with the movements of her pink tongue. My vision started to get fuzzy at the edges, turning to a nice black that was creeping in as everything started to shimmer.

Just as I was about to pass out, I heard Erica’s angelic voice say, “Let it out now, love. Breathe normally.” I felt the wind pass from my lungs to the air and my vision go dark, barely aware as my knees crumbled and I fell off the earth and into infinity.

This is the moment of my enlightenment.

There is no going home.

I lay for a long time listening to voices. I couldn’t tell if they were close or not, and the words kept fading in and out, as did my consciousness.

“... she really is dear, Mistress. I was hoping that you could allow me to...” That was Erica. I felt my lips begin to smile at the sound of her voice.

“... assimilated yet. The vapors from the oil are slightly hallucinogenic, but the reprogramming it allows is the key. It won’t take too long before she goes from a malleable state to cementing of new realizations. You did give her all the instructions, didn’t you...”

“... commands given to her through her posterior interface. The subcutaneous circuitry has been implanted with a variable voltage of plus or minus...”

“... been permanently grafted. She will worship anything she knows is Yours. Her base personality remains, but is superseded by her desire to obey...”

“... wake up, dear. It’s time to begin teaching you. Wake up.”

I realized the voice was talking to me. Erica. I opened my eyes.

I couldn’t move them from staring straight ahead. I moaned.

“They’ve injected a chemical that paralyzes your optical motion. It’s necessary for mapping you.” Why wasn’t she letting me see her?

I began to move my head in a vain attempt to move my eyes. I was strapped down. “Stop struggling. This is for your own good. Mistress says so.”

I immediately stopped struggling. Mistress had said this was for my own good. I knew Mistress spoke the truth. Was Erica Mistress? But before I could follow that thought with another, I realized that I was not worthy enough to be allowed curiosity. I saw that it made more sense not to worry about it... in fact, that it was more important than anything else in the world.

It had come from Mistress.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t know things had changed. I remembered every moment up to passing out in front of Erica. I knew that I would not have felt this way before. It didn’t make any difference. This was the right way to think. This was the only way to think. I knew all the way to my core that I would never think any other way ever again.

“What is your name?”

“Lisa,” I croaked.

“No, that was your name. What is your name now?” Obviously I had answered incorrectly. I wanted to be correct, of course.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Listen. Listen with new ears.”

I listened.

“I said to listen with new ears,” coaxed the disembodied voice of my teacher, my Erica. “It will not be a sound.”

I felt something travel from my asshole, through my clit, winding its way through my breasts, around my nipples, into my armpits, across my shoulders and into my neck. I was suddenly covered in pleasure-induced goosebumps.

My mouth opened to speak, despite my lack of intention to say anything. “Girl,” said my mouth and lips and tongue.

“Very good.”

“But I didn’t say it,” I began to protest.

“Oh? Then who did?”

“I don’t know.” Why was she being so cold and clinical with me?

“Mistress says it was you who said it.”

I flinched and thought again. Yes. I had said it. Of course.

Stupid girl. “I said it.”

“Mistress says that any words or thoughts that come to you from the Oracle are yours. They are absolute. You think them. You say them. They belong to no one else. They are law. They are perfect truth.”

Finally, Erica came over to where I could see her. She kissed me deeply, passionately, and then backed away a bit and said, “Now, we will be joined in our destinies forever. My body is your body. Your body is my body. My mind is your mind. Your mind is my mind. One body. One mind. One thought. One pleasure. Obedient only to Mistress. Our purpose is whatever Mistress says it is. Even though you can see and remember your past, the thoughts and opinions that lead you back to who you were before are as irrelevant as your old name. They are illogical. Nonsense. Malarkey. They are like trying to understand a fish talking. It makes no sense to even try. I’m sure you can see that, girl.”

“Malarkey,” I whispered.

She kissed me again, more tenderly, and again, even as I ached for her, she pulled away. I heard her fumble with something, and then tensed as a now familiar aroma entered my nose, altering my perceptions further into rubbery abandon.

“Listen and accept,” said Erica. There was no room for a question.

My body shook as my mind was redirected to the Truth. Taught. Corrupted. Corrected. It was absolutely delicious.

This is the reality of my enlightenment.

Ignorance dies with knowledge. Knowledge only grows.

Eventually, I was released from the table and led to an adjoining room. From there, I was taken to a bath and washed and cleaned by other women. All of them were naked and aroused. We were all the same.

Finally, I was clean enough to be presented. I was taken to yet another large room, and told to wait. My Oracle, hidden away inside my anus, gave me truth and pleasure. I kneeled.

I heard footsteps enter but did not look up. When the Oracle told me to lift my eyes, I did. “You have learned well, girl. On the other hand, you didn’t really have any choice. But that is how experience teaches. It doesn’t offer choice, but only relentless instruction.

“Do you know Me?”

“You are Mistress Black,” answered my Oracle. I also answered.

I could no longer tell any difference. There was no difference.

“Yes. You love My Feet, don’t you.”

My heart swelled with love as I had never before felt. My Oracle was keening in my sex and in my head as my heart began to pound.

“Oh, yes, Mistress! I love Your Feet more than life itself!” I sputtered, overcome with the disorienting Truth that burned in my soul.

“Then you will worship Them now with your tongue. It is, for now, the highest honor and greatest pleasure you can attain when in My presence.”

I crawled at the bidding of my Oracle and tasted the Feet of an Angel. Black nail polish consumed my vision, followed by the curves of her toes and delectable arches. Pleasure snaked from my tongue into the furthest reaches of my brain. I began to pant as I licked and savored Mistress’ Feet. My nipples became stiff and I felt as if my pussy were being serviced by a hundred deft and irresistible tongues, tongues that knew every secret pleasure.

Her Feet became my existence, my entire focus, my breath, my purpose. I suckled on each perfect Toe as if each were an entirely new lover. Mistress’ moans were my reward, causing the blood in my veins to become rivers of depravity, delivering Her Essence to every cell in my body.

I knew that I would have been shocked in my former life. I knew that I would have been disgusted. I also know that I no longer had the ability to care. My Oracle began to teach me... about Mistress’ body, from Her Head to Her Feet. I knew that with a word I would worship Her Asshole and beg to taste it. I would suck Her long Dildo and beg for Her to fuck me. If She told me that the pain She inflicted was overwhelming pleasure, it would be so. I would do anything, even die, to please Her most minute Whim.

With no warning, orgasm washed over me, and still my tongue licked and worshipped Her Holy Feet. Writhing on the floor, enslaved to my abandon and to Her, I felt the elation and humiliation of total surrender. The pleasure of it nearly dragged me into unconsciousness... and only my Oracle, commanding me to cum and worship and cum and worship and cum and worship and cum and worship and cum and worship kept me from falling into the darkness.

I licked even as I recovered, panting deeply.

“Just wait until you meet Mistress White, Mistress Red, and Mistress Lavender,” laughed Mistress Black. “And this is just the beginning. You will be Taught for four months before you are ready to be called anything but ‘girl’, and take your place among the enlightened.

“Tell Me who lives in the world, girl.”

“Your slaves, Mistress,” I said, the Oracle prompting me with the Answer that was mine to give.

“And what is the difference between you and others?”

“None that matter. There are only those who already know, and those who have yet to be enlightened.”

“Very good, girl. You may proceed to My ankles.”

This time, even the Oracle could not keep me from fainting.

This is the beauty of my enlightenment.

Enlightenment is inevitable.

That’s pretty much it, Jen. By now, you are deeply aroused, after a feeling of initial shock. There is an ethereal quality to everything around you. The vapors of the oil which I applied to this letter are temperature activated, and there is no way of escaping. You don’t really want to, do you? You can hear my voice, like that of an angel. It is almost as if I’m singing in your ear. You are thinking about my tongue lapping endlessly at your pussy, driving you insane, making your mind surrender. It is a surrender that longs for Mistress.

Inside the package that came with this letter is a vial of yellow oil, and a CD to help with your enlightenment. Open the oil and breathe deeply.

Yes. That’s it. Good girl. Also in the package is a one-way ticket to Paris and a U.S. passport in your name. Reservations have already been made at the hotel listed on this letter’s return address.

When you are done with this letter, burn it, but save the envelope and the oil. Then masturbate yourself to sleep, obsessing about how much you want to fuck me. Dream only of the bliss of surrender to Mistress.

When you awaken tomorrow, you will remember none of this, except that you have been planning on your trip to Paris for longer than you can remember. You have thirty days to plan so that you don’t raise suspicion. Twice daily, you will listen privately to the CD as you breathe the vapors of the oil. You will find yourself longing to do so.

Lastly, there are eight more packages and letters for you to give out to our mutual friends. Deliver them all as soon as possible, starting tomorrow.

I am waiting to take you into pleasure such as you have never known. Mistress has honored me by allowing me to be your guide to Her.

Paris 15/10/2000