The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next few days were a blur for Chloe: get up, dress in something tight and pretty, make lots of money, sip her lemonade, eat a Spartan lunch at her desk, make lots more money, sip more lemonade, get rousted out of her chair by the cleaning staff, go home, make a sandwich, turn on porn, think about how well she was doing for her Mistress, fuck herself into blissful unconsciousness, and do it all again the next day. She had to be the best at everything she did: best trader, best fuckbunny, best mindless obedient slave, best at whatever her Mistress needed her to be. The better she was, the better she was doing for the one who owned her, and that aroused her in ways she had never understood before.

Friday came, and instead of going home to fuck herself into a blissful haze, she drove to the Rooftop and stepped out of her car with a smirk of pride on her face. “Chloe St. John, Rooftop,” she tossed over her shoulder at the security guard, making sure he could see her ass in the tight cream-colored skirt, since that was all he was going to get from her.

Letting go of her mind and body the moment her eyes locked on Inga at the bar was a more satisfying release than she’d been able to get in all her nightly hours of masturbation. Her brain shut down, her body froze, and she waited to be commanded.

“Good, Chloe. Undress,” Inga ordered, and that let Chloe move enough to rip off her clothes without hesitation.

“You are a week ahead of where I expected you to be. Such a strong mind... I thought you would be a week behind. But maybe your brain is tired and trying to stop. Your trading numbers show no damage. Still, read and explain,” Inga told her.

Chloe looked at the accounting statement that Inga handed her and interpreted it faster and more accurately than even Christina the accountant could. More, she recognized the numbers: returns from her own firm, showing the profit that she and the other traders had made, showing the money that went to the senior executives, showing the money that was invested in outside ventures like the Rooftop. I helped make this possible! she thought, glowing with pride.

Inga smiled and breathed in deep. She could smell Chloe’s excitement. “Repressed fantasy? Oh, lucky that I found you. Come... good, not so dumb that you ruin my fine wooden floor with your juices.”

Chloe followed Inga to the very back of the club and watched Inga activate a secret door that led to her office. Shelves lined the walls, and each shelf held a row of nesting dolls. Some of them Chloe recognized: Li’s short black bangs, Shelby’s striking green eyes, Christina’s long platinum hair. Others were strangers.

But the one that Inga took down and put on her desk was like looking into a mirror: long blonde hair, blue eyes, pink lips, pertly upturned nose. The doll wore pink, studded with rhinestones at the top, short at the bottom. Inga picked it up. “You, yes?”

“Oh, yes,” Chloe thought, thinking of the wild Saturday night she’d spent working in the bar.

With a sharp twist that Chloe imagined feeling in her waist, Inga opened up the doll to reveal... Chloe, in a tan business suit, her face serious, a pen drawn in behind her ear. “You, no?”

“Yes,” Chloe said, recognizing the suit as the first one Shelby had bought her, when she was still easing into her new role. The lights in the little office were very bright, and the room was stuffy from the lack of airflow.

Inga opened the doll again, and this time Chloe felt the twist lower than her waist. She wasn’t surprised when the next doll was also Chloe, but naked. The artist had done a surprisingly good job on her nipples, considering the medium. Her painted eyes were wide, tongue stuck at the corner of her red-painted mouth like a promise. If the little doll had had legs, Chloe was sure that they would be spread.

“You still?” Inga asked.

Chloe nodded, slowly, her head feeling like wood, thinking of the orgy with the other new hires and the nights she’d spent with her vibrator.

Inga opened this doll more slowly, stroking it, and Chloe imagined she could feel that touch on her skin, on her hips and her stomach. She was starting to get aroused again, but the more she focused on the thought, the more her thoughts scattered like the lights on the mirrorball.

Lights. It was a thought, but it withered in the force of Inga’s presence. She blinked.

The next doll was Chloe, but the artist had made an effort to show that this version of Chloe was wearing a pantsuit instead of a skirt. The charcoal of the suit was a sharp contrast to the bright and girlish colors of the other Chloes. This was a sharp-witted oil trader, able to make millions literally overnight once she put her mind to it.

“You?” Inga pressed.

Chloe couldn’t even form the word yes anymore. Her body was heavy and her head had gone from heavy as stone to light as a balloon. The lights were flashing in her eyes, behind her eyes, and everything Inga was saying made so much sense that she knew that she was being induced. She couldn’t hear the words in the background, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to, so that was all right. Those words were for her subconscious mind, to sink into her subconscious like seeds in rich ground so that they could grow and spread.

Inga snapped the trader open with a sharp turn of her wrist and revealed the twirling stripper naked on her pole, there to fuck for entertainment, or just titillate without ever getting satisfaction. “You?” she asked.

Chloe’s head fell forward. With an effort, she pulled it back up, only to fall back into the lights and drift down again, towards Inga, towards all the Chloes on the desk, so small and so helpless, made into whatever Inga wished.

Inga opened the stripper and took out the smallest doll. This Chloe wore blue jeans and a plain shirt, with no makeup and a no-nonsense expression on her face- her on her first day, almost unrecognizable in the short weeks since she had come to the rooftop. “You still?” Inga asked forcefully.

Part of Chloe wanted to admit not anymore and fall forever until she was just the slut on fire for anything in her twat, or the bimbo barmaid giggling her way through the club with a tray of drinks and her tits on display, or the stripper forever showing off her goods for the rest of the party. But she was too far gone to fall. She nodded, weakly, trying to find some sort of strength from the littlest doll.

“Now watch,” Inga commanded. Piece by piece, she put the nesting dolls back together: the resister inside the stripper, who was consumed by the oil trader, who was overwhelmed by the sex fiend, who was taken by the confident one, who was superseded by the bimbo barmaid. As the dolls fell neatly into her places, Chloe felt her different modes of thought stir in turn, falling into place in her mind exactly as Inga would have them. She would be whichever of them was needed, as Inga wanted, and first and foremost she was Inga’s servant, especially in the club.

“What is the bond?” Inga demanded, recognizing the understanding but not faltering.

Chloe went blank, just as Shelby and Christina and the other veterans went blank whenever Inga showed her face. “I am yours,” she droned, eyes dead to the world, swaying with dizziness as her brain molded itself to the new reality.

Inga picked up the collection, and Chloe’s head turned to follow her like iron drawn to a magnet. A flicker of awareness brought the idea of voodoo dolls into her head, but it went out a moment later as Inga opened the dolls and set up each one separately on Chloe’s own shelf. Even the original Chloe stood woodenly, the smallest of them all in the line of Inga’s collection of Chloe’s.

“All of you?” Inga snapped.

Chloe’s resistance wanted to take the fore and scream “NO!” at the top of her lungs, but she couldn’t. Winning this battle would be the end of her. Her pride and her sharp mind had driven her own takedown, but Inga had added confidence and fearlessness to her intelligence and acumen. If she stopped now... who knew where she would fall? And yet- the littlest Chloe was the one at the heart of everything, the one that was left when all the others were shed. Without that one, she’d be a soulless money-grubbing machine, or a soulless sex-crazed bimbo named Chloi (or whatever the spelling of her name in the bimbo language would be).

For the littlest doll to survive at the heart of the others, she would have to let the others subsume her in turn. Cold crisp logic and hot wet need hit her in rapid succession until her empty smile was no longer forced and her eyes glazed over without any help. “All of them,” she droned.

Inga applauded. “Good, Chloe. Put on your work clothes now.”

Chloe went to the dressing room without a second thought and happily fell into giggling chatter with her co-workers before the shift began and she wove her way through the club, never losing a step on her high heels. The hours passed like minutes, every one of them hotter than the last, and she was ready for the rooftop by the time midnight hit. The theme was the ’80s, and Chloe admired the sheer number of neon tights, cutoffs, and Members Only jackets Inga had been able to assemble for this.

Of course, the cutoffs and tights looked better scattered all over the roof, and the Members Only jackets made great padding for being banged with single-minded intensity.

Banks aren’t supposed to be open on Sunday! the smallest doll in Chloe’s matroshka head cried silently, but not even Chloe cared. She sat and waited in the lobby of Slavic Checking, with the doors locked, surrounded by money-making dolls asking all kinds of sexual questions.

One of them sat down with her and pulled up her accounts. “Empty everything,” she was told.

Chloe clicked for the outgoing transfer.

“You’re sending everything to Inga Zogota’s master account. A card will be issued to you for necessary purchases. Limits are Inga’s to decide. Do you understand, little doll?” the banker said sternly.

“I’m a big doll! Of course I understand!” Chloe said with a giggle, and with a few more clicks, Chloe St. John ceased to have an independent financial existence. She would make millions in her career, but not a penny of it was hers. But that was what she had been created to do, and she felt the dolls in her head settling into place as the red card was stamped with her name.

But when she held it up to the light and let the spiral make her dizzy, she saw the name of its true owner... of her true owner.

Chloe made two weeks’ worth of production in four days, taking advantage of some trends in the market, just to earn Friday off. She knew she’d done well when Shelby passed by her desk and said, “Go to the Rooftop tomorrow morning.”

Friday morning, she did as she was told, driving to the apartment building with nothing but her clothes and parking her car in the garage. “Zogota suite?” the doorman said with a chuckle, taking her up to one of the highest floors in the building.

Inga was waiting for her. “Good, Chloe,” she said, and Chloe felt her mind shut down in utter bliss as she was shepherded into a cozy pink room. The bed was fluffy and soft, and a glass of pale pink lemonade waited on the nightstand with a silver vibrator. Chloe fell into the bed with a sigh as she put away all the little dolls in her empty head and embraced the largest part of her new identity. She didn’t have to be anything else now that she was home.

Some time later, as the day came to an end, her fellow slaves returned from their money-making jobs, one by one putting on their work clothes and welcoming their new sister. “You’ve found where you belong,” Christina said with a warm smile.

“You’re ours,” Sofia agreed, but the subtext was clear to all of them: and we’re all hers.

Night shift didn’t feel like work, not when the week’s theme was bacchanalia and red wine flowed like water. The best part was that she didn’t have to drive home. All she had to do was follow the rest of her sister slaves down the secret staircase to the row of little pink rooms that were theirs until she found her room and fell into her bed with a goofy grin on her face.

The smell of lamb and cabbage awakened Chloe, mostly because she hadn’t expected it. She put on the pink sweatsuit that someone had left at the foot of the bed, then wandered out into the hall. The scent seemed to be coming from the club, and she followed Li out.

The whole family was there, her two dozen sisters in servitude and the mistress who had taken them all in. Every face was blank with devotion, with Inga at the center like the sun. But her voice was gentle, almost meek when she said, “Welcome, Chloe.”

“Welcome, Chloe,” the others echoed.

“Sunday is a day of rest and reflection,” Inga explained.

Chloe nodded her understanding as her thoughts and memories flowed back into place. “You’re all the smallest dolls, aren’t you?” she asked the others.

“Except not wearing those boring outfits,” Sofia said with a laugh. Chloe laughed with her.

Shelby came over and gave her a hug that straddled the line between friendly and intimate. “I know that I should regret bringing you into this. Are you... are you okay?” she asked, her gaze downcast.

The honesty took Chloe’s breath away, but she understood that this was all a part of keeping that resistant core strong against permanent and total bimbification. “I’m kicking more ass than ever at work, I have hot and charming new friends, I never have to pay rent again, and I’m always guaranteed a job. No, I’m not okay. I’m fabulous!” she said to Shelby, hugging her back in a way that most definitely was intimate.

As Inga dished out dinner, the other girls talked, openly and freely, bringing up old loves and the families they still spoke with on holidays, squealing with excitement at each other’s big successes and lamenting the chances they’d missed out on. Chloe was fascinated and comfortable, recognizing that there was no danger (except possibly from the borscht).

“What did it? That’s all I want to know. What did it? The orgies? The hormones? The perfume? The shaving cream? What brought me here?” she asked once she was sure she wouldn’t have her brain erased for her temerity.

“A doll is crafted from many parts, each one larger than the last. You will learn this. And then you will be on your own again. I will grow old, but when I do, there will be many Rooftops, in many different forms. There are almost too many of you here. Soon I will have to send some away- but you will never leave, not at your heart. Biologists, DJs, technicians- they have all worked for me, and all gone, and though I have never spoken to them again, they have never actually left,” Inga explained.

Chloe realized what she meant. She had a network, not just the girls and the firms linked to one club in one city. There were others helping build Inga’s fortune, and someday Chloe would be able to take an even more active part in doing so. The idea of it thrilled her, and she finished her lamb faster so she could get ready for the work week ahead, ready to make more and learn her true work.