The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Those of you that have corresponded at any length with me know that one of my greatest frustrations in writing is grammar, followed closely by spelling homonyms. You know, those little words that the spell checker says you wrote perfectly: “Mai pea sea is knot correcting prop early.”

Every time I post a new story, I find little mistakes I made, and it drives me crazy. It doesn’t matter how many times I proofread; there are always one or two things that I miss.

Then there is the annoying grammar checker that wants to change every sentence to something that doesn’t make sense. Like in the story “Blasphemy,” the grammar checker said that I should change “a woman, dressed in a jumpsuit identical to her own” to, “a woman, dressed in a jumpsuit identical to her owns.” Now, tell me, does that make sense? No! And that’s not even one of the really stupid examples.

The heart of the problem, though, is that I don’t ever have enough time to go over my writing at length. So, I decided that my mission, should I choose to accept it, should be to find a really, really good spelling and grammar checking program.

I couldn’t find anything at the local stores that seemed to fit my needs, so I did a search on the Internet. I got thousands of listings, most of them complaining about the same problem I was having. I tried defining my search a little better, and got the listings down to three hundred or so. Then I searched in those listings for “spell +correction.”

The first listing that came up was just what I was looking for.

It advertised that it could check anything written for context, for spelling, and even had a pronunciation guide, and it had a language base that could work in every modern language as well as more obscure, ancient languages. It included a translator, and a “Spell Check Wizard” that would let me tune my prose to my personal preferences. It looked perfect.

It also cost $250.00, but I figured if it was good enough, it would be worth it. It was still less than most of the software I used. I ordered online and even paid the ridiculously high shipping charge for next day delivery. I was psyched.

When I came home from work the next day, it was waiting for me on the doorstep.

My partner, Susan, was working late, so I took the opportunity to load it and try it out. It included one floppy disk and one CD-ROM, and took only about five minutes to load (and integrate itself into my word processor). It demanded to be registered, and it was kind of odd. It not only asked name and address and computer information, but asked for spousal/partner information, names of friends (I assumed to include names in its dictionary), and personal statistics, up to and including sexual orientation. “What the heck,” I thought, filling everything in.

My first experiment was a story I’d written over a year ago; one that was so bad that I’m almost embarrassed to mention it. It was called “The Necklace,” and was a typical “jewelry with amazing powers” sort of story. I won’t go too much into the details, because that was then and this is now. It will have to suffice for me to say that it wasn’t my best work.

As soon as I asked it to check the story, it came up with the Spell Check Wizard menu that asked for what I wanted it to do. I decided to go for it. I checked the boxes next to Spelling, Grammar, Continuity, POV First Person. At the bottom there was a little sliding scale thingy that went from “Fiction” at one end to “Realism” at the other. I thought it was kind of strange, considering my understanding of the definitions of fiction and reality... but I decided to make it 80% realistic. I thought I might as well see what this program would do when I let it loose.

I hit the “Finish” button and waited. The thing churned for nearly twenty minutes, stopping, starting, stopping, and restarting. Finally it finished, and I looked at what it had done.

To my surprise, it had changed very little, but as I read I was amazed at how much the subtle changes made a difference. It also changed the names of the characters to people in my life, including myself. I decided that it was the “Realism” factor. Regardless, I couldn’t stop reading, and read it three times through before I could bring myself to quit for a moment.

At the bottom of the last page was some kind of Latin phrase... a corporate motto, I assumed, followed by copyright information and the note, “Spell checked and approved.” Kind of arrogant, but hey, it had done a great job, so who was I to complain?

I returned from the Land of Critique, and realized that I felt a little scornchy, so I decided to take a shower. Susan would probably be home by the time I was done, and I was hoping for a nice night together. Damn, reading that story had made me hot... and although I usually relate well to the victim in MC stories, it was much more intense to see my own name taking up that place in the story.

I let my soapy fingers run over my nipples, and found them incredibly hard and sensitive... tried to tweak them but the soap kept making them slip out... absolutely delicious. My mind turned to Susan as I let my fingers “clean” my clit... it seemed like it had never been quite so sensitive...

I decided to wait for Susan to come home before I continued... the way I was feeling, all hot and randy, was something she would definitely want to share.

I was watching the six o’clock news when Susan walked in the door. “Hey, babe... I was wondering if you had found someone else,” I pouted, teasing her.

“No way, Sara... I just stopped to pick up something,” she smiled back, holding a hand behind her back.

“Nothing for me?” I joked, smiling. “I’m disappointed!”

She held out a small box, without wrapping paper but with a cute little silver bow on it. “No, I just saw it and knew it was ‘me’,” she shot back, grinning from ear to ear. “I know you’re gonna love it...”

She opened it slowly, while I watched... and my heart nearly stopped when I saw what was inside. It was an alexandrite pendant necklace, and the stone was at least five carats. A small fortune. But more than that, it was exactly... and I mean exactly... like the one in my story.

“Well, put it on,” I said impatiently. “You didn’t buy it just for me to gawk at in the box!”

“Okay,” she said, hesitating. This was just too weird. “My God, Susan, it’s just beautiful,” I added. I meant it, too. It was gorgeous. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I began to notice a sort of dreamy throb somewhere between my ears.

She pulled it over her hand, and let it dangle in front of our eyes. Then, something else strange happened. I felt a wave pass through me, sending a shiver. “Someone just walked over my grave,” I laughed.

Susan was still gazing, admiring her new purchase. She was looking kind of intense, actually. “Huh?” she finally murmured.

“I was just saying that seeing this thing on you sent a shiver through me... too weird, eh?”

“You do like it very much, don’t you, Sara.”

“It makes you look like a queen, Susan,” I gushed, almost with awe. “It’s like it’s a part of you or something...”

“Well, then, go fix your queen a fuzzy navel, my loyal subject!” she quipped. Now, I know you don’t know me, but really, what happened next was quite out of character.

“Yes, M’lady,” I responded. Where had that come from? The story, came the answer. I thought I had been joking, but my feet walked me into the kitchen, eyes cast down, and I heard the clinking of glasses as I began to do just as she had “commanded.” My head was definitely in a weird place. I was thinking of not doing it, but kind of getting turned on by it, too.

Still, I didn’t take it too seriously. We always play around, and I figured I was just letting myself go a little. Why, then, did it feel like the voice of reason in me had nothing to do with my actions? And why was the thought coming back to me over and over to surrender, to submit, to obey? Why was this pressure growing in my mind and down my spine and into my asshole and clit to worship my Queen—I mean, my lover and partner?

The story. Real. 80%. Holy fucking shit...

I began to fight the compulsions, but fighting just made hot sparks shoot through my slutty little clit and nipples as if connected by an electrical wire. My revulsion just made me hotter to obey... my mind was starting to fall into line... I could feel each barrier crumbling under the relentless need to obey the wearer of the alexandrite... my snatch was fucking dripping and my mind was dripping away with it.

Every step back into the room took me deeper into Susan’s irrepressible draw. I glanced up into her eyes, and gasped. She knew! The bitch KNEW!

“Serve, slave,” she commanded, her voice filled with strength she had never before possessed.

I tried to hold my legs back, but all that happened was that I looked awkward. “A slave must be smooth and perfectly graceful,” came the soft inner command. Of course, smooth and graceful... smooth and...

I tried to reconcile the widening gap between the last of my reason and my powerful, almost instinctive, reactions as I bent to one knee, and then bowed low before my Queen. No, Susan. My Queen. Susan my Queen. My Mistress. My protector. My existence. No. My purpose. Whore. Yes. No. Obey. Surrender. Slut. Submit. “Let go for Queen Mistress Susan,” the inner voice began to chant.

I raised and held up to her the glass of orange juice and peach schnapps. Before I could even think, my lips spoke. “May this cold refreshment please Your Highness as much as it has honored Your slut to make and present it to You...”

I nearly gagged at the cornpone of my words, but they flowed out, nonetheless. I was the victim of my own poor attempts at dialog...

She opened her legs, and I saw a thin wisp of my Queen’s juices drip down in a long, sinewy dollop. That’s when I finally gave in, when I finally knew that my Queen had won, that I was beyond choice as my own tongue drooled in sympathy with her wanton, beautiful cunt. I fell to her as her hands guided me, and began to lap up... up... up... up... up... up... and as she screamed out her pleasure, it screamed out through me... our bodies one in our obscene parody of life, but life that was now real...

Her hands reached out and pulled on my nipples, hard. The pain nearly made me scream... but I held my tongue. I felt the delicious rapture of fear and desire, wanting to please, afraid of the pain pleasing might bring. I was at the top floor, and watched inside my mind as my hand, slowly, unstoppably pressed the button for the basement. Da basement. Debasement.

My psyche was at the great chasm of total submission, of letting go until nothing was taboo, and my existence was only held to earth by the word of my Queen...

My mind was spinning uncontrollably down into the quagmire of total submission, my body singing its pleasure as my Mistress Queen was pleased, and I felt her hands, stinging, slap my ass come around to my belly, scratching. I flinched at every touch, gentle or stinging, and I didn’t just feel apathy, I wanted her to use me for her pleasure, whatever that would mean. There was no end to her torture and pleasure, combining and recombining them so that more and more they were the same thing...

I felt the inevitable building of my release, my rapture, and when I felt myself cum this time, and felt it take me over, my mind and my soul, my body bucking like a mindless whore in the dance of endless abandon, it was not even on the frigging Richter scale.

It was the sun burning through my soul.

Just like my story.

I won’t even talk about what she did with clothespins... but it was wonderful.

Finally, after we tasted every inch of each other, and teased each other to untold glory and climax upon maddening climax, she fell asleep.

Taking what I knew must be the 20% that was still mine, I crept back to the computer, and clicked on the “Undo” button. At that moment, I came to believe that perhaps there is a God. Or a Goddess.

Still, the event changed our relationship. Although “Queen” and “Highness” are no longer standard parts of my vocabulary, there is no doubt who is in charge. She is my obsession and I am her toy. It is just as it should be.

I know how it was. This is better. Better than I ever dreamed it could be.

And that would be the end of this story, but...

...the real problem is this. I think I’m in trouble. In a moment of even further weakness, I ran the story, “Shockingly Black,” through my Spell Checker. Like my own story, I gave it the full treatment, except I set it to 100% realism. I know I’m probably insane. Just now, I answered a knock on the door, and I opened it to find a suitcase sitting on my doorstep.

And, despite every instinct that’s telling me not to, I’m about to open it.