The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rebecca sat at her computer reading the latest e-mail from Greg, the computer programmer who lived over in Longview. They had exchanged a number of photos; his were of a young dark featured man with a trim beard and a warm smile. Although it was 2:30 in the afternoon she still hadn’t gotten dressed. While she read, one or the other of her hands would slip under her housecoat and nightie. One tickled her left nipple while the other would pet the silken crotch of her panties.

Greg had written more on his beliefs about women. Rebecca had argued with him and gotten mad and threatened to never reply to him again, and each time he had used her own behaviour to prove one of his points about women. Now he was expanding on his point about feminists needing to be told to behave. She had asked for this, challenging him again, but she couldn’t help it. It was almost as though he was setting these little traps hoping she would take the bait, and each time she had too. Or was she more like a moth drawn to flame, the flame being his strange ideas. Her face turned a darker pink and her hand rubbed between her legs a little more quickly. Why should such cruel words also be so compelling?

She had already confessed early on to him that she was really quite lazy and that her father still took care of her as well taking care of her mother, giving Rebecca an allowance when she was far too old for such a thing. Yet she also had done courageous things in the past, standing up to bullies like him for example.

He wrote: “The more feminists and other irresponsible dimwits whip themselves into an emotional frenzy about their rights, the more they confirm the truth to me, that women were created to please men, and that they need men to temper thier childish excesses. Unfortunately for these bitter misguided women, and their confused emasculated male supporters, they are never going to be happy getting what they think they want. It’s like a chocolate cake demanding the right not to be eaten but to go bad and be completely wasted. These women act as if they are being persecuted because men are aroused by them and want to take care of them. Like children having a tantrum they want to destroy what really is a beautiful aspect of God’s creation to get something that simply strikes their fancy, which is wanting what men have. Do they speak for you? If not, how do you feel when they say that they do? Their hypocrisy offends me as they are only serving themselves, but very poorly at that! They run from God, men and their true nature. I pray for them every day.”

Everything Greg wrote surprised her, and yet she couldn’t deny there was some truth to it. If she were to be completely honest, even a lot of truth. The idea of women being chocolate cake, made to be eaten, made her feel funny. It made her feel drained of spirit and yet nervous and horny. She could smell her own arousal in fact. Still, there was anger for this man. He was simply cruel and arrogant beyond belief. Maybe these things were somewhat true, but did he have to be so condescendingly sure of himself?

At other times Rebecca wondered if her correspondent might not be bitter himself. Ashamed of her body’s and mind’s reaction to his words, she clicked on the reply button.

“Greg; Thanks for the explainations. Reading between the lines I have to conclude that you are no less bitter than the people you rail against. I can only imagine your frustration stems from ‘failure to establish an adult relationship with a member of the opposite sex’ as they say. Also, just because some women are wrong about some things, that doesn’t mean that all men are right or infallible. My father was not at all strict with me, nor my mother, and yet I have turned out to be a very moral and intelligent person, I think. And yes, I do believe in God and prayed every night up until a year or so ago. I admit pretty openly how I am messed up, and it is easy enough to criticize me for information you wouldn’t have were I not so honest, and I doubt any man would be so open about their misatakes being so prefect as they all are! Why I no longer pray, as I know you will ask, is not because I am mad at God and men, and yes, I suppose I do think of him as a him. Well, I really don’t know why I don’t pray actually, I just stopped and never started again. I used to ask for things of course, but maybe now I know that is childish. You say that you pray every day. So what do you pray for? For God to send you a silly brainless chocolate cake? When you’ve destroyed it then what? Will God bake an endless supply? Sorry, I just wish you could be a little nicer in illustrating your opinions. I tend to hammer a bit of truth too hard sometimes, but you do it all the time, and when people are offended they aren’t too likely to agree with you about anything”

After sending the e-mail Rebecca lay on her bed trying to relieve some tension but after a half hour she gave up. She felt embarrassed by the unhealthy turn her fantasies had taken lately, and her anticipation of the chastising e-mails from Greg, but she had come more in the past two months or so than usual. Women were weak alright, weak about letting men mess their minds up with foolishness. Greg was exploiting her, a victim for his rants, but she exploited him too in keeping him going. It would not be so difficult really to put him off or simply delete his e-mails without reading them.

Rebecca got dressed finally and went downstairs to make dinner for her father who would be home from work soon. Her mother went out Thursdays to gamble, and Mondays and Saturdays. At least it gave Rebecca something useful to do, and she loved her father a lot and liked to make the things she knew he liked. There was a nice side to being soft hearted and feminine, and wanting to please someone you love.

“Rebecca; You have only proven to me how correct I am in my thinking yet again. Because neither your father or mother were strict with you, you find yourself a perfectly intelligent and capable young woman with almost no self discipline. I’m sorry if you think that is being cruel, but I am really only trying to help you. I mean that. Perhaps if you can see why you are as you are you will find a way to correct things. I can tell that your father really does love you, and that you love him, and that has helped you to develop morally, but he has spoiled you to the point that you are unable to take care of yourself. And no, I do not say that women shouldn’t be capable or that they be dependant upon men. I say that they simply are dependant regardless of what any of us say to the contrary, and that while a woman may end up living alone and surviving, surviving is not the same as happiness. Womem are naturally dependent on men intellectually and emotionally, and it shoud be a beautiful thing, not to be misused or denied. I myself am only surviving, because I am missing the partner God created for me; to me it seems she has gone crazy and is on strike to the deficit of both sexes. I am sorry if you find the truth hurts you Rebecca, but it is a necessary hurt when one is so far away from where they should be. I can tell you I have been hurt far worse in facing truth, but I don’t think you will believe me and will be mad at me for saying so. I am no more bitter than a plant that has been poorly watered and wonders how long it will survive under the neglect. Surely you have heard of the studies showing how happily married couples live longer than single people? I bow to God every day at noon. The company I work for allows me to start my lunch break at 11:30. It is a discipline that means a lot to me. Men respect discipline and need it just as women do. Unlike yourself I do not pray for things so much, although I do pray for wisdom and strength, I mostly give thanks to him. I am very glad you do not try to tell me that God is a woman or that we are each God. I actually have a lot of respect and admiration for you really, if I didn’t I wouldn’t spend so much time writing long e-mails like this. You are right that I should find a better way to express my points. I try to, but I also am imperfect. I laughed that being compared to a chocolate cake offended you. I found that really charming actually. :—) The cake is going to be destroyed one way or another, that was my point.”

Overall Rebecca felt that Greg seemed a little less strident than usual. Could she finally be getting through to him? She thought about some of the guys who had been interested in her in the past. The nice ones who were too nice and she didn’t really respect, and the ones who were nice and then became controlling which she ran away from. They all seemed like boys to her now while Greg she thought of as a man, and she didn’t want to run from him, at least not yet. She hit the reply key.

“Greg; You are right that because I wasn’t disciplined I lack self discipline now. I have said this before, even to my parents, but I was so sensitive I also know that discipline might also have destroyed me. I would not have become creative without a lot of unstructured time to myself. That used to mean more when I was working as an artist, but since I haven’t even been creating at all lately I’m not really sure now. You are really giving my self-awareness a workout! I need more time to think about what you have written. I don’t want to be destroyed, I can certainly tell you that much! I’m not sure I have much else to say though.”

Rebecca felt she wanted to cry after sending that. What was she getting into telling such personal things to someone she didn’t really know? She put on some music but her mind continued to poke at the strange yet compelling ideas.

That night an e-mail from Greg came. Usually he only e-mailed in the early morning.

“Rebecca; You are wrong to say you are not creating as an artist; you are creating you! You yourself are the work of art as all women are, or can be. Of course you feel frustrated and confused because you cannot create yourself on your own. God, and through God, man, are who creates women. The feminine exists in contrast to the masculine, just as without darkness there can’t be light, or without the concept of emptiness there can be no concept of fullness. Women are the emptiness which man fills because God has made you for us to love and be responsible for. Too often men do not take their responsibilities seriously and spoil women and give them a false sense that they are on their own capable of meaning, but you can see for yourself how their truth is uncertain and always changing, as you yourself are. Women are of the earth and men are the seed, the seed has in it the blueprints of creation while the earth is merely the seed’s servant. I’m sorry if I am still not explaining myself well. Perhaps I could send you some of the books that have meant a lot to me? They speak better than I do. Of couse you would not want to be destroyed, but still, you will be one way or another because women do not have immortal souls in the sense that men do. What seems to us as destruction is really just a maturation, a fulfillment of what we were created to be. If you fulfill your purpose you are said to go to heaven, while if you are willful and reject God’s path you are said to wind up in hell. These are metaphors, just like the cake which upsets you. Your fulfillment is in serving a man. It is hard to understand the unchanging truth, especially when your mind is so easily fooled and unfocused. Understanding is a burden to men, the recieve it through reason and logic which is foreign to women, and it is an even greater burden for him to communicate to a woman even though instinctually she knows truth. I will not bother you further however if you do not want me to.”

Rebecca felt she was getting way over her head now with Greg, she was amazed to read that she did not have a soul, or at least not a real soul. Still, something about the idea made her shrink inside pleasurably and become aroused at it’s cruelty. She would not reply to Greg but still she kept thinking about the idea. Could something that drastic, that sick, be true? How could she not have a soul? How could men be so sure they did? She looked at herself in the mirror and was pleased at how pretty she looked today. Her hair was so nice and long and the curls around her face were very feminine. It was such a simple, basic feeling, and yet there she was as bad as any men, valuing herself for surface appearance more than what was inside. And what was inside her? Immediately she had the answer as being love. But love was not an accomplishment one achieved rationally, and sometimes it made no logical sense at all, but that was what was so important about it. Still, what Rebecca valued most about herself was her ability to love, to overcome negativity by loving. She wasn’t always changing if she always trusted in love was she? But love was not a constant. People stopped loving, if only for a time, and started loving again as well. Love was truth to her, and yet what kind of truth was it that would come and go so easily?

After a few days Rebecca e-mailed Greg to ask him to send the books he’d mentioned, and she gave him her address hesitantly. She felt a small sense of peace, and even power, settle over her. She wasn’t going to run away from whatever this so-called truth was. She could keep an open mind and consider the material, even if the other side seemed closed to listening to women.

A few weeks later, after reading the books that Greg had sent her, Rebecca sat at the computer trying to think of something to put into an e-mail. She had started a few times only to erase her words. Finally she managed top compose something that didn’t sound quite so emotional or childish.

“Greg; There is nothing I can say in argument of what I have read. I am not capable of it really. I can’t say I agree with all of it, or even understand some parts, but I won’t deny there is truth to a lot of it. I’m really confused about who I am from all of this, but excited by a lot I have discovered from it.”

The next morning Greg replied.

“Rebecca, thank you for even reading the books. I hoped that once you started you wouldn’t be able to dismiss them or stop reading. I am very impressed with you. I think you are the first American woman I have met willing to admit the truth, and I value honesty. I want you to consider doing one more thing for me if you think you can be courageous enough to try. There is a symbol in the attachment to this e-mail. Look at it for a few moments, and when it starts to flash press any key and it will not disappear, or don’t press any key and it will. After doing this once e-mail and tell me if you pressed a key or not. If you press a key it will mean that you have a soul made to serve rather than to lead. There is nothing at all wrong with that being true, and it is true of most women. Most men would be able to easily resist temptation however. I wonder if you will be able to? I think you should do this if you want to know the truth about your soul? Let me know what you think. It is a silly test I suppose, but I thought you might be interested in it. I would be very impressed if you do try it. Oh yes, I almost forgot. There is some music with it so turn on your speakers if they aren’t on already.”

Rebecca saw that there was an attachment on the e-mail, but wanted to think first before she decided whether to open it or not. She speculated that it was going to be some kind of hypnotism image, but she doubted such a thing could work. She re-read Greg’s e-mail two more times. If she could resist pressing a key she would really impress him, and then he would know that she was one of the exceptions and did have a soul.

She became very agitated looking at the attachment symbol after awhile. It was ridiculous, and yet she was actually afraid. Perhaps that was the real point, to find out if she was afraid to open it. Maybe there would be joke message there like a flag with the word bang on it coming out of a gun. Rebecca drew up her courage and hit the button.

There was a strange thing in the file that looked like something from an illuminated Persian manuscript, and some sort of reed instrument was playing in the music. Rebecca quickly closed the file. So much for the joke theory. She sat and imagined the symbol for a moment and then without thinking, her hand almost moving on it’s own accord, she opened the file again.

The image had strange writing woven in with the overall design. It was a very elaborate thing; part calligraphy and part painting. There were wings at the top and chains at the bottom. The music was quite dizzying somehow. The image began flashing and Rebecca jumped to hit a key. Why had she done that? She was amazed at herself, and angry at herself. Instead of the image though she now saw a message in english. The music continued to weave in and out of her mind, repeating a pattern every few minutes, and the letters pulsed to the beat of it.

“Very good Rebecca! Now we know what you are. Remember that it is you who has judged herself. I want you to hit the button below which will send an e-mail to me telling me the truth about yourself. Read the message you will be sending, type your phone number at the bottom and send it. When I phone, you will say the words ‘Man is my master’ to me. You will continue to think this is a harmless game.”

The message read, “I, Rebecca, have just proven to myself that woman was made to serve man, that I am weak willed and very suggestible, and that I am in need of a man to rule me. I am impulsive, childish and undisciplined.”

Rebecca shuddered at the statement but even as tears welled in her eyes she added her phone number and sent it. The music stopped and she suddenly wondered how she possibly could have just done what she had done. She knew that the phone would ring soon and felt silly about the whole thing. What if she didn’t answer it? But then he would think she was taking this seriously. So she would answer, but she wouldn’t say the words he wanted her to. She would say something like ‘You wish’ or maybe ‘Better luck next time’, that would show him. And yet she had really failed the test.

The phone rang. Rebecca looked at it on the wall before her. Her hand reached for it.