The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was mid-October, just the beginning of fall; that time when you first start to notice that the days have progressively shorted over the past month. The weather was mild, indeed truly pleasant. Here along the Great Lakes, we have only about four weeks of pleasant weather a year, the two weeks at the beginning of autumn just before the snow falls, then two more about eight months later when the last snow has melted, and the oppressive humidity of summer has yet to manifest. It was at this time, on a Friday afternoon when everything began...

“Hey, Dad! What are you doing home?” It was 3:30 in the afternoon and my daughter, my only child was just arriving home from school. Something in her voice, a slight strain caused me to look up from the vegetables I was chopping near the kitchen sink.

“Oh hi, sweetie!” I replied. “Both of my afternoon appointments canceled. They probably figured spending some time outside in the gorgeous weather would be better therapy than being cooped up in my office. Not that I blame them.”

I run my own therapy center. It started years ago when I turned my hobby of hypnosis into a side business seeing clients in a makeshift home office in the evenings and on weekends. Over the years I began to enjoy a comfortable level of success and eventually moved into my own office. Later I started adding additional services. I hired a massotherapist which soon became two. As time passed, I brought on a family therapist and another hypnotherapist. Now we’ve grown to an entire center which offers homeopathic medicine, physical and mental therapies and we even have an acupuncturist who comes in two days a week. Most of my time is now spent on administrative duties, but I still like to see clients when I can.

“Well that’s awesome, Dad. What’cha making for dinner?” There was an overtly joyous tone in my daughter’s voice. It was evident to me that she was upset about something and didn’t want me to know.

“Chani, you seem upset. Anything you’d like to talk about?” I was trying hard to sound concerned yet not seem overly interested. Of course, I’m interested in my family, but they prefer when the therapist part of me stays at the office.

Chani is my daughter and the most precious person on this earth to me. She has never failed to make me proud of her. She won’t be the valedictorian when she graduates at the end of this school year, but she’s easily in the top 10% of her class. A strong student who works to the fullest of her ability. She’s a hard and diligent worker. She always does her share of the housework and never complains. She’s respectful to her parents and elders. She’s active in extracurricular activities. Physically, she mostly takes after her mother, very petite at 5′2″ and I can’t imagine that she weighs more than 105lbs soaking wet. Like most girls her age, Chani has changed a lot in the past few years, in intellectual and emotional maturity and, of course, physically.

Come to think of it, it was just this past summer while sitting and reading the news, that I began to bemoan the latest drama in our nation’s capital. My wife called from down the hall giving me her own take on this current scandal, mentioning her hopes that the recently elected junior senator may be able to bring about some modicum of change. I looked up from my screen, as she walked into the room, and found myself at a complete loss for words. It turns out that wasn’t my wife I was discussing politics with. It was Chani.

As I looked at my daughter, standing in front of me waiting for my reply, it was like something in my brain just snapped. I realized that in my mind my daughter had stopped growing at 10 years old. Sure I knew, intellectually, that she was driving, that she had a summer job. I’d even heard the occasional mention of boys. But somehow that intellectual understanding never made an emotional connection. Somehow my “dad brain” just blocked it all out. But here standing in front of me was a woman, no longer a little girl discussing the imagined social interactions of her doll collection, but a woman interested in current events, politics no less.

At that moment I felt a profound sense of loss, and in the months since then I’ve been a little distant from my daughter.

“No Dad, it’s nothing,” Chani said, bringing me back to the present conversation.

“Well okay, sweetie. I just wanted to...”

“Dad, I just can’t take it!” Apparently, she decided to talk about it after all. “I’m just so overwhelmed! Every week we get more and more homework! Volleyball practice is being moved from three nights a week to four. I’ve got 300 lines to memorize for drama club. 300!!!”

Chani’s words had begun with such power, but as she continued her tone changed from anger to exasperation. Her arms dropped, and her shoulders drooped. I had a feeling that we’d need a box of tissues any second now.

“And...to...top it all...off,” Chani was openly sobbing now. “Jessie is mad at me and won’t even speak... to...” Her sentence trailed off as she brought her hands to her face, her upper body jerking in rhythm with her tears. I walked to her and put my arms around her, holding her close.

“Why isn’t Jessica speaking to you?” I asked. Jessica had been Chani’s best friends for nearly a decade and while the occasional spat between friends was not unheard of I was sure that with all the additional stress, Chani was probably taking this one a litter harder then she might normally.

“I don’t know, I mean I know, but it’s just so stupid. She saw Cody kinda staring at me in the lunch room. Well, now she’s convinced that he’s going to ask me to homecoming.”

“Sweetie, I don’t quite understand why she would be angry because a boy asked you to a dance.”

“That’s just it Dad, he didn’t ask me, and even if he did I would say ‘no’ because I really don’t feel like going to a stupid dance, certainly not with him. She’s all pissed at me because she likes Cody and wants him to ask her. The whole thing is crazy, the only reason I even know he was looking at me is because she was staring at him. I didn’t even know he was there, but somehow this is all my fault.”

While she continued to sob, I walked Chani over to the oversized easy-chair in the family room. I sat down and motioned for her to do likewise. Chani just continued to sob as she curled up on my lap and buried her head in my chest.

“I just can’t stand all this pressure Dad. Why can’t things be like they were when I was little? I would just run and play, and everything was fun. I never had to worry about anything.” Her sobbing had stopped, and her breathing was returning to normal.

“Well sweetheart,” I began. “You’ll be attending university next year, and there’ll be a lot more expected of you. Your teachers are just trying to prepare you. I know things seem hard now, but you’ll get used to it.” It didn’t take but a split second before I realized that my “life just sucks” approach was probably a bad idea. Chani began crying again, this time silently sobbing into my chest. I decided to take a different approach.

“Chani, baby, listen to daddy.” I began. I was using a much softer and more soothing voice than I usually would, more like the voice I use when hypnotizing my clients. I was trying to relax Chani after all, and this is one of the best ways I know how to do that.

“I know that there is a lot of stuff happening in your life, things which cause you distress and perhaps even pain, but those things are happening at school and perhaps with your friends...”

“And with mom.” Chani interrupted, her crying once again subsiding.

“...and maybe even with your mother. But, right now, in this moment it’s just you and me, a loving father and his smart and talented and caring and beautiful daughter.” Chani’s crying had stopped, and I noticed how her breathing was beginning to slow down as well. I decided that I should continue:

“Here...and now...sitting on...my lap...” I began to slow my words, timing them to her breathing. “...you can be... that little girl... free from worry... free from stress. That little girl... who knows... her daddy will always... take care of her... who knows... her daddy will always... nurture her... who knows... her daddy will always... protect her... take care of... all her needs... will always love her... No matter what happens... with your friends... or with your mother... daddy will always... be here... for you. You’re my little girl...Chani... I love you... more than anything... in the world... just as you love... your daddy. ”

Exhausted by her outburst and coxed along with my gentle tone, Chani’s eyes had closed, and her breathing was slow and deep. Most people would assume her to be asleep, but I knew there was still a part of her mind listening to my words; and so I continued once more, almost in a whisper:

“Chani... Listen to me now, Chani. You are a strong woman, capable of accomplishing anything. You are intelligent and resourceful. I know this because I have watched you grow since the day you were born, and as such I know, and now you too can know, that no matter what comes you will always have the strength to overcome, to succeed. And if the stress is building up and you feel like it might be too much know this: You will always be my little girl, and I will always be here to make you feel safe and secure. To love you completely. To take care of all your needs. When it’s time to work, Chani, you are that strong, powerful, intelligent, resourceful woman, and when it’s time to play, Chani, you are my carefree little girl.”

Chani now seemed to be deeply asleep, so I kissed her forehead and carried her to her bed. Leaving her sleeping, I returned to the kitchen to continue dinner preparations.

About an hour later my wife, Marsha, arrived home. She talked about her day for a few minutes then inquired where our daughter was. I informed my her that Chani had a stressful day and was taking a nap, but since it was almost time for dinner perhaps she might go and wake her.

“Is she coming?” I asked as my wife returned to the kitchen alone a little while later.

“Yeah, she said she was going to change out of her school clothes real quick and be right out.” My wife and I finished setting the table and were just about to start when Chani came bounding into the room. Apparently, the nap had done her some good.

“Hi, mommy.” She smiled, with a level of exuberance beyond her norm, “Hi daddy!” as she skipped over and gave me a big hug.

“Well, thanks, sweetheart. What was that for?” as it did seem a bit out of character.

“Nothin’ I just love my daddy!”

It was at this moment that I noticed two more oddities, in addition to her cheerfulness that is. First was that her hair was tied up in pigtails. It was charming mind you, but I hadn’t seen pigtails on my daughter in years. Secondly, and accentuated by her bouncing and bubbly movements, was her apparent lack of a bra. Now I have no idea what size bra my only child wears. I’ve just always left those sorts of things to the woman of the house, but I would guess she’s probably a large C or small D-cup, not particularly conspicuous for a high schooler, but bigger than average for her age, and prominent on her diminutive frame. After what was, hopefully, only a split second I realized that I was now staring at Chani’s breasts and I quickly averted my eyes.

The rest of dinner and the rest of the evening continued in much the same manner. When Chani finally went to bed, she asked me to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight, something I hadn’t done in years.

As my wife and I were, ourselves, preparing for bed, she commented on Chani’s unusual behavior.

“What was up with Chani tonight? She was acting like a little kid.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” I replied, trying to sound disinterested. “She told me earlier that she and Jessica were fighting, maybe they made up over the phone, and she was just a little giddy about it. Whatever the case I’m sure it was no big deal.”

“Maybe I’m just over analyzing it.” My wife agreed, as she leaned toward my side of the bed and gave me a goodnight kiss. “Good night.”

“Good night, Dear,” I answered. “Oh, sweetheart,” I said as if I had just remembered something. “I wanted you to see this.”, I finished as I reached over with one hand, pulled open the drawer in my nightstand and began to feel around.

“Oh, um honey, I don’t want to be rude,” she replied with just a hint of exasperation in her voice. “but I’m exhausted, and I’ve got to be up really early for work. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I know, I’m sorry. It will just take a... ah, here it is.” I said as I pulled the object out of the drawer and held it up for my wife to see.

Annoyed, my wife opened her eyes and turned her head to look. Her obviously exaggerated sigh was cut off mid exhalation as her gaze landed on the object. At first, a look of confusion came over her face, but only for the briefest of instants as within a single heartbeat all the muscles in Marsha’s face went slack and her eyes glazed over.

Then effortlessly and without complaint she flipped off the covers, came up into a kneeling position and leaned forward toward me, her eyes remained unfocused as she bent her head down and reached up to pull her hair out of the way, exposing her neck.

I took the object, the catalyst of these strange events, and looked at it. In my hand, I held a simple leather collar. It was rather plain, black in color with a stainless-steel buckle style clasp. The only ornamentation was some plastic, glittery letters on the front which spelled the name, Ashley.

An outside observer, having seen the effect it had on my wife Marsha, might begin to wonder if this was some ancient magical relic, imbued with unspeakable power. They would, of course, be wrong, that’s just silly. As I said, it was just a simple leather collar (from the pet store I might add) with some cheap plastic letters super-glued in place. (Which, if you’re wondering I purchased at the dollar store.) I guess I could have ordered a custom leather collar from a BDSM leather worker and paid a couple hundred dollars, but why? Especially when I get the same effect with one that set me back about twelve bucks?

After securing the collar around my wife’s neck, I gently patted her on the head indicating that I was finished. She let her hair drop and sat back up.

Then as if waking from a deep sleep Marsha’s eyes brightened, she took a deep breath, and the biggest smile formed on her face. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. You see my wife Marsha was asleep. After all, she had to get up early for work. No, as the collar indicates, this was not my wife Marsha, this was my slave...

“Ashley,” I said a smile evident in my voice.

“Oh, Master!”, she beamed back at me. “This one is so happy to see you!”

I love my wife. She has been my closest companion and my dearest friend for years. She is my lover and the mother of my only child. She supported my ambitions when I was struggling to build my business. She cares for me when I get sick. She believes in me and trusts me. The list just goes on and on.

And even beyond all of that, it’s just so easy to love her. She is smart and kind and caring. And she is the most gorgeous woman I have ever known. I’m no slouch, but let’s just admit it, physically, she is out of my league. Keep in mind, she was with me when I was poor, so while she might have the body of a 26-year-old trophy wife, in reality, she is the 41-year-old mother of my child and my absolute partner in life.

Knowing all that you likely won’t be surprised to hear that not only do I love my wife, but I love making love TO my wife. However...

She is just so vanilla in the bedroom. Now, she does have a minor submissive side, and she desires to please me and meet my needs. In fact, early in the relationship, she allowed me to get a little kinky, but she just never got into it, and for me that’s most of the fun, knowing that my partner is into the depravity.

And, while I have the skills to do it, I learned in my first marriage that trying to alter someone’s core personality can have unintended consequences. So that was never an option with Marsha. Instead over the course of about 9 months. I slowly and gently began to discover, encourage and develop the aspects of Marsha that would suit my desires. But, rather than empower them to change Marsha, I merely bound them together into a new personality, and her name is Ashley.

Ashely has been my devoted sex slave since before my daughter was born.

“I’m happy to see you too.”, I finally replied as I reached out and caressed her face with my hand. In response she melted into my touch and cooed, her whole body relaxing as she stared into my eyes.

“Are you ready my dear?”, I asked, knowing the answer.

“This one is ready, Master.”, she responded.

“Good, then come here.” I laid back on the bed and stretched out my arm indicating she should cuddle up with me. “Let’s begin. Ashley, what is your purpose?”, I asked.

Ashley assumed her usual position cuddled against me with her head on my chest and my arm wrapped around her. “This one’s purpose is to strengthen the bond between Marsh and Master.” Her tone was full of pride. She obviously felt very strongly, very positively about this purpose.

“How, Ashley, is that purpose achieved?”, I continued with my ritual questioning.

“This one helps to meet master’s sexual needs. When master’s needs are met he able to love Marsha fully and completely.”

“Good, Ashley. How does this benefit me?”

“This one’s actions help master to feel satisfied, contented and happy!”, She responded. Obviously taking great joy in knowing that she pleased me.

“And, how does this benefit Marsha?”

“When she feels loved fully and completely she feels happy and fulfilled. Feeling this way improves all areas of Marsha’s life.”

“As always, my pet, you are correct.” My simple praise caused a shudder of pleaser to course through Ashley’s body. “Now, my slave...”, I said, my tone becoming more authoritarian. “What is the purpose of your body?”

“...my... body?”, she asked after a moment of confusion. “Master, this is your body and it exists only to serve and please Master.”, she responded taking on a more serious tone.

“Good, and what, Ashley, is most important in life?”

“That Master is safe, loved, and all his needs are met. It is all that matters in the universe, it is the reason I exist!” In this declaration Ashley’s voice carried the firm resolve, the absolute conviction of a religious zealot reciting the pillars of their faith. It was twisted and depraved that she believed such a thing, and my god hearing it turned me on.

“Very good my dear, I am so proud of you!” This time my exuberant affirmation elicited an audible gasp from Ashley. I noticed her face beginning to flush as she squeezed her thighs together and squirmed in place just a tiny bit.

After years of conditioning, this reinforcement ritual was no longer needed, Ashley was a permanent fixture within my wife’s mind. Even so, I kept it up; mostly because I enjoyed hearing it.

Well trained, and with plenty of practice, Ashley remained still as I continued to cuddle and caress her. But, despite the overall illusion of calm, I could hear her breathing becoming ragged. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes began to take on a frantic continence. I knew what she wanted, but I feigned ignorance to her condition by continuing my gentle petting.

Soon though, it became apparent that Ashley was reaching her limit and wouldn’t be able to contain herself. But, I was having fun and wanted to see how long she could last. So, I said nothing.

I didn’t have to wait long though, as just about 30 seconds later a meek and somewhat forlorn voice rose up from Ashley, “Master, has this one angered you?”

“No, no my pet, I was having a little fun. Perhaps though I was being cruel? I know what you desire, and you may begin.”, I said reassuring her.

Finally having my permission, Ashely jumped up. And with the speed of well-practiced hands, she quickly relieved me of my underwear, leaving me lying there naked. Then, with an exciting combination of both feline sensuality and raw physical need, she snaked her way to my groin and inhaled deeply.

“Oh, Master...” she said with excitement then interrupted herself with another deep inhalation. “I just...” she lifted my cock in her hand and began to sniff and lick my ball sack. “...love...”, she moved to the crease between thigh and groin. “...your...”, moving to the other side. “...scent.”

Continuing to hold my now rock-hard cock, Ashley paused. She looked up at me with deeply hooded eyes and with words dripping with lust said, “And Master, I love...”. She paused, gathered saliva in her mouth then proceeded to wetly lick me from the base of my testicles to the tip of my penis, “...the way you taste!” In one fluid motion, she swallowed my cock and buried her nose in my pubic hair while grabbing my hips with both hands and pulling hard.

She had only just begun to demonstrate her incredible skill at deep throating when suddenly her whole body convulsed as her first orgasm hit. She struggled to hold on as wave after wave of pleasure slammed into her and flowed through every inch of her toned and sexy frame.

Eventually, as her orgasm faded, Ashley pulled herself up and off my cock, coughing and gasping, strings of saliva connecting her lips to my throbbing member. “Oh, thank you, Master. This one loves you so much. You always give me what I need.”

“I am happy to see you so happy. You are a good slave, but watching you pleasure yourself on my cock has really turned me on, so it is time for you to now pleasure me.”, I said as I laid my head back on the pillow.

Ashley wasted no time and immediately began throat fucking herself on my cock, lifting off then jamming herself back down, over and over. To be honest, it doesn’t feel all that great. For me, a sensual blowjob feels way better, but the sight of this woman degrading herself so enthusiastically on my dick more than made up for any slight discomfort that her almost violent actions might have caused.

It wasn’t even a minute, time filled with the sounds of her repeatedly choking, coughing and gagging when the goal of her ministrations was reached. And so, with one last slow stroke, she took my entire length into her throat, maintaining eye contact the whole time, held it for a five count then slowly pulled herself back off me.

She beamed with pride, eyes full of tears, her lips a mess of spit and slime, as she used her hand to gently stroke my cock, evenly distributing the slippery mixture her deep throating had deposited.

Releasing my cock and planting a hand on my chest to balance herself, Ashley then swung her leg across my hips straddling me. Her face a mask of ecstasy, she reached behind herself and slipped my thoroughly lubed prick deep into her hungry ass.

Starting slowly at first, but steadily increasing the rhythm, Ashley began an intricate dance in my lap. A perfectly choreographed, and oft-practiced series of rocking hips and grinding groin, with thighs, lifting and falling, working my shaft expertly. She seemingly brought the same level of artistry to her movements that a prima-ballerina must bring to her own.

As she settled into her rhythm, I was in heaven. Her warm, tight, asshole gripped my hard cock most perfectly. And if the physical sensations weren’t enough, the view was spectacular. This gorgeous woman, rode me lost in her own lust. Her body fit and tone, but also soft and curvaceous in all the right places. Her left hand glided up her torso and began to work her nipples, alternating between gentle rubbing motions and aggressive pinching. Her right-hand reached out to me and I happily obliged her silent request by lifting my head so that I could take two of her outstretched digits into my mouth, sucking on them to deposit a layer of my own saliva. That accomplished she then reached that hand down and began teasing her clit.

Thankfully my wife is in excellent shape because, with both Ashley and myself lost in our pleasure, this glorious ass fucking continued for quite a while.

Eventually, Ashely slowed and stopped. She wiggled her ass a bit to ensure that I was buried as deep as possible then leaned forward and we began to kiss passionately. Geometry and human anatomy just don’t allow two people to make out comfortably and ass fuck, so I did my best to prop myself up on one arm and meet her halfway. My free hand was kept busy though, caressing her and petting her sometimes gently, lovingly, and sometimes forcefully. Meanwhile, Ashley kept her hips moving just enough to make sure I stayed hard inside her.

After a couple minutes in this position, my supporting arm and my back were starting to bother me, and I suspect Ashley’s was as well because she finally broke off our kiss to lean in and whisper in my ear, “Master?” She asked as she began to increase her gyrations slowly. “Is this one bringing you pleasure?”

“Oh yes...”, I said, my brain flooded with endorphins and clearly not firing on all cylinders.

“Is this body satisfying your needs, Master?”, she continued, still cooing in my ear.

“Ashley,” I began. “The way you use that body brings me such joy.”

“Then, Master,” her voice took on a smoky, sultry tone. “Please reward me...”

She quickly sat back up and began fucking me with reckless abandon. She was so into it, the way she moved, the sounds that she made, it was evident that at that moment she was in erotic bliss. There was nothing more important in this world to her than using her sexy, tight asshole to work my cock, and with that thought in mind, I was rapidly approaching my climax.

I lasted maybe another minute before I knew I could no longer hold out. “Ashley!”, I exclaimed, but she seemed oblivious.

“Ashley, I’m about to cum.” She ignored me, indeed if anything she might have begun moving just a little faster.

“Ashley...I can’t...it’s...”

At that moment she leaped off my lap, spun around and wrapped her lips around the head of my cock. As my first jet of hot semen hit the back of her throat Ashley, again began convulsing in another orgasm. Her first orgasm was powerful, but it was nothing compared to this climax.

Lost in my own orgasm, I hardly noticed as she easily took all my cum into her mouth. Her body continued to shake and convulse. Then while I laid there, my mind lost to the world in post-coital bliss, Ashley rolled onto her back, and shoved three fingers deep into her cunt. One hand working her pussy, the other tugging at her nipples as she continued to be racked with wave after wave of pleasure.

Finally, after what had to be two whole minutes of nonstop cumming, Ashley allowed her hands and arms to relax. Then, rolling my semen in her mouth as it little by little slid down her throat, she laid there enjoying her orgasmic aftershocks.

A few minutes later I began to stir and noticing this, Ashley rolled onto her stomach and crawled back toward me. “Thank you, my Master. Please allow me to guide you to sleep. I love you, Master and I can’t wait until I get to be with you again. Perhaps, if it pleases you, we could spend more time together next time?”

“Yes, Ashley, that would be nice. I can’t make any promises. But, even so, know that you pleased me tonight. You have met your purpose. My needs are met, and I will be better able to love Marsha. Thank you for all your service.” My words were another little ritual serving to reassure this sub-personality that I created, keeping it compliant and happy.

“Thank you, Master. Sleep now. I will clean you. Good night.” With that Ashley again took my cock into her mouth, gently this time, aware of how sensitive it usually is after sex.

For my part, I quickly fell asleep under the loving touch of my slave. I don’t know how long she kept at it because I slept through the night. I woke briefly when my wife’s alarm went off. She was, as expected, well rested and feeling great.

After a quick glance confirmed that Ashley had dutifully returned her collar to my nightstand I once again drifted off, resigning myself to enjoying a couple more hours of sleep.

Later, after my morning trip to the bathroom, I wandered downstairs and into the family room. Chani was already up and watching Saturday morning cartoons. Flopping down in my easy-chair Chani muttered a “Mornin Daddy” without turning away.

Daddy? There it was again. Whatever had gotten into Chani last night was still in full swing. Her behavior was so odd, what could be causing it...?

Even as the question emerged in my thoughts the answer came in the form of my own words echoing back at me, You will always be my little girl. Was that it? Did she take my hypnotic suggestion too literally? That was always a possibility with hypnosis, and I’d see it before, clients who fail to grasp the metaphor and interpret post-hypnotic suggestion literally. I had told Chani that when she was stressed, she could remember that she would always be my little girl. She was under a lot of stress, and she was doing exactly what I had told her; becoming my little girl again.

While it was unfortunate that this happened, it would not be difficult to remedy. I would simply put Chani back into trance and remove that suggestion.

With such a simple solution in mind, my thoughts returned to the present moment.

“Good morning sweetheart.” I finally replied looking down at my daughter who was currently lying on her stomach with her chin in her hands and her feet in the air, wiggling them around as she held them up behind her with her knees spread wide.

It was then that I noticed what she was wearing, just an old t-shirt and a pair of panties. That in and of itself is not entirely uncommon, but what was unusual was that the t-shirt was way too small and the panties were likewise. Worn and obviously old I suspected that Chani had found them buried deep in her closet. In fact, the leg holes seemed to almost cut into her skin, and the fabric was stretched so tight across her ass cheeks that it was nearly transparent. And what a pair of cheeks they were. I found myself staring at the wondrous round globes. I followed the leg line down past her ass and into her crotch, and when my eyes fell upon the outline of her pussy mound, I choked. The panties were so small that her pubic hair was spilling out of both sides.

I had not seen that much of my daughter in many, many years, and the last time she certainly didn’t have the body of a fit and curvaceous woman. I was having some very unfatherly thoughts.

“Chani,” I began sternly. “I think it’s time for you to get cleaned up and take care of your chores.”

Obviously still engrossed in television programming clearly targeting people half her age Chani hesitated then partly turned her head in my direction, still trying to keep an eye on the tv.

“Huh?” She articulated back in my general direction.

“Chani, your chores. I said it’s time to get to work!” I surprised myself with just how stern my tone was. I guess I was feeling a little angry, though at myself. Probably feeling guilty for staring at my daughter’s backside.

Chani’s eyes suddenly glazed over as she seemed to stare off into space. Then quietly, muttering to herself she said, “Time to work.” The lifeless monotone of her words lending an eerie tone to the phrase.

Then as if a switch was flipped she was back. “What’d you say? Sorry, dad, we’ll have to talk later. I really let the morning get away from me, and I’ve got a ton of work to do.”

“Sure sweetheart, no problem. I should probably get moving too.” If she noticed the confusion in my voice, she didn’t show it.

Standing up Chani began walking out of the room, then paused, seemed to consider something for just a second, then turned and walked back over to me. She smiled, bent down, and kissed me on the cheek.

“Thanks, honey. Not that I mind, but what was that for?” I asked.

“Nothing.”, she responded. “I just love my daddy...um, dad. I just love you... Dad.” Even she seemed to be a little taken aback by her own use of the word.

Then seemingly giving it no more thought, Chani turned back around and left the room, presumably to get about her day.

For several long minutes I remained seated, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. I couldn’t deny it, my daughter was sexy, but that wasn’t it. Whatever effect my unintentional hypnosis had on her it had brought out this sweet... innocent part of her. Sexy and innocent, ripe for corruption.

But could I? Could I really do this? Guide such a beautiful and innocent young woman to undiscovered depths of depravity? Could I take her by the hand and lead her right up to the barriers of her own morality and, with deft and subtle manipulation, cause her to smash through to the other side? Then do it again, and again, until what remained was someone, something utterly devoid of limits, of inhibition?

Yes. Yes, I could. I just needed to come up with a plan...