The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Transcribed word for word as told to Cait during several drunken deranged all-nighters that took place on or about the week of February 9-16, 2001:

Drusilla’s mind screamed in the milky white darkness. Her terror echoed off an unseen infinity that was infinite and again smaller than any closet her captor had consigned her to in his cruelty over the duration of her captivity. The hollow sound of her inner agony indicated her unseen prison was of stone or cement or very hollow like the inside of a rusty discarded tin can.

Shadowy intangible things and thoughts seemed to be constantly forming and dissolving around her like faerie soap bubbles. She was both cradled and suffocated by the intimacy of her prison. It was nice to have so small an area to have to mentally deal with, with all the other things she had to worry about, but at the same time maddeningly, cruelly claustrophobic. Trying to “see” outside was an impossibility, through what passed for windows. Too small to have any hope of climbing through, and unfathomable from below (she could not actually reach them), which made the loneliness unbearable. Filth or frost or something not quite opaque (perhaps it was subtly smoked) but translucent enough, enough so to torment and tease but never really reveal, making the outside world an indefinable shadow. Shapes, hints of colors, light and shadow was all there was... for Drusilla.

Her jailer was a heartless unseen bastard.

He was keeping her in this place to break her. She was not broken. And if he left her alone with herself forever she never would be. But neither could she remember the last time she had been fed for sure, or when someone had last spoken to her directly. For a long time he hadn’t even touched her which was strange considering his purpose. He had done THAT among “other” things a lot when he had first taken her. It had occurred to her that breaking her, and “using her”, and making her into some sort of perverse willing mind controlled sex slave had been his ultimate purpose. Instead he had imprisoned her here and seemingly lost all interest. I a way she had broken his efforts to break her. At least temporarily. Thankfully her memories of those early days of imprisonment were thankfully and painlessly vague now. Shock and trauma, and the forgetfulness that came with them were her only and dearest friends here. They had helped blur and pass the time. So much time. How much time? She couldn’t tell. She knew he had used her and tried to make her do and think unspeakable things, dirty things, for the longest time. She resisted and never did anything willingly. Yes, she had won.

It seemed like maybe weeks or even a month or more since he had done anything. Strange he had stopped so suddenly, unexpectedly? She had been in a regular room then, tied to a smelly uncleaned bed, not this shadowy little empty cell. This damp misty dark white place that she thought to be underground, a basement perhaps. This place where nothing could be seen clearly.

Yet so much was going on just outside where ever she was... just beyond clear hearing, just beyond the two hazy windows, sometimes seemingly just out of her field of vision in this odd and empty restraining cell. Strange how she could not move her head and look down to see how he had restrained her? Or look about? Perhaps he was keeping her partially drugged? That would explain the lack of solidity to her indefinite if surreal surroundings. Perhaps that was how he planned to ultimately break her, through disorientation and loneliness, and it was so disorienting, and lonely.

Even his voice when it came with its sick and demented requests though infrequent, now was creepy and scary and yet somehow still more comforting than the impenetrable emptiness. Even his voice in this place was something to hold on to, something “filling” the oh so lonely emptiness, if only for as long as the sound of his voice and its echo lasted. Strange how his words seemed to somehow remain, long after he had departed, as if they had somehow permeated the space, become part of it, like the smell of perfume or something sweet simmering on a stove in a distant kitchen.

More mumbling in the distance. Drusilla strained desperately to hear, desperately craving any sort of outside contact or information. A clue about where she was... Her captor frequently, almost continually it seemed, had outside contact, close to where ever she was, so close he had to be insane to take such risks that she might be discovered and the police informed. He was clearly some sort of sociopath, thrilled by the danger, the risk of taking such insane chances. She couldn’t understand how she could almost hear them but they never seemed to almost or actually hear her plea’s for help, her crying and whimpering, and even desperate screams from captivity. Even when the voices seemed just beyond where she might touch if she had use of her hands, they somehow didn’t hear her.

Perhaps her vocal chords had been somehow paralyzed and the screams and other sounds were being heard only in her mind. Like right now. She was screaming like a mad thing. Yet the voices were quite close, but as ever strangely garbled, and unhearing. Close but so far away. Were these “others” all part of some strange cult? Did they hear but simply ignore her plight? Were there others like her locked away? Being driven slowly mad, weakened, mentally beaten down by loneliness and isolation in some larger plan? Being, collected? Was she being inducted into some weird cult/ family? She had no way of knowing anything but that they were all around her, and her situation hadn’t changed.

Occasionally bits and pieces floated through to her. “Quite beautiful”, “Suck my cock”, “harder... faster”, “finger yourself”. Someone out there was a real whore. And they were having perverse sex right in front of her. This was truly sick, like screwing on a bed with a coma patient in it. Was that it? Had they drugged her into a coma? She felt... wet. As she had many times. She had relieved herself uncontrollably as she did all the time now, but they kept laughing and enjoying their sorted encounter, oblivious to her “movements”.

What sort of sick fucks got off on this sort of thing? She couldn’t imagine. She couldn’t be sure but she thought that perhaps she was defecating. Distantly she thought she felt “something” moving in her ass. This was degrading and embarrassing.

Someone clearly screamed that they wanted it deeper. There was no telling what it might be. She wanted to scream too for a different reason. She wondered if the ass being used so disgustingly were hers. Were they using her? Since she wouldn’t play along willingly had they opted to just drug and use her? Were these sick pervs using her helpless drugged body for their hedonistic pleasure? It made sense. When she couldn’t be broken they had opted instead for using her as a life sized blow up sex doll, or even sicker were they fantasizing necrophillic fantasy’s with her unmoving body? Was that why things were so cold and distant? Had they iced her to make her more... corpse-like? These sick diseased mentally defective perverts were soiling her. They deserved to die. God would punish them with the fiery pit.

“Slave loves her ass fucked, deeeeep, hard.” “Fuck me like the slut I am!” came the answer. Drusilla couldn’t believe that any woman could so degrade herself, and seemingly enjoy being reduced to a shameless dirty plaything. But at least from what she had managed to catch it was clear that she was only an observer, well sort of... Sick voyeur fucks. She was momentarily even almost pleased that she was soiling herself like an incontinent senile old person rather than playing an active part in their sick orgy.

More voices. Closer. Clearer.

The girl was being passed around and she was... ugh... ick...sick ...so sick... This was the clearest things around her had been in a very long time. She found herself craving the loneliness and mumbling silence. Still, at least she was not alone. No! She would resist this newest tactic to twist her mind to their sick way of thinking. She felt something on top of her, maybe. Hard to be sure, so distant, so faint. Were they using her as a table upon which to... too gross. She wanted to be completely unconscious. Maybe their drugs were wearing off unexpectedly, maybe they wanted her to be a non participating participant or observer. What did they want?

“Obey.”

A shadow crossed the windows. A long thick object with... ugh...it was someone’s... ewww... or maybe a dildo. “Suck the sweet juice off slave.” The sounds of wet enthusiastic sucking. Disgusting, she thought she could catch a hint of the scent on the object and what dripped from it. She knew where it had been. Wanted to recoil. Her own neck hurt at the thought, her throat closed, she swallows nervously that this is happening right in front of her face, wants to gag. Somewhere, so close.

Suddenly, her long disembodied ass, (which has been so vague for so long) strains and burns like hell with sensation and life. She screams the scream no one can hear, curses the pain, or would if she could. Her silence is not surrender. Something is wrong, she will tear herself if this... constipation continues. She screams again for someone to help her. Someone to save her. Someone to wipe her ass. Make them take their orgy elsewhere.

Paul was extremely pleased with the outcome of his latest encounter. The latest addition to his mind control harem was working out nicely, very nicely. This test run was perfect. Both his latest additions had been potential spinsters. Beauties going completely to waste. His friend and newly added partner (it was just impossible o run things alone) Mark had a giant smile from ear to ear as he pumped himself in and out of the super enthusiastic robot slaves’ tight new virgin ass. Testing new toys was a team effort, better enjoyed with an audience and other “players”, Paul decided, glad he had added Mark to the “team”.

Meanwhile the newly added partner, on the other end, was getting her to play the star spangled banner on his flute. She took him reed and all, up to the high notes. She swallowed any excess “spit” between bars of the tune and kept playing. Mostly scales. She was the best. She had no hesitation and performed beautifully.

Mark looked questioningly at Paul. Paul knew what that look meant. He laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. And for the hundredth time let me assure you that she is completely under our control and totally mindless. She has been programmed and completely brainwashed to submit and subjugate any previous personality in preference to what we <laugh> feed into her. " And there’s nothing of the previous personality left?”

Paul was thoughtful, carefully considering what had been asked of him. “Hmmm... I would guess no.” He thought a moment more, “Definitely no. She’s a complete wipe.” mark seemed convinced.

Drusilla knew they could not break her like the unfortunate girl they had programmed and broken. What had he said? Wiped. Poor thing. Drusilla felt sorry for her. If she got the chance she was going to make these bastards pay, for her own imprisonment, and the other girls. She would continue to resist these pervs no matter what, even if it meant her eventual death. She would never become their plaything. Never ever...

“What was this one’s name again?” Mark asked Paul, stopping his thrusting motion for a moment. Suddenly and strangely he was curious about the really fine ass hugging his manhood so accommodatingly, and the really hot babe attached to it. He didn’t need to know, he was just... curious.

Bill looked at him, smiled and said simply: “Drusilla”.

Somewhere inside Drusilla went on resisting with determination, valiantly fighting a battle in her little room that was already long since lost, ignorant of the outcome, and her new... position.