The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first time Verity’s necklace spoke to her, she’d just gotten back from her grandmother’s funeral. The estate lawyer had given her a jewelry box as they filed out of the service, and the teardrops that her handkerchief failed to manage had left dark little stains on its royal-blue felt. It wasn’t until Verity was back in her dorm room, alone with her thoughts, that the thing in the box spoke.

It was hard to tell just what was happening, at first. Verity was seated on her bed, looking down at the jewelry box between her crossed legs, staring into space. She’d never really mourned anyone before - did she occupy herself with happy memories that were sure to bring tears, or did she bury her grandmother in her mind the way they’d buried her body in the ground?

As she scolded herself for being morbid, a strange thought came to Verity: I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.

Verity blinked, her head jerking up to look at her bedroom door—no one was there. Her eyes drifted back down to the blue box between her legs, and she flipped it open.

The necklace lay in the crushed-velvet interior of the box such that its broad gold chain formed an oval around the strange pendant in the center. The pendant was a raw, strangely-cut gemstone whose colour was obscured by the dark blue of its enclosure. Holding the necklace up to the light revealed the stone to be a sickly yellow in colour, pretty but... flawed, somehow. Verity furrowed her brow as she watched it sway slightly on its chain.

“This is Gran’s priceless heirloom? I’m sure I never saw her wear it.”

You can-

“It’s almost... ugly.” Verity was too caught up in her own train of thought to hear the voice, until she started to lower the necklace back towards the box.

You can have everything you desire.

“Wh-what?” Verity looked around the room, alarmed, then back to the necklace, which she returned to eye level. “Who said that?”

The necklace dangled vapidly, mute. Of course.

“I’d almost swear that you...”

And then it did. You want her, so much. And you can have her.

Verity’s mouth hung open. The voice in her head was not her own; it had come from the necklace.

I will make her yours.

“I am FREAKING OUT!” Thankful that her roommate wasn’t home to hear, Verity stuffed the yellow necklace back in its box and stuck the box on the top shelf of her closet. She considered it a moment, and then reached back up and shoved the box to the very back of the shelf, where it fell behind her spare linens and pillows.

Where it waited.

Verity’s roommate, Danica, commanded attention whenever she entered a room. Like a Betty Page pinup, her skin was stark white beneath her long black hair, against her dark, deep eyes and blood-red lips. She was not a sweet girl, but in Verity’s mind she was perfect.

Verity was studying in her room one night when Danica strutted in. It was a Friday evening and, as was her custom, Danica was dressed to hop from bar to bar in the college district in search of a boy sufficiently worshipful for her taste. And, as was also her custom, she had come to chide Verity for not doing the same.

“I assume I’ll be having fun on my own tonight, as usual? What are Miss Bookworm’s plans for the evening?” She had one hand on her waist as she leaned in the doorway, black nail polish splayed across her tight white belly.

Verity didn’t really hear the question. The woman of her dreams was wearing a little plaid skirt and a corsetlike top whose neckline plunged down and down to cup her breasts. Verity’s eyes wandered down her long legs, and-

“Verity? I’m up here.” Danica was pointing at her eyes, made up in two blended shades of shadow. Verity wanted to drown in them. “Have you never seen this outfit before? I swear I wear it every other week.”

“Oh... uh, maybe,” Verity said, trying to remember what Danica had asked her. “Anyway, I think I’ll stay in tonight.” She giggled, nervously, “I don’t think I own anything that could compete with that.”

Danica gave her a thin smile. “It’s just as well: you might not have the legs for it.” She hiked her purse up on her shoulder and turned to leave.

“Have a good evening, I suppose.”

Verity should have felt stung and, had anyone else stung her, she would have. Instead, all she could think about was Danica’s skirt, Danica’s corset... and what was under them. And, as was her custom on lonely Friday nights when the object of her unrequited longing was out cruising for an easy lay, Verity listened for the sound of Danica locking their apartment door and arose from the bed, already shedding her sweatpants, retrieving her vibrator from where it nestled amongst her socks.

The necklace didn’t speak until Verity was squirming amid her pillows, one hand—fingers wet and warm from her mouth—kneading her nipples while the other worked the vibe between her legs. She could see, in her imagination, Danica stripping off her corset. Her pale roommate’s creamy breasts bounced free, nipples erect and anticipating the touch of Verity’s lips. She moaned Danica’s name, and in reply heard a voice much more like her own than the last time it spoke:

You want her, so much. So badly. You need her. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted, the woman of your dreams...

“Yes... Danica... Oh, yesss...”

You can have her. I can give her to you. You need her to be yours.

In her mind’s eye, Verity saw Danica kneel. Naked now, her body slick and shining under a strange yellowish light, pale and perfect. She looked up at Verity with wide, blank eyes. Her face wore a haunted expression... but Verity was too aroused to be disturbed by it. At last, long last, Danica was hers.

“Mine, Danica... all mine.”

The fantasy was growing so vivid that Verity moved her hand up to her breast so that fantasy-Danica could take over between her legs. She felt the wet, rough tongue and the cool metal piercing at its center slide her apart and rub against her clit. Throwing her head back, feeling the imagined weight of a strangely-cut gemstone bounce against her breasts, Verity came. But it wasn’t just the intense sensation flooding her body that pushed her over the edge: Washing over her was the ecstasy of her haughty lover’s utter submission.

You must make her yours. You must. I can make her yours... and I will.

Late in the night, Verity languished in a strange and vivid dream. A tower of no human design stood on a barren plain, and Verity was trapped within. The antechamber narrowed as it climbed towards the tower’s pinnacle, and the cold stone walls, some type of yellow-veined granite, felt very close.

Verity walked with slow and silent steps through the chamber, an act that seemed to take a very long time despite the room’s small size, approaching an asymmetrical window in the farthest wall. A figure stood with gloved hands behind its back, peering out the window, silhouetted in the same sickly umbra that had oiled Danica in her fantasy. Something in the pit of her stomach churned at the figure’s presence. Nonetheless, she moved towards it, one gliding step after another.

Bodies writhed in Verity’s peripheral vision, twisting and jerking together as they danced in copulation. Grunting and moaning surrounded her on all sides, but they were the mindless sounds of animals in heat - no human speech could be heard. The outbursts of pleasure seemed muted, somehow, and Verity felt a great hesitation to speak. She felt surrounded by the hush of anticipation, and her shoulders tightened up as though she was preparing to ward off a blow.

She drew closer to the figure, until she could see the silken gown and veil that it wore, brown and yellow silk, old and rotting. Like grandmother’s shroud, came the unbidden thought, if she were exhumed.

Verity stopped a few feet from the figure, and only then did she feel the weight of the stone against her chest. She knew without looking that she wore her grandmother’s necklace, that the stone was warm and pulsing with an inner energy, that she had nothing but her bare skin beneath it. That this was the proper way to approach the veiled figure. She reached up without willing herself to and clutched the stone, warm and smooth in her hand. And the figure began—slowly, so slowly—to turn.

Gloved hands rose, inch by inch, to draw back the tattered veil. The gloves, Verity could see, were stained and dotted with little blooms of mould. Terror constricted her throat as the thing turned ever-so-slowly to face her, and the realization flowed over her that she was required to kneel. If she did not kneel before the veiled thing faced her, something horrible would happen.

But she couldn’t move.

A suffocating sense of impending doom crept over Verity as the wasted, hidden hands brushed against the veil, ready to pull it away. As Verity wished with her whole being that she could sink to her knees and avert her eyes, knowing that to look on the thing unveiled was to be destroyed, the slightest contour of a face became visible. It was backlit by the sudden appearance of a bloated yellow sun on the horizon, but soon it wouldn’t matter. Soon the thing would have turned around completely, and Verity could only stand there, clutching her grandmother’s necklace with its malformed gemstone, and wait. She couldn’t even blink.

Verity drew in breath for a final scream that she knew would barely vibrate in the heavy air, and that’s when her alarm clock snatched her out of sleep.

The yellow necklace lay curled in its silken bed, its box sitting cover-open on her bedside table. Verity sat, breathing heavily, and stared at it. She must have retrieved the thing in her sleep—it had certainly been safe in the back of her closet when she’d gone to bed.

Its thick gold chain almost seemed to writhe as she stared at it. She could feel its regard turn towards her as though it were a slowly-wakening serpent. Soon, soon, it would see her. And speak-

She snapped the box shut, and the details of her dream faded. But even after she’d stuffed the box as far back into the depths of the closet as it would go, a faint trace of dread followed her for the rest of the day.

Danica didn’t come home that morning, but that was no surprise: If she’d found a satisfactory partner, she could be expected to roll in the hay past lunchtime. Verity puttered around the apartment, unable to focus on either studying or chores. Her recurring fantasies seemed dangerous, but she couldn’t seem to push them away for long. When she cleaned the kitchen, she imagined sitting and watching Danica do it instead—naked except for an apron, at Verity’s bidding. When she slumped on the couch to watch TV, one leg hooked over the ottoman, before she knew it her mind conjured Danica between her legs, eating her pussy.

Soon Verity was jilling off for the fifth time that day. Aside from trying not to think about her grandmother’s strange necklace, she couldn’t seem to do anything else.

And the necklace kept creeping back into her mind. As though every orgasm weakened her resolve, the desire to wear the necklace while she was naked, while she pleasured herself, grew to the point where Verity actually took it out of the closet and put it on the coffee table.

While she sat there and stared at the velvety blue box, trying to resist the urge to part its folds and play with the contents, Danica burst into the room.

“Verity! Are you here? I do believe I’ve discovered the perfect cock!” A clunk and a crash followed as Danica threw her purse and keys onto the coffee table next to the jewelry box. She looked down at Verity, who was still slumped in her t-shirt and soiled panties.

“I think I could ride it every night this week. What have you been up to, girl? You look wasted.”

“I-” Verity couldn’t think of an explanation as Danica scrunched her nose at the smell of girlsex still in the air. But the tall Goth interrupted anyway as she picked the box up off the table.

“What’s this? A present from a secret admirer?” Her sly gaze turned to Verity. “What HAVE you been up to today, Ver?”

“You know, just... lying around the house. The necklace-”

Danica cut her off, already opening the box. “Can I open it? Let’s see...

“Ugh, this is ugly as sin, isn’t it?” Danica held the necklace up by its chain, letting the misshapen yellow stone dangle before her eyes. “What misguided twerp picked this out of the bargain bin for you?”

Verity’s stomach sank, but a warm tingle washed over her brain as she heard the necklace speak to Danica.

Look at it. It’s so pretty, how it catches the light. Look at it.

“Verity? What’d you say?” Danica’s eyes began to follow the dangling stone.

You want to watch. Watch it catching the light. Be still, and watch.

“I want... to watch it...” Her eyes began to widen, fixing on a point beyond and through the crystal.

“Okay, Danica,” Verity’s throat was so dry her voice was barely audible. “You can watch it as much as you want.”

“Yes... I want to watch it... as much as I want...” Danica spoke without thinking now, swaying on her feet as her face went slack, as the will drained from her body and mind.

Verity rose from the chair, so transfixed by the look on Danica’s pretty face that she didn’t even notice the crystal had begun to pulse with an inner glow.

“Danica... How do you feel?” The necklace interrupted before the girl could answer, its telepathic voice clear in both their minds.

It feels so good to be Verity’s slave. You want to do whatever she tells you.

“It feels... so good to be your s-slave, Verity...” Danica’s voice was quiet, broken. Gone was the usual confidence, the sarcastic edge. Her submissiveness made Verity’s nipples throb until she could barely breathe.

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

You’re just her hot, wet, obedient slut.

Danica, moaning, repeated the pendant’s command. Verity gripped the back of the chair for support as the first orgasm of her new life overtook her.

“Danica... give me the necklace. And then...” Verity went with the first fantasy that came to mind. Plucking the necklace from her roommate’s limp fingers, she slid back into the chair. “And then, give me a lap dance.”

As Verity fastened the gold chain around her neck, Danica began to hike up her skirt, swaying her hips and parting her creamy thighs. Without a thought in her head for what she was doing, Danica opened the skirt and tossed it aside as she straddled Verity’s lap, pierced tongue licking her dark, red lips. Verity, transfixed, found herself unable to act on her urgent, throbbing lust.

Like a good stripteaser, Danica kept her roommate wordlessly pinned in place.

As the gothy siren began to unfasten her corset, Verity inched towards her breast and moaned. She could feel Danica’s heat, intense as her own; this girl who’d never shown a moment’s interest in Verity now burning with desire beneath her lacy black thong. Verity couldn’t keep herself from touching her clit for another moment, anticipating the sensation of Danica’s tongue replacing her fingers there.

Verity’s practiced imagination paled in comparison to the actual act. She squirmed and writhed with Danica’s head between her thighs, the enthralled girl staring and licking and fingering herself helplessly. The pendant had reduced Danica to a mindless, pussylicking slut, its insidious, insistent voice twined around her every thought. A dim corner of Danica’s mind, thus far untouched by the awful yellow light corrupting her soul, understood that in time the suffocating voice would replace her thoughts, and hoped formlessly that her roommate would come to her senses before it was too late.

That night, the yellow stone lying against her throat guided the currents of Verity’s dreams. She did not find herself in an alien place, however; her subconscious was too busy illuminating opportunities to subjugate her new slave. Spending the night on the verge of orgasm, Verity would awake eager to try every single one.

Released from her trance with no memory of the evening’s depredations, Danica tossed in fitful sleep but did not awaken. Her roommate’s unconscious moans of pleasure were audible through the wall, and the sound of them filled her dreams with dread.

To Be Continued...