The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After having resigned herself to spending the rest of her life as an animal, Rania suddenly found herself walking on two legs for the first time in years, and installed once again in de Vries’ comfortable ranch house outside of Johannesburg.

De Vries was busy with some time-consuming project, so he often left Rania to her own devices, alone except for Regina the housekeeper, who did not seem to think it strange that a naked, silent girl was wandering the house. When Rania got in the path of Regina’s chores, Regina would shoo her away like a dog.

Rania’s breasts posed a problem. For one thing, she was still giving milk in prodigious quantities. For another, years of lactation had grown her breasts to a size that was manageable for a girl on all fours, but not practical for a girl standing upright. De Vries would have liked to return Rania’s chest to its former state, which had been quite large enough for histaste; but he was afraid that her figure would be ruined forever if he let her dry up, given how much milk she was producing.

De Vries decided to maintain the status quo for the time being. He gave Rania a rigorous daily exercise schedule to strengthen her overtaxed back and neck muscles; Rania followed it helplessly. It was more difficult to find support for breasts of that size. De Vries wound up creating a fashion design of his own, aided by a seamstress friend: a reinforced sports bra that held Rania’s tits high and firm, with the cups cut out to make room for Rania’s nipples, which were long and distended from years of milking. The bra made Rania look as if she were attached to two helium balloons that wanted to fly away, and she had to get used to moving about with an entirely different center of gravity. She made an odd picture, walking around the house bottomless, her upper half encased in lycra and whalebone, her chin almost touching her pushed-up cleavage, nipples pointing up at the corners of the room.

Five times a day, Rania expressed her milk. Ordinary breast pumps weren’t made to handle Rania’s level of output, and de Vries took to his workshop again, modifying an agricultural milking machine so that it fit on Rania’s chest and produced a suitable amount of pressure. De Vries liked the taste of Rania’s milk, and, instead of throwing it away, put Rania to work in the afternoons baking desserts with herself as the secret ingredient. Rania was a good cook, and had all the time in the world to adjust the recipes so that her milk didn’t make batter or dough too watery or too sweet. When he wasn’t busy, de Vries liked to come to the pantry and watch Rania bake, hoping to catch one of those moments when, needing to make the dough more pliable, Rania would take her hand out of the bowl and milk herself into it, leaving her breast and nipple gooey.

When de Vries was at home in the evenings, he and Rania would eat together. It always took some concentration for Rania to get her fork from plate to mouth past the obstacle course of her pushed-out breasts and pointing nipples, and she eventually settled on a big, arcing motion that minimized the chances of her stimulating herself during her meal. De Vries would always finish dinner with one of Rania’s dessert creations: but he never ordered her to eat them, thinking that perhaps she would be squeamish.

At night, and sometimes during the day as well, de Vries would collect Rania, take her back to his bedroom, and find interesting new ways to fuck her. He enjoyed treating her roughly, though not cruelly; sometimes he would bind her into an immobile but still accessible package. Afterwards, he liked to linger in bed with her, having little one-sided conversations, playing with some protuding part of her, or idly exploring one of her openings, giving her sexual release or withholding it, as it pleased him.

De Vries had been contemplating the mystery of Rania for years, gathering what information he could whenever he picked up the traces of her bizarre journeys. He had come to the correct conclusion that her obedience was the result of a great anxiety that had been induced in her, and was now working on the problem of how to eliminate that anxiety. His current plan required the services of a competent anesthesiologist, and he had no such connection on his side of the law. Finally he enlisted a doctor friend who was willing to train himself to do the job, with de Vries covering the substantial costs.

After several months of studying and acquiring equipment, de Vries was ready for his first attempt to bypass Rania’s brainwashing. In the small medical office that de Vries had equipped in his basement, Rania was laid on a table and fitted out with an IV drip. The doctor monitored Rania’s vital signs (and also stared quite a lot at her bare tits) while releasing 1 mg per 2 seconds of Midazolam into her blood system. Within a few seconds Rania’s eyes, usually in a state of fearful alertness, became heavy-lidded and hazy.

De Vries didn’t know exactly how to determine the drug’s effect. He had rigged a little test by taping electrodes to Rania’s bare soles and placing near her right hand a switch that would shock her painfully. Once Rania was in a stable metabolic state, de Vries asked her very politely to administer a shock to herself. He would take any hesitation on her part as a sign that her power to disobey was increasing.

But the first test failed: Rania eagerly obeyed the request to shock herself, flinching only a little and moaning softly. The Midazolam would certainly make Rania less responsive to pain, so the premises of the test were dubious in the first place.

De Vries and his colleague proceeded to increase the flow of Midazolam into Rania’s veins a bit at a time. At a certain point Rania stopped shocking herself, or doing anything else: the drug had put her into a stupor. De Vries tried at every stage of the process to get Rania to speak, with no luck. The first session was declared a failure; Rania was unhooked from the IV drip and carried to de Vries’ bedroom to recover.

In a few hours Rania was up and about, and the next day she was her normal obedient sex-addled self. De Vries had hoped that the experiment might have aftereffects, but he could detect none. He took the day off from studying, and distracted himself from his failure by tying Rania face down to the bedposts and ass-fucking her all afternoon.

But the next week Rania was on the table again, this time receiving a mixture of Diazepam and morphine. De Vries didn’t bother wiring Rania to shock herself: he figured that the opioid would dull whatever little sensitivity to pain Rania had exhibited last time. All he could do was observe her and hope to spot any changes.

At 1 mg/sec, de Vries figured he shouldn’t take the dosage much higher. “Can you hear me?” he yelled at the dazed Rania. “If you hear me, please respond.”

“I can hear you quite well,” said Rania in a tiny voice.

“Christ on a crutch!” exclaimed de Vries. He exchanged glances with the grinning doctor.

“Hello,” he finally said to Rania, in a normal tone.

“Hello,” she said.

“Do you remember what you just said to me?”

“I said hello,” said Rania uncertainly.

“Before that.”

“I....”

Even this sedated, Rania seemed anxious at not being able to answer a question. The drugs were clearly affecting her short-term memory, as was expected. De Vries would have to ask simple questions and repeat himself often.

“What’s your name?”

“Shaihka Rania bint Hamad Al-Khalifa.”

The doctor’s eyebrows raised.

“That’s a nice name,” said de Vries. “Where were you born?”

“In Kazeb, on the Arabian Peninsula. My father was Hamad, King of Kazeb.”

“You are a princess.”

“Yes.”

De Vries had learned all of this over the years. But he did not know the answer to his next question:

“What happened to you? How did you become like this?”

Rania did not answer immediately. “They turned me into a slave.”

“Who turned you into a slave?”

“My brother. Nasser, King of Kazeb.”

De Vries had heard rumors to this effect. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it politics? Were you in his way? " Rania seemed confused. “Did your brother want to get you out of the way and rule alone?”

“No. I supported him.”

“Maybe he thought you might challenge his rule later.”

“A princess cannot rule Kazeb.”

“So he did you in just for sport?”

Rania lay still for a while, her eyes half-open. “He wanted me.”

Simple enough, thought de Vries.

“What did he do to you? How did he make you obey the way you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were you brainwashed? You must have been.”

“I don’t know. They tortured me. I can’t remember.”

“Who tortured you?”

“An old man, from the old days. I thought it was just a legend, but it was real.”

“What was real?”

“There are men from the old days who know how to make women into slaves.”

“Did they violate you?”

“Yes, of course, what did you think? They did everything.”

De Vries smiled. The girl still had a personality. But now she was shedding silent tears. De Vries decided to push on.

“Your brother allowed that?” Rania had forgotten the question. “Your brother let them rape you?”

“Yes.”

“And then...after that?”

“After that my brother used me for sex.”

Bloody Arabs, thought de Vries. “How long did that go on? What happened next?” De Vries did not know whether Rania knew her brother’s fate.

“There was an uprising. My brother was killed. They took me to the country for a time, and then I was sold and taken to Africa.”

De Vries knew the next part of the story. He looked at the beautiful, semiconscious girl, lying splendidly naked in front of him, her breasts heaving up like mountains. Without thinking, he reached out his hand to fondle her, as he often did; his fingers circled one of her nipples and pulled it gently upward.

“OOOUUUUHH....” Rania let out a low, rolling moan, not like her usual noises, and twisted her torso upward into de Vries’ touch.

“Christ, man, watch it!” said the doctor, who was splattered with Rania’s breast milk. De Vries quickly released his grip on Rania, but the girl’s unearthly moans continued for a few minutes. The room smelled strongly of Rania’s arousal, and her writhing had made her inner thighs slick and shiny.

“Rania—what happened after you were taken to Africa?” asked de Vries. But Rania would no longer answer, except with inarticulate noises.

“Guess I buggered up there, eh?” said de Vries ruefully, as the doctor removed Rania’s IV drip.

“If you were trying to make her talk, you buggered up,” said the doctor. “If you were trying to get her in the mood, though, you were a smashing success.”

“It’s not rocket science to get her in the mood,” said de Vries.

By evening, Rania was her normal servile self. Despite the breakthrough, de Vries felt disappointed that the anti-anxiety drug’s effects were so limited.

He was careful to keep his hands far away from Rania the next time he put her under the influence. He started with factual questions, as neutral as possible. Some of Rania’s adventures had become part of the public record in the proceedings that followed Charles Carling’s death, but there were many gaps in de Vries’s knowledge.

“Why did Carling give you to Cecily Scott?”

“I don’t know.”

“She said in court that she didn’t approve of Carling’s keeping slaves.”

“She’s a liar.”

De Vries liked it when Rania became a little feisty. “Well, she’s doing time now. Does that please you?”

“I don’t care,” said Rania inertly.

“Your college boyfriends managed to get off with suspended sentences, though.” Rania had no reaction. “Don’t you want revenge?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

After a pause, de Vries said, “Do you remember who I am?”

Without looking at him, Rania said, “You’re the slaver who bought me in the Sudan.”

De Vries didn’t think of himself as just another one of Rania’s victimizers, and was a little disappointed at how she categorized him.

He said, “I’ve been trying to find a way to give you some kind of normal life. The drug in your system is making it possible for you to speak again. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“If I gave you a command right now, do you think you could disobey it?”

“I don’t know.”

De Vries couldn’t come up with a good way to test this.

“Do you feel as if you can control your sexual responses at all? If I touched you, would you be able to think about something else and distract yourself?”

“No. I couldn’t control that.”

“Are you sure?” Rania didn’t answer. De Vries suspected she was right, and he didn’t want to bring the session to another premature end.

“I’m not sure how much I can help you. I’ve studied your problem, but I’m just shooting in the dark. The drugs help a little, but they also knock you on your ass—you can’t function in everyday life like this. Do you understand me?”

“I understand.”

“I can keep trying, experimenting. Do you want that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Rania.

De Vries was confused. “Don’t you care? Wouldn’t you like to be the person you used to be?”

“I can’t be the person I was before. I can’t explain to you. You won’t be able to understand.”

In a low voice, De Vries said, “For my part...I’d like to keep you the way you are now.”

Rania didn’t answer. De Vries said, “Would you like that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

De Vries stood up and walked around the room, running his hands through his hair. “If you don’t care, maybe I’ll keep you,” he said. He wheeled around suddenly to face her. “Don’t you even want me to try to beat this thing?”

“I don’t care,” said Rania.

De Vries sat next to Rania, exhausted. “It’s time to finish up for today,” he said. “But before we stop, I just want to hear you talk like a normal person for a bit. Tell me something. Talk about something you know about.”

Rania was confused. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. What did you study in school.”

“Literature.”

“Then tell me who your favorite writer is.”

Rania lay quiet and heavy-lidded for a second. “Jane Austen, I suppose.”

“Jane Austen,” said de Vries. “Why do all women love Jane Austen so much?”

Without missing a beat, Rania asked, “And who is your favorite?”

Surprised, de Vries said, “Well, if the truth be told, I do like to curl up with a good John Le Carre spy novel.”

“So there you have it,” said Rania.

De Vries laughed and laughed. “There you have it,” he said. “All right,” he said to the doctor, “let’s call it a day.”

A few months later, de Vries decided to take Rania back to Kazeb for a visit.

A disguise would be necessary. But Kazeb, like the rest of the Muslim world, had been experiencing a resurgence of fundamentalism in the last few decades, and women often appeared in public with their faces covered. De Vries learned that a burqa with lacework covering Rania’s eyes would not draw attention on the street, though most women in Kazeb simply covered their hair in public.

And so Rania found herself once again in the alleys and markets of the place where she grew up. De Vries ordered her to follow three paces behind him and never to make a sound, and everyone assumed that de Vries was a convert to Islam who had taken a Middle Eastern wife. The burqa did not flatter Rania’s figure: her outrageous breasts pushed the loose fabric forward so that she looked obese. De Vries kept her naked under the burqa, and went exploring under the garment whenever no one was looking.

The military had taken over Kazeb after Rania’s brother was overthrown, and the capital was policed by soldiers. The new regime had better relations with the United States than was the case under Rania’s father, who had pan-Arab leanings; occasionally one saw American troops driving around in Humvees. No one bothered de Vries and Rania, who looked like wealthy foreigners.

Rania was unable to communicate her desires, of course, but de Vries had gathered as much information about her past as he could during her anesthesia sessions. He took Rania to see the park where she had received her first kiss in high school, and to the construction site for an irrigation project that she had helped to implement long ago. Later, under the influence of de Vries’s latest cocktail of anti-anxiety drugs (he had found new combinations that weren’t so debilitating to Rania, though so far nothing smooth enough to combine with her daily life), she would make excellent guesses about why the project had gotten stalled and what corrupt domestic pressures had sidelined the contracts with foreign companies that she and Nasser had brokered.

De Vries’s agenda for the trip also included gathering information on Fouaz and his slave training techniques. The old man had been killed in a massive armed confrontation that followed Nasser’s overthrow, along with much of his family and a surprising number of Kazeb troops. But Fouaz’s eldest son had survived, and was serving a long sentence in the national prison. De Vries had political connections in the region, and managed to obtain a visit with the prisoner after a large sum of money exchanged hands. The surprised captive spoke freely, and de Vries obtained much new information about Rania’s painful transformation. He was especially interested in the black leaves that had been used to drug Rania, which he had never heard about. After the interview, he went to a public market and, following Fouaz’s son’s instructions, scored a bagful of the leaves. He wasn’t sure that they would be of any help in Rania’s therapy, but he would have them analyzed, and perhaps get a new clue.

It was hard for de Vries to know what Rania’s feelings were upon visiting her home again. Sometimes he would see her burqa-covered head turn to take in old sights, but her reactions were well hidden, by both her clothing and her compulsive obedience. De Vries took notes about things to ask her later.

After two days, de Vries had had enough of Kazeb, which he considered a hellhole. Early in the morning, he and Rania climbed into the back of the limousine that would take them to the airport. De Vries raised the plexiglass barrier between the front and back seats as the limo pulled away from their hotel.

“You don’t need to look your last at this place, do you, dearie? Be a good girl and give me a nice suck.”

Rania, hidden in a mass of black fabric, quickly clambered onto her knees between de Vries’ legs. He felt the soft weight of her hanging breasts pushing against the insides of his thighs, then the warm wetness of her mouth, her tongue teasing the underside of his growing penis.

And so the last of the Al-Khalifa dynasty of Kazeb departed her native land, sucking a cock as if her life depended on it.