The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Honey, can you heat up dinner tonight?” Hope called out.

There was only one other person in the house, Bob. It was immediately clear to him that she was asking him, yet again, to put dinner on the table. He slouched in his chair with a muttered grumble. He’d gotten home after a 10 hour shift at work. Hope? She’d been home all day.

Hope had been let go from her job at the Accounting Firm where she’d worked for over 10 years. With Bob working as a janitor, their income had been struggling with her long-term unemployment status. To her credit, she made sure their home wasn’t a complete mess, but their idea of a meal for the past 10 years had been something frozen. Since they both worked long hours, it was practical, and they traded off who was in charge of “cooking” each evening.

But Hope hadn’t done any cooking this week.

Months without work had taken their toll on her, or so she said. What Bob saw was his wife the unhappiest she had ever been. He felt for her, but he was tired of doing the “cooking” and he was tired of doing his part of the chores, only to see her share being half-done.

Are you tired of your career-driven, hot mess of a wife?

Do you yearn for simpler times when women knew their place in the world?

At Brooks Inc., we have the perfect solution for you. Try our wide array of services that are sure to bring your wife happiness, and to bring simplicity and harmony back into your life.

Bob sighed and turned the TV off as he got up to make dinner. Brooks Inc. Now there was a trip. They supposedly catered in the market of providing wives for the ultra wealthy. Somehow, the whole operation was legitimate and legal, and they kept pumping out housewives of the highest quality.

However, it appeared that they had recently expanded their business.

Whatever the Brooks Inc. had in their plans, Bob was certain it was well outside of his price range. He sighed and went off to make dinner.

Bob couldn’t sleep. The slight, muzak jingle playing in the background from the TV ad he’d seen earlier refused to dislodge itself from his thoughts.

He thought back to a time before, a time when he and Hope were raising their two children. 30 years of marriage, the first 20 of which she had been the epitome of domestic duty. He’d never asked it of her, they’d both agreed that one parent should be home. Hope would have only been able to find entry-level work in finance, so Bob worked two jobs, both janitorial, in order to provide for his family.

They weren’t wealthy, but when Hope had finally raised the children and pursued her career, they’d lived with more comfort than they’d had their entire lives. Now everything felt like it was falling apart. In spite of Hope being at home, he’d never felt further apart from her, and with only his income to sustain them, they had to cut back significantly on the things they had once enjoyed.

He slipped from the bed and padded over to the computer. A glance over his shoulder told him that Hope was still fast asleep. Bob sighed as he sunk into the pliant leather, turned the monitor on and swung it away from the bed so that its pale light was cast upon his face, and the wall behind him.

If she’d woken up then, he wondered if he’d have looked like some sinister villain, he knew the sort of light the monitor screen cast, and the long shadows that were slung across his features. As Bob typed in the website for Brooks Inc., he couldn’t help but feel a little bit like a villain.

They weren’t living the same lifestyle they had since the children had cleared the nest, but they weren’t broke either. In fact, Hope had nestled away a sizeable chunk of both their earnings, and it was sitting in some cold vault, or as 1s and 0s on some server, gathering dust in the ‘safe’ account they’d placed it in as they neared retirement age.

The money wasn’t locked away without a key, they’d dipped into it occasionally. Hope had used it more, to help keep a more youthful appearance, but Bob had hardly felt upset by that use. At least until recently. Now it felt like the candle between them was sputtering out, and if she felt the same way, what was keeping her there, with him? Bob hadn’t put nearly the same effort in keeping up his appearance, and some insecurity deep inside him wondered if that was driving her away.

The website for Brooks Inc., was more subdued than he had expected. Bob wasn’t entirely sure what he inspected, but perhaps more images of these perfect wives, something along the lines of a classy porn site, perhaps. Instead, he got a website with muted blue colors and white text. It was professional, but if he didn’t know what he was there for, he would never have guessed from the website itself.

After a cursory glance he found a “Services” link in the navigation panel and clicked on it.

The page went white. For a moment he thought the browser had frozen, but slowly an image materialized on the window. The image came together quickly, its blurred edges taking on sharp edges until it was plainly a woman dressed in a seafoam green dress. She must have worn petticoats underneath, because the skirts flared out dramatically as they swished around her knees. It took Bob a moment to realize she was a rendered character, she seemed so incredibly life-like on the screen.

Welcome to Brooks Inc. a chat bubble appeared above the woman, her lips working out the words in silence. Then she winked.

The woman began to walk and the white page behind her began to materialize as she moved, until it was clear she was in some sort of processing plant. Behind her were dozens of identical dolls, all of them standing on a conveyor belt bald and staring at nothing in particular.

At Brooks Inc., we’re proud of the large array of services we can provide for our clients. We began by making life-like dolls to order, but from such small beginnings we have grown exponentionally. Our R&D is second to none.

The woman continued walking, the chat bubbles following her.

It is through these efforts that we’ve come up with such a thorough range of services. The woman stopped for a moment, turning to face him. For a moment, Bob felt as if she was looking directly at him. The question is, what do you want? Call me Merry, I’ll be your guide.

An input box appeared on the screen, along with the message: What are you looking for?

Hope woke up to find that Bob had already woken up and left.

A sense of loneliness crept over her that she couldn’t keep down. It was horrible enough that a lingering depression haunted her every thought, but the increasing feeling of separation from her husband just made it that much worse. Hope loved Bob, but ever since the children left, they’d grown apart. She pursued her career, which both of them benefited from tremendously, yet Hope had always sensed some lingering resentment. Perhaps it was jealousy, she had been providing the bread for the two of them, so-to-speak.

To make matters worse, their sex life had become almost non-existent the past few years. Bob was tired from work, so Hope found other ways to pleasure herself and now, with no clear job prospects in sight, the depths of despair beckoned her like a siren to an enthralled sailor. She slept, ate, looked for work, slept, and ate. Hope was certain that he hated her, and though it was unfair, she couldn’t entirely blame him for it.

However, waking up alone was new.

Bob usually woke her up with at least a kiss. It was a small, somewhat rote affection at this point, but it still left Hope with the lingering feeling of connection between them. The morning kiss had been a thin ray of light in an otherwise dark tunnel. There was only darkness this morning.

There were mornings where she didn’t want to get out of bed, they inevitably turned into afternoons where she didn’t want to get out of bed. When the kids were growing up, Hope had stayed on top of everything at home. She was truly a domestic goddess, but that had been before. After working a career, she found it difficult to settle into a home life routine, she needed to find another job before she went insane.

A small ding let Hope know that she’d received a text message. Without even thinking, she walked back over to her nightstand, where she always put her phone to charge overnight. Her finger slid across the screen in a familiar pattern to unlock it and then she opened her texting app. It was a new text from Bob!

I’m sorry, Love. it began, then another line down, I think we’ll both be happier after this though.

‘Both be happier?’ was Hope’s immediate thought, but in the next moment she felt a strong arm wrap around her neck from behind her, putting her into a perfect strangle hold. All she could manage to summon for thoughts before passing out was, ‘Damn you, Bob.’

When Hope awoke, she immediately knew something was wrong.

Even though she could lift her head, she noticed right away that her wrists and ankles were bound. She tugged against the restraints and found them to be completely secure. She was naked, but that wasn’t as much of a concern because a clean, white linen sheet covered her. When she looked around she saw other beds with other women in them. Most of the women were peacefully sleeping in ther beds, but she caught a few other glances as she looked around.

“Get off’er me, you pervert!” a woman’s voice shouted.

Hope’s attention was immediately yanked in the direction of the voice, but she couldn’t find the source. She’d already noted that several of the beds had privacy curtains. While she wasn’t certain, the fact that she could see dark shapes moving around inside one such curtain, accompanied by the bangs and scrapes of someone struggling, she assumed that the voice had come from there.

Slowly, her thoughts trickled back to the present and she tugged once more on her restraints. ‘Where am I?’ she thought. Something behind her beeped.

Craning her neck so that she could look back, she saw a crash cart and belatedly realized that there were some leads stuck to her body trailing over to the machine. There were two leads, one each, on either side of her head right around the temple region.

Her vitals looked normal, or what Hope assumed to be normal. Hope’s health wasn’t in question, but there were some serious questions about where she was, why she was there, and what all of it had to do with Bob and his cryptic text message. Her memory of the text message flooded back into her consciousness.

‘What the fuck, Bob.’ were her first thoughts, but it was immediately followed up by pain and hurt. Tears came to her eyes even as she fought them. The tears were hot and bitter, she could feel them sliding down her cheek. A few tears managed to make it all the way to her lips, where she could taste the saltiness of them, before sliding off her jaw.

Eventually the struggling woman’s struggles subsided. Hope didn’t bother to watch, but the sounds of the struggle became fainter and fainter until all was perfectly still and quiet once more. Sterile. There was a word. She was in a big white room, surrounded by white. It was sterile, and not just clean, the air tasted and smelled sterile, the eerie quiet was sterile, and the utter stillness of the room was sterile.

There was no way of keeping time. All Hope knew was that, after awhile, she heard the familiar clack of heels. It was another woman, she lifted her head to look around, her eyes settling on a blonde woman in a white lab coat. She was every bit the stereotype of a scientist. Her features were pointed, her blonde hair was tied up into the neatest of buns, and she looked at everything with the detached air of someone assessing property.

“Hope Vans?” the woman asked, looking at a clipboard and then settling her steely gaze on Hope.

“Y- yes.” Hope began, and then, “where am I? What is going on? What did Bob do? Why am I here—?”

The other woman lifted her hand and made a brief sweeping motion with it, cutting Hope off.

“I’m sure you have many many questions, Mrs. Vans, but I am not authorized to answer them. I am simply here to inspect you before processing.”

‘Processing!?’ Hope began to struggle again, even as the other woman had begun to lean over and inspect her face. The sudden movements didn’t startle the other woman, but she did jerk upright and wait for it to pass.

“Let me go.” Hope tried vainly after she’d been reminded of the futility of struggling against her bonds.

“I’m not authorized to do that, Mrs. Vans.” the woman said again.

“What are you auth- no, wait.” Hope narrowed her eyes, she already knew the answer to that. “What’s your name? Who’s your supervisor?”

For a moment it almost looked like the other woman smiled, but only for a moment. “My name is Monica.” the woman answered, “and my supervisor is Dr. Britch. He’ll be around shortly.”

Then, without waiting for any other questions, she began her inspection in earnest once more. She behaved like a physician with no bedside manner. She didn’t warn Hope when she tested reflexes or held her eyes open so that she could look through a scope at them. There was no warmth, no kindness, just cold hands and a cold woman. Every so often she would scribble down notes. Before long, though it seemed like hours, Monica was finished.

She simply left. There were no good-byes, no comforting words. Monica simply tucked her clipboard up against her chest and walked away. Hope watched her for several moments, but the sight of the other woman free and walking was too much, so she lay her head back and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of Monica’s heels to fade away.

When Hope woke up again, it was with a start.

She didn’t even remember fading off to sleep. How long had it been?

Worse still, she didn’t recognize the room she was in. She was certain that she had been in a large, brightly lit room with rows of other women in beds. However, she woke up to find herself in a dark, cramped room. She was no longer bound by wrist and ankle. Instead, her body was wrapped tightly from the neck down in some sort of restraint garment.

Suddenly a screen flickered into life right in front of her. It did little to illuminate the dark room, but allowed her to see how close the walls were, and the faint outline of a door behind the screen. For several seconds the bright screen simply displayed a white void.

Then Hope heard the familiar clack of heels again. She immediately thought of the other woman... Monica? She was fairly certain that Monica was the name, but she couldn’t be certain. Had she even been in a different room? Was Monica even real? Perhaps she had dreamed that whole thing. Perhaps she’d been in the dark room the entire time.

However, the woman who appeared on screen was most certainly not Monica. She was unlike any other woman that Hope knew, unless you counted 50s Sitcoms.

Dressed in red with black polka dots, the other woman was the spitting image of a vintage housewife from over fifty to sixty years in the past. The black lace trim at the hem of the dress’ skirts was stylish, but hinted at petticoats underneath in order to give the whole thing volume. Her blonde hair was teased and styled into thick waves of golden blonde tresses.

The woman’s makeup was perfectly done. A bit of blue eye shadow to match the vivid blue of her eyes. A subtle amount of liner with just the hint of a wing at either end. Her lipstick was a bold red to match the dress and her complexion was so perfect that she could have passed for a porcelain doll. In spite of herself, Hope felt just the faintest twinge of jealousy at the depiction of perfect beauty and style standing in front of her. Even if it was just on a screen.

“Welcome to Brooks Inc.” the other woman began, “My name is Trixie and I will be your guide as you embark on the wonderful journey to perfect womanhood.”

The woman’s voice was rich and silky, it drew Hope in, and vaguely reminded her of the posh, polished accents of movie starlets in the golden age of cinema.

“You’re here because you, or someone who loves you, have decided that simpler times are just what the doctor ordered.”

Hope immediately thought of Bob and his text.

“Here at Brooks Inc., we’ve taken the time to perfectly craft and hone the skills and personality traits of the ideal housewife. Some of our products include our advanced AI robots, perfect for the bachelor who doesn’t already have the woman of his dreams. However, you have been selected for our Stepford Special. When we’re done, you’ll be fully equipped to handle the chores and duties of a woman at home.”

Trixie smiled. “Let’s begin.”

‘Fuck’ Hope thought.