The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Brian? Honey, it’s time to get up. I’m sure you want breakfast before it gets cold!” Hope yelled up the stairs.

Helen was already in the kitchen, but she was a dutiful daughter. Brian wasn’t a bad boy, but he had to be prodded lest he slack off. Helen was far more independent though she was only a year older than her brother. Hope looked on her daughter proudly, she wore a sensible red sweater with a long gray skirt and white tights. It wasn’t flashy or loud, a perfect outfit for school.

Hope was feeling stylish herself.

It was a modern version of a housewife’s dress. No petticoats or underskirts, but it was still an a-line dress, just with a trimmer, slender cut, the pleated skirts naturally flaring out by the curve of her wide hips. The fabric was dark blue, but thin pin-stripes of a lighter blue slanted across the cut and folds.

Everything was perfect in the Greenwood house. Bob was already off to work, Hope had given him his morning blowjob and breakfast when it was still dark outside. Helen and Brian would be up and ready for school when the bus came by in half an hour, even if Brian was slacking behind, she knew he would clean up his act before she had to escalate things.

There was a slight unease that tugged at Hope’s perfect world for a moment. She looked around at the spotless kitchen, already cleaned up from any mess that came from preparing breakfast for her family. Nothing appeared out of place, there were no stains to bother her perfectionist tendencies, but the feeling of perfectness had suddenly shattered as easily as an errant baseball might shatter through a window.

Hope’s smile began to fade, the corner’s of her lips threatening to tug down into a frown as she continued her search. The unease was like a cockroach or a spider, something creeping and crawling and yet hidden from her sight.

“Hey mom,” came the voice of her son, Brian.

Hope turned to look at her son, his light brown hair, his dark brown eyes so often reminded her of his father. She flashed him a smile that masked her worry and concern, shoving it aside so she could give him her attention.

“All set this morning, dear?”

Brian grinned as he grabbed his plate of toast and fruit, with a solitary, sunny side up egg that stood out like the sun against the backdrop of a clear blue sky.

“Yes, sorry, I had some homework to finish up.”

“You know you’re supposed to do your homework in the evening, not in the morning- unless you want to get up earlier,” Hope chided.

“Heard you, mom.” Brian said, rolling his eyes, but his smile let her know that he was teasing. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably failing all your classes,” Hope whipped back with the perfect rebuttal.

It was an exchange that they went through almost like a script at this point. The call and response was often different, but the underlying message was unquestionably the same: a mutual love that respected both parent and child. As wayward as Brian could be, he still knew his place and was a dutiful son, even if not quite as dutiful as his sister, Helen.

However, even that fact made sense. Boys would be boys, while they would eventually become men who would lead their own households, the world expected them to rebel, to find their own path. Whereas women were expected to be dutiful and obedient, to support their men and grow the household and the family that would follow. The world expected more from women sooner, forcing them to follow the rules and to respect the demands society would place on them.

Yet there was something wrong with that. Even as Hope watched Brian make his way over to the dining room to sit down at the table, her smile threatened to shift to a frown once more. Hope turned away so that her children wouldn’t see her doubt. Her brow furrowed and she made her way over to the sink, placing her hands on it.

“Mom?” It was Helen’s voice, her daughter.

“I’m alright, dear.” Hope responded.

“Mom?” Now it was Brian’s voice. Were both her children there?

Even as she wondered that, the voice distorted and again asked, “mom?”

It was neither voice and yet both. It wasn’t the same as both voices speaking at the same time, however, it was simply a voice that was both feminine and masculine and yet neither. There was something about the voice that had an almost computerized quality to it.

“Mom?”

Hope was jostled out of the dream suddenly, and as she looked around everything came crashing back. It wasn’t the first type of dream that way. The first dreams were the easiest to believe, Hope had lost days, even weeks in them. There were oddities, things that made the dreams distinct and different from her memories.

First among those differences was that her dreams didn’t take place back when Hope and Bob had their children. Instead, it was as though her family had been transported to the present.

It didn’t take long for Hope to realize they were dreams, sweet as they were. However, her captors were relentless in pushing their fantasy narrative. When she wasn’t sleeping, they often kept up the fantasy by using the screens in her room to make her think she was somehow there, trapped behind some invisible wall. Hope would find herself pounding against the wall screaming for it to stop, she would cry until she inevitably fell asleep and once more slipped into dream.

Hope knew her resolve was fading, and it was fading fast. The last time she woke up, she found herself standing in front of one of the walls which was reflecting her like a mirror. Though there was no sound, she could feel and see her lips moving in some sort of mantra. It took only moments for her to figure out what she was saying, albeit silently. As soon as she did, however, she couldn’t get it out of her head.

‘I must be dutiful. Program me to obey. A wife serves her husband. A wife is unhappy unless her husband is happy. A wife has no worries, save for her husband. I must be dutiful. Program me to obey.’

Time had lost all relevance or meaning.

Hope had tried at the beginning to keep track of the days by the meals or the simulated day-night cycles in the lighting of the room. However, since they often delayed or outright skipped the delivery of those things as a form of punishment and control, it was too difficult to keep track.

The dreams had only exacerbated the problem. Hope might spend weeks in one reality or another only to find that mere hours had passed in the other. They were slowly whittling down her external defenses and were working on diminishing the internal voice that told her to fight the mental programming. Slowly but surely the inner dialogue of, ‘I’m a person. I have worth.’ was being replaced by, ‘I am a wife. I exist to serve.’ It was terrifying, but also thrilling.

Much as Hope hated to admit it, the idea of being returned to a simpler existence didn’t come without its own appeal. But was that really something she wanted, or was it an insiduous plant? A traitorous thought that hadn’t existed before her capture. But real or false, the thought was still there. If she just let herself be programmed...

Hope had begun cooking lessons.

As time was all but lost to her, it was difficult to say exactly how long she’d been there, or how long since they’d begun their ritual of inundating her with dreams and images that had worn down the last vestiges of her resistance.

The “lessons” were something of a break from the rest of the nightmare. They were simple, rote, and more importantly: real. Hope was able to enjoy the results of her efforts, and she found that cooking was much like riding a bike, easy to pick back up even after the course of years.

Casseroles, h’orderves, roasts, and a variety of accoutrements were on the menu. At the moment she was making deviled eggs. It was a simple dish, and yet it was good technique which made it simple. A novice who was impatient could ruin half or more of her eggs by not boiling and then peeling them properly. The yolk filling also had its pitfalls for the unwary. However, a good housewife was attentive and dutiful, mistakes didn’t happen.

Attention. Duty. Obedience.

The lessons were a reprieve from the actual lessons that the facility wanted her to learn, the ones programming her to be the perfect wife. There was nothing inherently wrong with the tenets. It was just that it had been so long since she’d given them any sort of value.

If husband is unhappy, then blow job. If husband hungry, then meal. If house not perfect, clean. The instructions were like code firing through her brain, reminding her of what a housewife should be. They were leeching into her memories and consciousness, turning the firing of neurons into a more binary sort of system. It was still all biological of course, but if the neuron firings were laid out on printed paper it was becoming more and more difficult to distinguish them from actual electric circuits.

Obey. Obey. Obey.

Bob rolled over in bed, gazing at Hope’s nude form with unbridled lust. His own, fat, sad body was on display, but, to Hope, it was the sexiest body she could imagine. She felt herself blush underneath his stare, getting the same flutterings she once had as a school-age girl over a crush.

“How was it?” He asked her.

“Mind shattering,” Hope lied.

Bob almost never brought her to orgasm, but it was her duty as a wife to make sure that his needs were met, that his ego was stroked, her own pleasure was secondary. As long as he came, that was enough to satisfy her. She had to remind herself that she existed for his pleasure. It was up to her to obey. As she dwelt on it, the thought seemed to repeat like a loop in her head: Obey. Obey. Obey.

It occurred to Hope that she needed to be more ambitious. If it was her duty to her husband to facilitate his pleasure, then shouldn’t she try to get him back to orgasm again as quickly as she could?

Hope slid down under the covers, immediately flush with the warmth of body heat trapped underneath. She had to navigate past the significant bulge of his stomach, but this didn’t bother her. Nothing bothered her, for her sole purpose was the reason for being and she was unable to focus on anything else.

When she finally made it down to his crotch, she gave a tentative lick around his head. It had the salty, pungent taste of cum from his earlier orgasm. She had to bury her nose in the thick fur covering he had down there, but she did so without hesitation. Unfortunately, her ministrations couldn’t seem to revive little Bob. Hope tried desperately. She fondled his balls, licked his shaft, called herself dirty names, but none of it was enough.

She felt a system failure coming on. Her programming was unequipped to deal with such equivocal failure. Her eyesight grew dim, the world was quickly rushing toward black.

Then Hope opened her eyes again and found herself in the same white room that had become her new home. It was another dream, another... hallucination. Yet it felt so real, Hope could still feel her heart pounding away in its desperation following her failure. The oddest sensation was the profound sense of loss that filled her. Perhaps filled wasn’t the right word, she felt empty.

“This is good,” said Trixie, showing up on the wall where her gaze rested. “Your programming is almost complete!”

Hope’s fingers dug themselves into her hair and she averted her gaze to her lap, the bed seeming to be the only place in the whole room that couldn’t switch over a screen, her one relief from the constant exposure to the facility’s training.

“We know this must be hard,” Trixie continued regardless, “but you have made much progress. You are so close. So close.”

“I obey...” Hope found herself whispering, “I am dutiful. I am attentive. I am obedient.”

The voice that spoke felt both like hers and not hers. It was the same pitch and timber, but the words were not words that she felt would have ever come through her lips again. She had left that life long behind, or so she thought.

Please, just let it be over.

At this point, Hope was ready to just have her mind washed away, replaced by whatever servile, submissive personality they wanted to program in. To resist her changes felt so natural, but it was too painful. The struggle was too tiring. She knew in her heart that it was time to give up.

Hope lifted her gaze to the screen, watched and listened as Trixie lavished her in praises, extolled the virtues of Housewifedom, and continued to program Hope into being the best robo wife that she could possibly be.

Bob was excited to get home.

The Brooks Company had guaranteed that Hope would be delivered home in time for when he got off work. He had deliberately avoided updates on his wife’s progress, he merely wanted the end result and nothing less would satisfy him.

As he turned into his driveway, Bob could already feel himself getting hard at the mere mental image of what was inside his house awaiting him.

He couldn’t get out of his car quick enough,, a feeling opposite of what he’d become accustomed to over the last few years. The door was unlocked, something he’d become unaccustomed to while Hope was at the facility. He even still had his keys in hand before he remembered and tested the knob.

Inside the house was spotless. It was a mean accomplishment, given that he’d lived the slovenly life of a bachelor while she was gone. Then she stepped out of the kitchen.

Bob knew from his specifications that Hope would never be comfortable in anything but dresses or skirts again, but her style was still going to be more similar to that of a modern housewife. Tight, shaping dresses, looser skirt-top combos. However, to greet him from her first day back she wore a red-and-white polka dot dress, complete with petticoats and a bow in her hair. In her hands she had a beer and she rushed forward with mincing steps in her red heels.

“Oh, dear. I’ve got a roast in the oven, perhaps you’d like to sit down and watch television?”

Bob looked her up and down, “designation?”

Hope’s expression glazed over and she stiffened, “Designation: Hope-bot. Do you have further queries?”

Bob considered for a moment, “what programs are available?”

“Hope-bot is equipped with both the regular and stepford housewife modules. She also has the little girl module, the bimbo module, the whore module, and the cheerleader module. Other modules can be downloaded at your request.”

Bob took the beer from Hope’s hand and waved a dismissive hand, “restore.”

Just like that, a radiant smile flashed across her features as life returned to her eyes, “oh dear, I’ve missed you so. Would you like a blow job?”

Bob was indeed merry, he was glad he got his wife from Brook’s inc.