The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Anna felt almost dizzy with the mix of emotions at what she was about to do. She performed the everyday activities—jumping off the tube, navigating her way to the office, taking the lift to the floor where she worked—in a near-daze. This would be the last time she would do this! The knowledge filled her with both sadness and a giddy feeling of elation.

She hesitated for a long moment, hand poised to knock on her boss’s door. This was it. This was the moment of no return. Around her, the office was waking up, the air filled with the scent of fresh coffee and the quiet buzz of conversation. She felt isolated from it, an imposter already. Her soft rap on the door seemed like an anti-climax.

“Yes?”

She quietly entered and closed the door after her. “Hi, Carla.” She whispered, her voice unexpectedly hoarse, “could I have a quick chat?”

Carla looked up at her for the first time, and her brows creased in concern. “Sure, come on in. Sit.”

Sitting here with her boss was so familiar. She had furnished the space with warm, Scandinavian wood, and her office was uncluttered and efficient, yet still homely, scattered with mementoes: photographs, awards, trinkets. Anna remembered every one of them—she was in most of the pictures. She remembered all those shared nights out, the residential conferences and the after-meetings, the double dates in their early friendship, and then Carla and Tom’s wedding. Carla was much, much more than just her boss, she might be her best friend, and Anna hated herself for what she was about to do to her.

“I…” she said, “I’m leaving,” and her heart broke to see the procession of emotions cross her friend’s face: shock, betrayal, sadness, concern.

“What is it, Anna? What’s happened?”

“Nothing bad,” she rushed out, “quite the opposite. I’ve had the most amazing job offer—just this weekend.”

Carla’s expression settled on sad, with a hint of betrayal. “so, why? Is it the pay? Is it so much better?”

“Carla, it’s a whole world more than that. It’s a complete career change, and they’re offering me a fantastic package—three times the salary, international travel, you name it. It’s the chance of a lifetime. Of my lifetime, anyway, and I simply can’t turn it down. I’ve already put my flat up for rent!”

“What? Surely you’ll be working your notice? Three months, isn’t it?”

“Carla, I’m so sorry, but it has to be today. Now.” Oh shit, Carla was crying. “There’s a jet waiting for me. Can you believe it—a private executive jet!” Her heart was going to burst.

Her friend’s face was frantic, unbelieving. “Anna, you can’t just go like this. We…”

Now they were both crying openly. “I’ll, I’ll look you up next time I”m in the country. I promise!”

“You”d better,” she stood and enfolded her in a hug. “I can”t believe this!”

“It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity!” she said again, immersed in Carla’s familiar scent. “I just… I can”t turn it down.” Pulling away from her friend’s embrace felt like a betrayal. “I just can”t!”

Carla’s smiled through tears that ran mascara in black streaks down her cheeks. “Stay a while. Private jets can wait, can”t they? We’ll grab a final breakfast.”

“I”m so sorry, Carla,” she wept. “I have to go now!”

Slowly they parted, arms releasing, then hands, and finally fingertips, and Anna backed out of the office, the door closing on a final look at her friend’s attractive, despairing face. She stared at the pale timber of the door, collecting together her wits.

“Hey, sweet hips!” An all-too-familiar voice grated into her thoughts.

“I do not need your shit right now, Geoffrey!” She spoke without turning, his name turning into the usual sneer as it passed her lips. Geoffrey—or ‘Geoff’ to his friends, of whom he had none, as far as she knew—closed in behind her until she could feel his breath on her neck.

“You know, the view of you from behind is my second favourite,” he whispered in her ear, and a rich musky scent enveloped her. She frowned. Where had she come across that scent—the scent of unwashed body masked by that expensive cologne he had bought on the day he had started boasting about his unexpected inheritance?

The memory wouldn’t come, and she decided that she knew altogether too much about this creepy little shit. “You, know, Geoffrey, you wouldn’t need to splash quite so much of that after-shave on if you just took a shower now and then,” she said as she reluctantly spun to face him, and was treated to the sparsely-populated pink curve of the top of his head as he stared down at her chest. “Isn’t it a bit expensive for you?”

“Are these getting bigger?” He asked her chest. “I swear, Anna, you get more beautiful every day!”

“Right,” she said and took hold of his throat in her right hand. Then, channelling her judo training, she kept him off balance as she marched him back across the corridor, his head bouncing off the far wall with a satisfying thud.

“I have just quit, Geoffrey,” she snarled down at him, tightening her grip, “and there is so much I’m going to miss about this place.” Engaging her core, she stepped into him and lifted him from the floor until his now bulging eyes were level with hers. The strappy leather heels she had chosen to wear were a little inappropriate for work and were entirely unsuited to weightlifting. Still, she gritted her teeth against the pain in her feet and whispered, “but of all the things I’m going to miss, I’ll miss you the least, you lecherous, creepy little piece of shit!”

His face was turning red, but was that a smile playing around his lips? It dawned on her that, pressed against him as she was, she might well be giving him the thrill of his pointless little life. Could he even be… what was that growing hardness she felt against her thigh? “Is this actually turning you on? Jesus!”

She dropped him so fast that he fell forward, almost measuring his length on the carpet, and that expensive watch he had boasted about rattled as his palm hit the floor.

He grinned up at her as he stood. “That’s a dirty mouth you’ve got, sweet lips,” he coughed, “but I already knew that. I look forward to exploring it much more in our future together.”

“We have no future, you sick jerk,” she snarled. “From this moment, I never have to see you again! Goodbye, Geoffrey.”

With that, she marched away, and within a minute, she was striding from the building, leaving Geoffrey, her job and her old life well and truly behind.

And yet...

Why could she not forget the expression on his face as she turned away from him, his face alight with gleeful triumph, as though he knew something she didn’t?

Geoff took full advantage of her rear view as she stalked out of the office for the final time. Those fuck-me heels really set off her legs!

After a last lingering stare, he finally looked around him. The little crowd that their argument had attracted had already dispersed, leaving only that bitch of a boss still watching him.

“Geoffrey,” Carla said. “Got a minute in my office?”

The walk from the office building to the tube was pleasant, through tree-lined avenues and a small park. She strode purposefully through the warm spring air, hardly believing she might never see these streets again.

As the entrance to the suburban underground station came into view, she paused for a moment and let herself be immersed in the sights and sounds of London, the subdued distant roar of traffic, the whisper of the breeze through the trees, the sound of childish laughter from the park she had just left. This would be her final moment of peace before she was thrown inevitably—by tube train, then by private jet and by who knew what—into her new life.

Private jet or no, she had no time to spare. Taking a deep breath, she continued into the foyer of the station.

It was at that moment she felt the change. As she entered the shadowed entrance hall, a darkness seemed to fall across her mind, too, as though she was entering a dream. A few steps from the ticket barriers, she slowed and stopped again, her brow furrowing in confusion. Where was the plane, exactly? To which airport was she heading? And, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember any interviews or meetings about this new career. Indeed, she had no idea which tube line she was even headed for. For long seconds she just stood there as though she had spontaneously grown roots, so that other travellers had to swerve around her. A few glanced at her in irritation, but none seemed to see anything out of the ordinary.

She found herself scanning the dingy hall, and her eyes settled on the door of a disabled toilet. Her legs took her in that direction.

The human brain is designed to ignore the occasional oddities that it encounters: rightly dismissing the out-of-place handbag as a misremembering, or the whole day spent wandering around a museum on a whim as a conscious decision to take in a little culture. Anna had decided that she was entering the toilet and locking the door behind her because she needed some extra time to herself, and maybe a pee.

But instead of performing the usual toilet routine—pulling down panties, checking the toilet seat, sitting—she found herself stripping completely, throwing the little black dress she had put on into a corner of the grubby floor, following it a moment later with her underwear, then simply turning to face the mirror, naked but for her strappy, inappropriate heels.

She faced a distorted image of herself: the mirror was not glass but a beat-up sheet of stainless steel that covered the top half of a whole wall. Even through the mild distortion, the reflection of her fashionably bobbed hairstyle was immaculate down to the last hair, her mouse-coloured roots perfectly hidden beneath glossy raven dye. The makeup she wore, her usual office style of attractive yet efficient, was a little tear-stained to the close observer but was almost flawless. Her gym-sculpted body was slim and athletic, perhaps a little long in the torso, too wide in the shoulders, and with perhaps slightly over-large breasts. Otherwise, the reflection that stared back at her was the image of early-thirties perfection.

Why was she standing naked like this? It was ridiculous! And she decided that maybe she did need to pee after all. So she tried to step toward the stainless steel bowl, and found that she couldn’t. In fact, she discovered that she couldn’t move at all.

But then she did move. Without her volition, her image bent to delve into her bag and retrieve her phone. She looked down and watched her fingers open the camera app and start recording video, and then her eyes returned to the mirror. Her reflection lifted the phone and held it there, recording her.

Again she froze. She couldn’t even turn her confusion into a frown. Like a naked manikin, her reflection stared back at her, waiting.

Distant sounds—a peal of laughter, the rumble of luggage wheels—penetrated through the door from the station outside. But within the stained walls, all was utterly silent.

There was a sharp pain at her throat, as if something had stung her or a sharp blade had penetrated her skin, and, unbidden, inexplicably, her mind filled with images of obsidian knives and human sacrifice. A red bead appeared there, and became a line that slowly traced its way along her throat, leaving red trails of dripping blood as it advanced. Silently, frozen, she felt the sting and watched in horror as the cut continued out of sight around her neck until its advancing tip reappeared to meet its start, forming a scarlet ring around her neck.

The sting stopped then, but blood was oozing from the wound, dripping down her pale skin. Strangely, though, the red stain did not drip onto her chest or shoulders, or even flow far from the cut. Instead, tidy and well behaved, it formed a glistening two-inch ring around her neck, through which she could see her muscles bobbing as she swallowed. In moments the scarlet dried and deepened to black, taking on the look of leather, a fetishist leather collar, complete with decorative stitching along its edge, rivets and steel “D”—rings.

She knew this collar! She had stood staring at her naked self and this very collar! The mirror had been in Master’s bathroom, and she had been trying and failing to remove it, cut it, or even mark it.

Master. The memories came flooding back now: a night and a day spent at his flat, acting like his slave. No, of being his utter and complete slave, mindless and shameless.

But today, she had returned to normality, gone back to work. That weekend of slavery had been nothing but a lost, sex-crazed weekend.

But now, standing here in the cold light of her naked helplessness, she knew that wasn’t true. Now she found that she remembered Master ordering her to return to her own house, to prepare as usual for work, and she remembered the story He had given her to tell them. She realised now that her own mind had betrayed her, right there in the workplace she had loved, the office that had become her second home. She had invented the extra details of her story as required, saying anything just to finish her task—embellishing His story of the Fantastic Career Opportunity wherever the situation had needed it, believing every lie she told. What the reality was, she did not know, but with dreadful certainty, she realised that this collar was not even the start of it.

The start of it was a wave of searing pain spreading from the collar into her head, the migraine to end all migraines, and down through her shoulders, then onwards into her chest and guts.

Her instinct was to cry out from the pain, but her throat closed down on the sound, turning it into a near-inaudible groan. She watched her eyes widen in fear, and was shocked when they abruptly flicked from hazel to blue. Her jaws blazed with fresh stabs of agony as five of her teeth popped out into her mouth. She spat, and bloody metal-filled molars and a gold crown bounced off the mirror and rattled on the floor.

What was happening to her? She watched her body succumb to helpless panic, her chest pumping in and out, drawing in wracking lungfuls of limonene-scented air, her eyes widening and her flesh flushing hot red. Yet, her arm holding the phone held steady, recording her every move without a tremor.

Her scalp burned as if on fire, and all at once, her hair fell out—every single hair on her body from her dark bob, which gently settled around her shoulders before falling to the floor, to her eyebrows and her neatly trimmed bush. Every tiny hair that covered her skin fell away in a dark mist. It all happened so quickly that her eyes barely had time to widen before her burning scalp sprouted new growth, in a dark honey blonde that at first seemed to form a golden halo around her head before thickening and flowing untidily down her back.

In the distorting mirror, her reflection seemed to ripple and flow. But, no, her body truly was rippling, in waves that passed down her face and torso, and every wave was searing agony. And as she watched, her body changed before her. Her overlong, almost vee-shaped torso shortened and narrowed, both at shoulder and waist, while her breasts grew and lifted, so her suddenly huge nipples pointed pertly to the ceiling, her hips and legs growing less athletic, more… padded. The changes were happening inside her, too. She felt a shifting, stretching, rebuilding inside her gut that almost forced a scream from her despite her muteness.

Abruptly the waves of pain and change stopped. She blinked at the sudden ending of it, still panting and shivering with the fear she felt, bathed in a feverish sweat in the aftermath. A stranger stared back, hair a luxuriant, unruly mane that cascaded to her hips, coloured blonde from the same palate that tanned her impossibly smooth skin. Her eyebrows had returned too, now perfectly sculpted lines drawn above eyes that had gained a distinct oriental slant and a layer of tasteless, teenage party makeup, its rainbow hues blending into those eyebrows and perfectly complementing her new heavily rouged knife-edge cheekbones. Her lips were full, and broader, and were the exact same hue as her pert, oversized nipples. Her strong chin had gone, replaced with something much more delicate, complimenting a long, slim, collared neck.

She found herself turning the phone’s lens on herself, running the movie down her body and turning to present augmented arse and hips, re-sculpted thighs and calves.

Her shaking fingers ended the video, then selected a contact she didn’t know she had, “Master”, and hit “send”.

And then she was free. Free to stagger back from the image of this stranger, this perfect-skinned teenage beauty that was absolutely not her. She fell against the toilet, sat down heavily on the seat and put her hands to her unfamiliar-feeling face.

“Oh, God!”

Everything felt wrong! Newly swollen breasts and hips impeded her every move, a constant annoyance. Her limbs were fatter—no, instead, her hard-won gymnasium muscles had wasted to mere padding. She felt as weak as a newborn baby.

She struggled to her feet and staggered to the scratched, defaced mirror. A stranger stared back at her. Everything about her had changed, every single feature remodelled. Shivering uncontrollably, she brought unfamiliar fingers to sensuous, strangely sensitive lips (and the colour of her nails matched her lips, too) and parted them to reveal flawless white teeth. Not one was missing or chipped. Not one bore a filling or any sign of work. She glanced down at her shoulder blades, looking to trace the familiar scatter of moles that had decorated her chest in a diagonal line from right shoulder to the left of her abdomen. They were gone without a trace. Her body was perfect—and untraceable, she realised with a thrill of horror.

Now she was staring closely at her reflection, she realised that the lip colour and the rainbow decoration of her eyes were not makeup as she had thought, but more like tattoos or pigments. They were permanent. And her fingernails weren’t painted, either—they were that colour all the way through.

And her nipples were centred in areolae which were not circular but heart-shaped.

Her phone, lying on the floor where she had dropped it, buzzed with an incoming message.

Gingerly, she picked it up from the filthy floor. The sender was ‘Master’: Good Girl. Get Dressed. Come home.

Good Girl.

Suddenly she was in the throes of a world-shattering orgasm, radiating from her sex but filling her with ecstasy to her very fingertips. The climax held for impossibly long, then was gone as instantly as it had hit her as if someone had turned off a switch, and she found that she had thrown her head back and her fingers had been clawing the air. Her face, neck and chest were flushed bright pink in the mirror, and her nipples stood out lewdly like scarlet marbles.

She was reeling again, dizzy and confused. What had just happened to her?

The text! Master’s texted words had triggered that reward, that insanely intense burst of pure pleasure!

And she wanted more! Needed it! Shaking uncontrollably now, she struggled to claw back the phone from the corner where her spasms had flung it. There behind the shattered screen were the words: Good Girl. Get Dressed. Come home.

Nothing. Not the slightest tingle.

She reread them, concentrating on the first two words. Good. Girl.

They had no effect whatsoever, and touching her swollen nipples and soaking wet sex did nothing either.

The text was a one-shot. Her Master’s voice—even by text, He could command her, and she wanted that command again. With a sense of shame, Anna the (ex) business executive realised that she wanted to be a good girl for her Master.

And her compulsion to obey was quickly asserting itself, reminding her of His following words: get dressed.

Her bra was useless, too big around her chest and much too small in the cup, and she quickly gave up on it, throwing it into a corner. Her panties were not much better, the elastic straining as she forced them on over her swollen butt, then riding high around her tiny waist, pulling annoyingly into her cracks. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled them off again, and they followed the bra into the corner.

To her surprise, her heels fit just fine, but all she had left to cover herself were her just-short-of-knee-length dress and her jacket. The dress was comfortable, stretchy cotton, and pulled over her altered body, but it was frankly a few sizes too small now, stretching over her enlarged rear and riding down around her ridiculous breasts to reveal far too much cleavage. Her nipples poked lewdly through the material, but her jacket still fit, more or less. It wouldn’t fasten across her chest, but it did cover her frayed modesty just a little.

She was dressed, more or less, and ready to obey the last of his instructions. The problem was that she couldn’t recall Master’s address. Nevertheless, the compulsion still drove her to leave underwear and body hair behind like the shed skin of a lizard, and head for the barriers, Oyster card in hand.

Some sub-conscious set of instructions guided her, though, leading her through the underground system, never knowing where she would travel next, quickly forgetting the previous leg of her journey once she had stepped from a train.

At one station, she decided to rebel. Instead of allowing herself to be reeled in by this fishing line, she would simply go home. This was when she realised that she couldn’t remember where her home was. Indeed, she couldn’t remember a single geographical fact, except that right now she was in Leicester Square underground station and that she was required to travel South on the Northern Line. Now that she thought about it, she struggled even to remember the name of this, her home city, unless she was looking at some sign or poster with the word ‘London’ written on it.

So she resolved that she would throw away her bag and mobile and wander the streets lost until she found a police station. She would tell them she had lost her memory—which was true.

So instead of following her internal compass, she turned up a corridor marked “exit”.

From the first step along the corridor, she could feel the wrongness. This was the Wrong Way. It was more than a nagging doubt, a little voice whispering in her head; her whole being rebelled against her will as if she was disobeying some fundamental law of nature. Something she couldn’t rationalise, yet couldn’t ignore whispered, then shouted, then screamed that this tunnel was dangerous, and the people staring at her were killers waiting for their moment. Was it the fear making her nauseous, or was it the terrible pain in her abdomen, a pain that had her doubling over and clutching at the wall for support at the very next footfall? She just knew that she could go no further without throwing up, and the thought of attracting the help of some unknowing Samaritan, who might call in the authorities, horrific! Might she even just spontaneously die rather than be allowed to escape?

She took a hesitant step backwards, and all of the symptoms faded to nagging irritations; a step forward, and everything flooded back, perhaps even worse than before. For an age, she just stood there, just on the threshold between free will and agony, until she had proved to herself there was no hope. Defeated, she turned to continue on her programmed path, and the pain and horror disappeared as though they had never existed.

She turned back at the intersection to gauge how far she had fled down the exit route. Her escape attempt had lasted for about five steps. Finally, angry and miserable, she surrendered and followed the pull of the fishing line towards her next connection.

Every attractive woman—every woman to some extent—has to put up with the unwanted interest of the males she is forced to encounter throughout her day. Since her early teens, it had been a fact of life for Anna that her looks were at the high end of ‘attractive,’ and she had more or less learned to live with the lecherous consequences, but now…

Now every male head turned to follow her as she passed. Every male eye watched her as she sat on the underground trains, tracing the outline of her body, quickly finding interest elsewhere whenever she tried to meet their gaze. She felt like a piece of rotting meat attracting flies!

This constant low-level irritation was—

“Oi, girly,” a voice said.

Girly?

The voice belonged to a twenty-something man-child sitting opposite her, a typical tracksuit-clad cockney wide boy, sneer on his face and grubby, backwards baseball cap way back on his undersized head.

She glanced around in the hope that he was talking to someone else.

“Yeah, you, blondie! Ain’t it a bit early to be ‘eadin’ out for a party?”

She fished in her purse. Maybe her new friend would forget her if she pretended to look at her phone.

“You wanna selfie with me, darlin’?”

For long seconds the creaks and squeals of the carriage in motion were the only sounds as every passenger within earshot silently watched their encounter.

“Cat got yer tongue?”

Ignoring him wasn’t going to work. “Look,” she said, meeting his vacantly lustful gaze, “I’m not interested!”

“Ow!” His grating voice rose in pitch. “Posh tart, intcha! Just comin’ back from the all-night sleepover with yer dorm mates? Or are you going out to work tarted up like that? Bet I couldn’t afford you!”

Her mouth fell open in shock at his cheek. What did he mean, tarted up? She looked down at her chest, her colossal globes of tanned flesh barely contained by the stretched cotton of her dress, at her strappy fuck-me heels, and remembered the way her face looked, permanently pigmented in brash rainbow colours. He did have a point.

“And what the fuck is with that collar, darlin’? Posh kinky tart, just the way I like ’em!” He crossed the carriage and took the seat next to her. “’Ow about a freebie?”

“Get away from me, you creepy little twerp.”

Was she a creep magnet lately? Geoffrey, this piece of shit, Mas- No, not Master, never Master. He was her world, her life, her-

The twerp’s hand on her tit brought her back to reality. Somehow, he had snaked one arm over her shoulder, and was using his meagre weight to pin her against the wall while his free hand played with her chest.

“What the fuck?! Get OFF me!” She fought to throw him off, but her strength and training had fled her, perhaps forever, and all she could do was flail weakly at him while his hand snaked inside her dress and found her nipple.

Her world exploded with delight, and she heard herself drawing in a whistling breath. Her sex gushing with juices, she meekly stared up into his eyes.

“Ooh! You like that, dontcha?” His fingers pinched again, and with another whistling breath, she was gone. Her arms fell to her side, and her mouth and legs opened in acceptance.

“That’s enough!” The deep voice was cultured but full of anger, and she looked over her attacker’s head to see a bear in a business suit looming over them. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves, in the middle of a crowded train like this. There are children back there!”

“Why don’t you mind yer own fuckin’ business.” sneered the twerp, giving her a lick on the cheek before looking up at his critic. “Jeezus!”

The train was pulling into a station, but nobody seemed to be thinking of leaving and missing this prime viewing.

To her sorrow, the twerp’s hands slid off her as he stood. The top of his head was maybe level with the bear’s vast shoulders. “Just ’avin a bit of fun, Mister.”

Anna’s wits were returning to her. She sat up and primly pulled her jacket closed across her chest, her attention caught by the opening doors of the carriage.

“This is not the place, and you know it! And what are you thinking, young lady, dressing like that.”

“I was in a rush. It was all I had.” She said meekly, eyes cast down. In the background, the automated system rattled on about the station and the gap, ignored by all.

“Well, in future, I suggest you take a little more time over thinking about the effect what you wear has on others.”

The doors hissed and jerked into motion. “My stop,” Anna blurted, grabbed her bag and dove for the closing exit.

Safe on the platform, she turned to see a carriage full of faces staring at her as the train accelerated away. Her heart was racing with adrenaline, her mind spinning with a nauseating mix of fear and arousal. Oh God, he had had her. One touch, one squeeze of his grubby little fingers, and she had been his! If that guy hadn’t interrupted them, the twerp would have been inside her in two minutes.

This was insane! She was like a walking sign saying ‘use me’, and she knew with absolute certainty that her newly wired brain would let anyone do whatever he or she wanted with her. What was Master thinking, letting her wander the city like this?

Robbed of her accustomed shield of self-confidence, she felt alone and almost naked in her flimsy, ill-fitting dress. But the compulsion still dragged her from train to train and, finally, up and out into suburban streets. There, she walked the route as it was gradually revealed to her with jacket pulled tight around her and head pulled down, letting her unfamiliar golden tresses fall to obscure her face.

At last, her feet took her to a doorway in a residential street. She pressed an unmarked bell push, topmost of six, and waited.

“Pet?”

Her heart thrilled at the sound of His voice. “Yes, Master.”

Her mind was in such a ragged state that it seemed the flights of steps would never end, but she turned a final corner and there He was, toweringly tall, smiling down at her, His eyes widening with delight. In a blissful daze, she ran the few remaining steps into his penthouse and, at last, His door closed behind her, and she gratefully sank to her knees before him, tear-filled eyes cast down.

“Look at you,” He said, “transformed and complete. Tomorrow, I’ll hand you over to your idiot of a new master, but for tonight, you’re mine. Good girl. Very good girl.”

And she was obliterated in an explosion of orgasmic light.