The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chantal tipped another splash of wine into Jackie’s half-empty glass. “Well, I’m glad to hear things are going well over at Silk,” she said, replacing the now-empty wine bottle on the coffee-table. She made sure to show all her teeth when she smiled.

Jackie’s return smile was equally toothy. “And I’m so glad to hear things are going well at Taffeta.”

“And I’m glad to tell you,” Chantal parried back, taking a luxurious sip from her own glass. “We really should meet for wine like this more often. I never get tired of telling you how well we’re doing. And I never have any shortage of good news stories to share with you.”

Jackie visibly bristled at this, but maintained her smile. She took a considerably smaller sip from her own glass.

Chantal paused for effect, to create the illusion that she was lost in thought. “Though, it’s probably for the best we only meet every few months or so… I wouldn’t want to make you look bad, outnumbering your anecdotes of success with mine.”

Jackie’s lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, but she managed to curve them back into a smile. “I think you’re confusing the two of us again, dear. I’m the one who doesn’t want to embarrass you. I believe you would run out of anecdotes more quickly than I would. I would just hate to put you in that position.”

They had come to the same impasse they always managed to reach. This meant Chantal had to be the one to divert first. It was an unspoken rule between them, when they parried like this. Only so many repetitions of the same claim, and then whoever spoke again after that quota had been reached needed to demure.

Chantal did so with a light laugh. “Isn’t it so nice we each run a fashion magazine so successful that it’s impossible to determine which of us has the most success?”

“It is,” Jackie returned, with her own simpering smile. “And isn’t it so nice that two rival editors in chief can sit down together as friends when they’re each other’s primary competition?”

“It’s a beautiful thing,” Chantal agreed. She eyed Jackie’s glass of wine carefully for any hint that a refill might be required (which would justify her going back into the kitchen to get the other bottle)— but Jackie still had plenty of wine.

But to Chantal’s relief, she remembered another excuse. “I just remembered,” she said. “I had a cheese board all ready to go. I just left it on the island in the kitchen. I won’t be minute.”

Chantal leaned forward on her loveseat to set the base of her wine glass on a coaster, and then stood to make her way back into the kitchen.

The cheese board served a double function: not only did it give her a minute’s reprieve from Jackie’s company, but if she’d selected her cheese correctly, it would put Jackie’s hors d’oeuvres from the previous month’s wine meet to shame. Chantal never missed an opportunity to show Jackie up, and especially took careful pains to do it when she had the home field advantage.

She took the cheese board, with all its artfully placed cheeses and breads, and turned back from the island to re-enter the living area.

When she passed through the arch from the kitchen, she found that Jackie had stood from her seat, too. She was instead standing by Chantal’s bookshelf and perusing.

“Anything of interest?” Chantal asked, as she came around the loveseat again, to place the board on the surface of the coffee-table.

With the hand that was not holding her wine glass, Jackie had reached for the shelf, and was tipping a book forward. It was only when Chantal was sitting again that she saw the title on the spine of the book. “Not that one—“

But Jackie had gotten the book all the way out, and when she had it free, as Chantal had known it would, a small spherical object rolled out from behind it, toward’s the edge of the shelf.

In horror, Chantal watched what she was sure was going to be the breaking of her most expensive possession. But Jackie’s reflexes were fast; still holding the book in her first hand, she slipped her wine glass onto a shelf one up from the rolling sphere. She freed her hand in time to catch it just as it tipped over the edge.

Chantal breathed a sigh of relief. But when Jackie stood in place, considering the sphere in her hand, she reconsidered. This might have been a worse outcome than watching the sphere shatter on her floor.

She should have put it away properly, but she’d had more pressing priorities. She’d used the sphere just the day before. She hadn’t had time to put it back in the safe then. Then, earlier today, she’d rearranged some of her furniture and artwork, in the hopes of further showing Jackie up, and that had taken the bulk of her time.

She’d finished her preparations for Jackie’s arrival, only to find the sphere still sitting on her coffee-table, and had deemed the quickest solution was to slip it behind a book on her bookshelf. Jackie had never perused Chantal’s books before, so it had seemed a safe hiding place at the time.

Chantal was regretting her slapdash solution now that Jackie held the sphere in her hand.

Jackie had returned the book to the shelf. Now, she frowned at the object. “What does it do?”

It wasn’t even a question that Chantal was going to lie to her in response. She couldn’t very well tell her the truth— oh, arch rival of mine, it’s a device that immediately places the viewer into a suggestible trance— but luckily Chantal had always been a quick liar. “It’s a paper weight,” she said, smoothly.

“Why do you keep it behind—?“

Chantal felt her stomach lurch. Jackie held the base of the sphere with one hand, and had unthinkingly placed her other hand on the top. She had shifted her wrist, as if she was going to swivel the top of the sphere in place. If the sphere really had been just a paper weight, this would have had no effect. But as it was, it was that exact movement which would activate the tech.

“No, don’t—” Chantal said, reaching her own hand out in warning. She was too far from Jackie to prevent her from turning the sphere physically. Jackie’s eyes flickered to Chantal in surprise, but that didn’t stop her mid-action as Chantal had hoped. She followed through with the turn, and the sphere shifted with her movement.

It happened too quickly for Chantal to look away. The sphere came to life, the black surface erased by waves of rainbow colors. Chantal knew from first hand experience— how many times had she sat down a mark on this couch and turned the sphere just like that?— that the effect was instant. It only took a glimpse of those colors, and the viewer was moldable putty.

Which meant that she was Jackie’s moldable putty.

She felt it happen to her mind, and couldn’t panic about it. She felt only a drifting kind of haziness. Her muscles loosened, her jaw eased open a hair, her lips just barely parting, and she saw the room blur as she felt her eyes unfocus.

There was a moment of silence, and then Jackie’s voice, unsure. “…Chantal?”

“Mmm,” Chantal moaned in response. She wouldn’t be able to speak properly until Jackie prompted her more effectively.

“…Are you alright?” Jackie still sounded uncertain.

“Yes,” Chantal replied honestly. “I’ve just been placed into a trance; my entire body has relaxed; my mind has emptied.”

It was a strange feeling. She wondered, every time she’d used it on another person, what it felt like for them. Now she knew… it felt like sleeping: or more accurately, it felt like the few times in her life she’d been caught in the grips of sleep paralysis. Somewhere, deep in her mind, behind the blankness, she had kept some level of awareness. But she couldn’t break through the blankness filling her to regain control of her actions, her thoughts, or even her feelings. And, maybe, most importantly, she didn’t want to.

Jackie had stood in silence for a minute. At last, she spoke again. “What is this, and why do you have it?”

“It’s a hypnotic device,” Chantal replied evenly. To her own ears, her voice sounded restful and relaxed. “I keep it to use on my lovers. I like inducing them into a suggestible state and giving them commands. I like watching them obey— I like knowing that they can’t do anything else when I give them an order.”

“They can’t disobey you when they’ve been hit by this?”

“They can’t,” Chantal confirmed, calmly. If she’d been in her right mind, she wouldn’t have been calm. But she wasn’t, and it was impossible to get out from the feeling of relaxation and peace.

“So right now, you can’t disobey me at all?”

“No,” Chantal confirmed again.

Another thoughtful pause, in which Jackie did not speak. Chantal wasn’t even with it enough to be annoyed by the lack of visual information caused by her unfocused eyes.

“Is there some way I can put you back into this state without the object?”

“Just designate a trigger word,” was Chantal’s response.

Another pause. “Your trigger word is amethyst,” Jackie instructed. “Any time you hear me say it, you’ll return to this suggestible state.”

“Yes, Jackie,” Chantal affirmed. She felt the command sink into her mind, but it was forgotten a second later.

A silence passed between them. “I’m going to put this back on the shelf, and get my purse… you’ll go back to how your normally are once I’ve left. Say yes if you understand.”

“Yes,” Chantal said again. There was a light clink as Jackie set the sphere back on the shelf, then footsteps to the chair across from Jackie to retrieve her purse, then footsteps to the door, which opened and shut and then opened again.

Chantal sat in patient expectation through this, and for a few minutes more after. But after Jackie had been out of the apartment long enough to leave the premises entirely, Chantal felt her mental clarity return, and eyes refocus.

The feelings of fear and panic that the sphere had disabled were back in full effect. The woman Chantal hated and resented, probably more than anyone else in the world, had a way to hack into Chantal’s mind.

But, Chantal was a practical woman. There was no point in panicking about something she couldn’t fix in the same moment. After all, Jackie had left. She wasn’t an immediate threat. And Chantal could pretty successfully dodge the people she didn’t want to see. She could prevent Jackie from being a threat in that way as long as she kept away from her. There was really nothing to fear… as long as she could effectively manage the situation.

And, Chantal was nothing if not an effective manager.

She stood from the loveseat again, this time to put the sphere back into her safe, where it should have been all along. She vowed, as she replaced it in its velvet lined case that she would never play loose with the sphere again.

She prepared for bed, promising to herself that she would put the whole night, and its unpleasant turns, out of her mind, until she could come up with a long-term solution to her problem.

The next night, Chantal was startled by a knock on her door. It had been a busy enough day that Chantal wasn’t keen on any visitors, and certainly hadn’t invited anyone. She had sinking feeling in her stomach that she knew who it was, and why they were there.

“Who is it?” Chantal asked, keeping her voice steady.

“Jackie,” came the expected reply.

“I’m not up to seeing anyone tonight,” Chantal said, stiffly.

A pause, and then, softly: “Amethyst, Chantal.”

Chantal felt the feeling wash over her again. She sagged into the door with the unspooling of her muscles.

“Open the door for me, Chantal, and let me in,” Jackie said.

There was no hope of disobedience for Chantal. Her conscious mind had been as effectively subdued as if she had taken a second look at the sphere. She undid the lock, clasped the knob, and pulled the door open.

Her eyes were unfocused again, so she couldn’t see Jackie any better than the previous day, but she felt the other woman brush past her as she entered the apartment. Once she was in, she spoke again, softly. “Close the door behind me.”

Chantal did, and turned vaguely towards the source of Jackie’s voice. She still couldn’t make her out in the room.

“The novelty of seeing you so blank and featureless is much less impressive the second time,” Jackie observed. “Look at me properly.”

The room came back into focus, and Chantal saw Jackie standing in front of her. She didn’t have any particular feeling about it— wouldn’t unless Jackie told her to feel something about it. But it was partly a relief not to be blind to the room any longer.

Jackie, on the other hand, was not blank and unexpressive. She wore a triumphant look, mixed with perhaps a bit of glee, and as she stood before Chantal, she clasped her hands together in eager expectation. “I’ve been waiting a long time for an opportunity like this,” she said, sounding as excited as she looked. “Not like this exactly— I had no idea you had such a device, let alone that you could so easily be put into a trance. But some chance to best you once and for all in the eyes of the public— to prove, finally, that I run the better magazine. That I am the better person. I was so excited last night when I realized this was it that I was barely able to seize the opportunity. Lucky I thought to ask about the trigger phrase— you never would have been so clumsy a second time.”

Jackie’s expression shifted, her obvious excitement fading to a more calculating look. “But even my trigger phrase isn’t foolproof. I’m sure you could use that sphere to deprogram yourself— or you could have someone you trusted use it to deprogram you, and my opportunity would be lost. I think we need to give your conscious mind a little incentive to keep my trigger phrase in place. I’m just lucky that you hadn’t gotten around to it before I came over tonight.”

Chantal stood at attention, awaiting further instruction. At the same time, Jackie had shifted her purse around, and was feeling around inside for something. “To the bedroom, Chantal,” Jackie said, and Chantal obediently turned to walk in that direction. She heard Jackie’s footsteps trailing behind her.

“On the bed,” Jackie called, before Chantal had entirely finished walking. She transitioned smoothly from her walking pace to get down low onto the bed, turning back to face Jackie. Jackie had finished digging through her purse, and had retrieved from it a digital camera.

“I’m sure a woman like you has some truly expensive lingerie,” Jackie said. “And I’m sure among that selection are some truly scandalous pieces. Choose whichever one you think I would find the most scandalous, and kindly put it on, please.”

Chantal had only just settled onto the bed, but at Jackie’s command, rose to stand again and walked to her closet. It was true, she had quite a wide selection of lingerie to choose from— she was a woman who liked to be well-dressed at all times, especially when she was engaged in a sexual encounter. But her pieces had a ranging degree of heat— from the relatively tame to the downright pornographic. Jackie’s order left no question which side of the closet Chantal would be reaching for.

Perhaps her most scandalous piece was her black lace one— the front cut so low it exposed her stomach entirely, and only the tips of her nipples were covered. The bottom piece that paired with it was crotchless, and did more to decorate her hips than to give any kind of modesty.

Chantal disrobed quickly, and pulled the black lace onto her body. Once she was dressed (dressed being a loose term for it), she returned to the bed.

“Perfect,” Jackie applauded. “Now, I want you to pose yourself for me. Make it as dirty as you can… you’re not Chantal now, you might as well be a porn actress on a shoot. I want to see you touching yourself, fondling yourself— be as imaginative as possible...”

The order gave Chantal purpose, and she set herself to fulfilling its conditions with abandon. Her posing quickly became an eager masturbation session, but all of it was aimed always towards Jackie, facing Jackie, all to give Jackie the ideal angle.

Jackie met each movement of Chantal’s with an adjustment of her camera. Each pose, each shift was captured eagerly for Jackie’s camera roll. Chantal stroked her pussy feverishly, and Jackie caught it. Chantal kneaded her own breasts, and Jackie caught it. Chantal thrust fingers inside herself, and rode her own hand, and Jackie caught it. Then she withdrew those fingers, and licked her own lubrication from them— and Jackie caught it.

There was not a huge amount of pleasure in any of these actions for Chantal— she was mostly engaged with doing them for the sake of doing them— for the sake of obeying Jackie’s order. The arousal that resulted was a dim background flickering. Chantal was most interested simply in doing them, and going through the motions.

After a long time, long after the entire experience had become more of a blur than a linear chronology, Jackie lowered her camera. “That’s enough, Chantal. Now, this time, I’m not going to wake you back out of this. But I really wasn’t lying before when I said this whole blank obedience thing was a bore to me. I prefer you as yourself. What’s the fun in subjugating and humiliating a drone? And what’s the fun if you aren’t even aware what’s happening to you? You’re going to come back to awareness, and your proper self, but even though you’ll be yourself again, you’ll be just as suggestible to my commands as you are right now. This will be your new state of being, indefinitely. Come back to yourself, now.”

The blankness lifted. The haze was gone. Chantal found herself on the bed, in her black lingerie, found Jackie at the end of it, still holding a camera in one hand. And Chantal remembered clearly what had just happened.

“Oh,” she moaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Oh no…”

“Oh yes,” Jackie said. “I’d say I have quite a valuable roll of pictures here on my camera. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Chantal couldn’t stand to think about it.

“Now, I could simply order you not to deprogram yourself, or ask for outside help. You wouldn’t be able to resist that command. But I think it will be more fun for me to watch you fight yourself. You can deprogram my control, and you can ask someone for help to get you out of this unfortunate situation. But the moment you do, I sell each and every one of these pictures to the highest bidder. I think the tabloids would be eager for a story as juicy as this, don’t you? It gets even juicier if I include the e-mail that accompanied these when you emailed them to me.”

Chantal dropped her hands, and looked back to Jackie. “Email? What are you talking about?”

Jackie’s eyes widened in faux-innocence. “Why, Chantal. I was just minding my own business, and then one day I received a rather tawdry email from you, with each and every one of these pictures attached, and a long tome about how hot you were for me, and how desperate you were to sleep with me.”

Chantal groaned again. This was only getting worse the longer it went on. There was no point in arguing that no one would believe it. It didn’t matter if people would believe it or not. If that story ended up in the tabloids, Chantal’s run as editor in chief at Taffeta would be as good as over. She’d be fired on the spot for bringing disgrace to the organization. It wouldn’t matter if the rumor was true or not. It would still be enough to end her career and make her a pariah in the industry.

“I understand,” Chantal said, quietly, after a minute of despondent staring.

“Good,” Jackie said. “As you long as you don’t do anything to overtly disobey, I’ll have no reason to sell the story, or forge the email. So long as you obey me, things will be smooth for you. Well… as smooth as they can be.”

Chantal looked back up to Jackie. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s going to be some new rules for you, Chantal. I may spare you from the complete humiliation of being printed in the tabloids, but I’m still aching to see you make an embarrassment of yourself, and your magazine. You know you’d have done the same to me if you’d gotten an opportunity like this.”

Chantal said nothing, because it was true. In fact, more than once she’d imagined flashing Jackie with the sight of the sphere on one of their wine dates. She’d especially taken pleasure in picturing this at times when Jackie had been getting on her nerves, or otherwise making her life difficult. She’d only held off on principle— she didn’t need to cheat to prove she was better. She could do it without the sphere.

But even Chantal had to admit that if the opportunity had fallen right in her lap, the way it had for Jackie, she wouldn’t have been able to hold onto principle.

“So here’s how it will be. You always manage to scoop me on some of the juiciest stories— you get all the breaking industry gossip before I do. That’s the first thing that’s going to change. Wherever you get that from— those tips, interviews— the next time that you do get it, instead of running it in Taffeta, you’re going to call me and give it to me as an anonymous tip. And it will run in Silk instead.”

Chantal said nothing. She knew when she was beaten. She could feel the command sinking into her mind— there could be no avoiding it, unless she wanted to be deprogrammed. And there was no doing that, unless she wanted her picture scandal to break.

“What else?” Chantal gritted out.

“As much as you can get away with it,” Jackie began. “I want you to print stories and shoots that you know will flop. You do have impeccable sense for what’s a hot story, and what’s not. So I’d like you to focus on centering the ones that are… not.”

Chantal felt this command, too, settling into her mind. “Anything else?” Her teeth were pressed so tightly together her gums were starting to ache.

Jackie gave her an appraising look. “I think you’re going to have an obsession with me. Everyone knows you already do— we’re just going to give it a nudge in a more fun direction.”

Chantal felt her stomach drop, but didn’t let it show on her face. She waited for Jackie to elaborate.

“Nothing too over the top— but enough for people to wonder. You’ll follow me around at industry events. Not directly, of course, but enough so that if anyone is paying attention, they’ll realize you’re orbiting around me, wishing you could get closer.”

The thought made Chantal sick, but she could feel that it had already taken hold.

“Other than that, you can be seen occasionally skulking near my penthouse; or seen out on the town with women who look remarkably similar to me. I think that will be enough. Again, not too obvious, but for those paying attention… you’ll appear quite desperate for me.”

Jackie gave her one last look. “I think that’s all for now. I’d better get home and put these pictures somewhere safe. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, now would we?”

Chantal said nothing, clenching her fingers into her palms instead.

Jackie nodded. “Goodbye for now, Chantal. I just can’t wait to hear from you.” Then Jackie turned and left the room. A minute later, Chantal heard the click of her front door closing. Knowing that she was finally alone, she collapsed back into her bed, and groaned her frustration.

The next months were like a nightmare for Chantal. Her network of sources were as good as ever, and there were some truly juicy scoops that crossed her desk. But time and again when they got to her, she found herself dialling Jackie’s direct line, and giving them away to her. Issue after issue, Silk had the scoop and Taffeta did not. It was like watching water slip through her fingers. She just couldn’t hold on to the good stories.

This might have been more palatable had the rest of Taffeta not taken such a noticeable dip in quality. But Chantal was as powerless to stop this as she was to hold onto the stories her sources passed to her. There were enough decent stories mixed in that the magazine didn’t entirely fail, but the sales and subscription numbers told the real story. It wasn’t always a question of running bad stories. Just a question of running worse stories.

When her reports pitched to her, it felt the same from her end. When she heard a winning idea, it lit up her whole body. The difference was that now, she always opted for the other choice and avoided the winning idea. Sometimes the other choice was somewhat good. Sometimes it was decent. Sometimes it was abysmal. But it was always the option she chose. Taffeta just didn’t print hits anymore.

Her personal life was no less of a shambles. The rumors of her obsession with Jackie were in the background, but they were there. At industry galas, she orbited Jackie as instructed, even as she hated herself for it. She was sometimes found in the immediate vicinity of Jackie’s penthouse, and if she was seen out on the town, it was always on the arm of a woman who could have been Jackie’s twin. It wasn’t a hard equation to put together for anyone who had eyes, or who cared enough to follow Chantal’s personal life.

The only small comfort Chantal had was that her humiliation was not total— the pictures were not published. It was cold comfort as she watched the rest of her professional life collapse around her.

For awhile, Chantal allowed herself to hope that the situation wouldn’t become any worse. That changed, when Jackie called with one last order for her. To run a specific story, slip last minute into the next issue, and make it the headliner. It was an awful story, and Chantal had never hated Jackie more. But she had no choice other than to print it— print it, and arrive on the doorstep of Jackie’s penthouse the day it was published, to present a copy personally to Jackie.

On publication day, Chantal did as told. She knocked on the door of Jackie’s penthouse, and held out what would doubtless be the last issue of the magazine for which she would ever be responsible.

The headline was, “Why Bother Printing Stories at Taffeta When Silk Does It So Much Better?”

“There,” Chantal said, jerking the magazine at Jackie, who stood in the open doorway. “You win. What’s left that you could possibly take from me?”

Jackie smiled, taking the magazine. “I think I’ll have this framed— In fact, I might even have the fifth page taken out and framed separately. You remember, the whole section where you go on and on about how I’m the kind of editor in chief you could only dream of being?”

Chantal gritted her teeth together, again, and said nothing.

“I’m sure you’ve already gotten the call relieving you of your position,” Jackie said, leading Chantal into her penthouse, and closing the door behind her. “If you haven’t, you’ll receive it soon. But there is one more thing I can take from you…”

Chantal frowned.

“I’ve sold your pictures, dear. They should run tomorrow. I’m afraid even after this fiasco of a headline you might have found someone to take you in, somewhere in the industry no longer. So you are left with no prospects, now or in future… I have completely abased you, but I don’t think the humiliation would be complete without this one last thing.”

“What?” Chantal spat.

“Kneel,” Jackie said, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. Chantal’s body took the cue, to the disgust of her mind. She kneeled before Jackie. “I could keep you on your knees like this— you could be a living statue for me. A monument to your own failure. I think that is how I’d like you most of the time.

“But I’ve come around to your way of thinking, dear. You told me that first time that you liked watching your lovers obey, knowing that disobedience was impossible for them. I think I see the appeal. I have quite enjoyed watching you obey the rules I laid out for you, knowing you couldn’t do anything else. Knowing how much you must have hated it.

“There was something undeniably erotic in that— in taking the pictures too. So, when you are not kneeling in place for the aesthetic of it, I think I’d like you to pleasure me, knowing that you can no more disobey that command than you have any other.”

Chantal felt her cheeks heat. This was truly the final disgrace. She wished she could leap up and run away— wished she had just had someone deprogram her months ago, to prevent all of this. It was too late.

Jackie was undoing the zipper of her skirt, and stepping closer to Chantal. “Now, Chantal— lick.”

Chantal licked. She licked into her rival’s pussy, and despised herself.

Jackie’s hand came to rest in Chantal’s hair, tousling it gently. “There, there. It might not be so bad… maybe I’ll tell you to enjoy it someday. Then again… maybe not… maybe I’ll like it better, knowing you hate every second of your obedience to me… Time will tell…”

Chantal felt some choice words of anger rising up in her. But there was no space for them to come out. All she could do was lick, until Jackie told her to stop.