The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Isabel kicks her shoes off onto her apartment floor after another crappy, pointless date. She drowned out this one’s inane banter about hedge funds with a trio of Cosmos and was disappointed her friend Ella didn’t reach out with the “fake emergency” much earlier than she actually did. Even a little bit tipsy, since she had absolutely no desire to stay for a meal and counteract the alcohol with food, she effortlessly reaches behind her back with one hand and flicks open her bra to relieve the pressure on her chest from the push-up functionality, freeing her 32Bs to return to their more natural state.

She drops her purse onto the kitchen table next to her open laptop and brushes some stray brown hair from her face.

“Why?” She groans out to her empty apartment (and the universe in general).

She types into her web browser: Why am I alone?

The top suggestion is 25 things to do when you feel lonely. As it turns out, she’s done everything but “adopt a pet.” She mentally thinks this might be an option after one more failed venture into the dating world.

“I just want one perfect date,” she mutters and then types “one perfect date” into the search bar. The film Miss Congeniality is a part of the first two options, but third on the page is something called Choose Your Own Adventure: One Perfect Date.

In the mood for distraction, she clicks the link.

“Great,” she says aloud in at a drunken level, when the computer screen flashes and swirls, nearly melting her brown eyes into puddles, but then the site loads.

She types in her name, Isabel Francis, when prompted and is then asked:

Are you over 18?

Yes.

No.

“By a good five years, thank you very much,” she mutters at the computer before selecting “yes.”

From here on out, all of the sections will end with multiple options to continue.

Do you understand?

Yes.

No.

“That’s kind of the point of a Choose Your Own Adventure, isn’t it?” she asks the computer, then selects “yes” again when it doesn’t respond.

To which gender do you identify:

Female

Male

“Female,” she says with a hiccup. “At least, last I checked.”

She looks down her blouse, checks out her now-free breasts, and assumes she’s right to select “female” with a smile and a thumbs up.

The computer spinning wheel whirls for a second. In her somewhat intoxicated state, she swears the whole page spins in front of her. Isabel feels momentarily woozy following it with her eyes and is grateful when the first element of the story appears.

“What is it?” Isabel asks her mother.

“Why it’s a royal decree!” her mother says excitedly.

“A royal decree saying what?” Isabel asks.

“The Prince,” her mother explains, “is asking you out on a date!”

“Me? Why?”

“Don’t look a gift horse into the mouth, daughter. Go and start to get ready. Your date is tonight!”

Isabel, how do you first prepare?

Brush your hair

Choose the perfect dress

Pick out the perfect shoes

Brush up on your conversational skills

Read a book

Go for a swim

Try on jewelry

Eat something healthy

Nap

Isabel thinks, in a perfect world, any one of these could be a good start, but she’s more than a little annoyed with all the men that have presented themselves to her lately. None of them are of princely quality. She dismisses all of the beauty options—the hair, the dress, the shoes, the jewelry, the healthy eating—immediately after reading. She needs to do something for her and her alone. That also nixes brushing up on her conversational skills. She’s more than capable of holding her own with the troglodytes from Tinder and Bumble. With all those choices out of the way, that really only leaves going for a swim or taking a nap as her options. Reasonably sure that taking a nap in a Choose Your Own Adventure is possibly the lamest selection ever; her choice is made.

Isabel selects—Go for a swim.

Isabel pushes some bright red hair out of her eyes so she can continue reading the story. The waves of her ginger locks can be problematic at times, but they’re worth it for their natural eye-catching allure.

Isabel slinks out the back door, carefully avoiding the attention of her mother and ready to use a nice, cool dip to get rid of some of her emerging nervous energy at the prospect of a date with the prince. Of course, in her haste to leave the cottage, she realizes she’s made it to the small pond behind her house with no swimwear.

Isabel, how do you swim?

Strip down to your underwear

Skinny dip

Well, Isabel thinks, my character is on the path of becoming a princess, what with the date with the prince tonight and all. It would seem unladylike for her to go au naturel when any number of villagers or the like could randomly cross paths with her and catch her in all her natural glory.

Isabel selects—Strip down to your underwear.

There is nothing Isabel likes more than being in her underwear. The moment her apartment door closes, off come her clothes. Her natural state is lingerie-clad and any spare money she has goes to filling out her overflowing closet of undergarment options. She prefers the classier faire and spends most of her days in teddies and matching undies. At the moment, Isabel wears a silky green negligee and some lacy, dainty panties. Supremely comfortable, she returns to the story.

Isabel swims out to the center of the pond, letting all worries of her life and day float out into the water. For a moment, she is calm, like the water. But then, she feels something swim beneath her. Something too large to be a fish. She tries to make out what it is, unsuccessfully. Unsuccessfully, that is, until it breaks the surface and Isabel immediately knows terror down to her very soul. She has somehow awoken a water witch, cackling aloud and crackling with dark magicks.

Isabel, do you—

Ask the witch what she wants

Try to swim away to safety

Isabel refuses to let her princess character be some withering thing; some soft demure girl who lets the world just happen to her. She wants her bold. She wants her outspoken. She wants her to—

Isabel selects—Ask the witch what she wants.

Isabel feels a brief chill as the air conditioning blows directly onto her breasts propped up by her open cup bra and on view. She takes a moment to adjust one of her matching garters to make sure the black stockings have a perfect line up her leg. This would draw attention to her pussy, also on view, if she weren’t currently alone. She adores the bold, and usually barely there, lingerie she lounges around the house in. She wishes she could just go out into the world like this and hates that conventional thinking prevents her from doing so. If someone were to come to her door, she’d answer it as is without hesitation. If they had a problem seeing her delectable breasts and inviting pussy, that’s on them, not her. That would be them kowtowing to authority. Isabel refuses to do so. She will live her life how she wants, on her terms, not anyone else’s.

“What do you want?” Isabel asks the witch.

The witch’s voice is calm, though a bit raspy, as she speaks softly down to Isabel. “I mean you no harm, little one. Quite the opposite in fact. I know that you have a very important date tonight and I would like to help.”

“You want to help me? How?”

“By granting your fondest wish, of course. You want the prince to love you, don’t you?”

Isabel got a dreamy look in her eyes. She did want the prince to love her. She’d dreamed of marrying a prince since she was a much, much younger girl. “How will you make the prince love me?”

“Why, by making you his dream girl.”

Isabel became shrewd for a moment. “At what cost?”

The witch nods solemnly. “You’re right. Magic doesn’t just occur. There’s always a cost, but nothing you couldn’t just do without, child. I merely ask for one of two things—your voice… or one little memory. Neither is much to get the life you’ve always wanted.”

Isabel, do you—

Give the witch your voice

Give the witch one memory

Refuse the witch’s offer

Isabel is quick to realize these sorts of offers always come with strings. While it seems like a bit of fun to add some magic into her character’s life, she doesn’t want to land her character in trouble, because then the story ends and where’s the fun in that? Like Isabel, her character will walk proudly without need for anyone else’s help.

Isabel selects—Refuse the witch’s offer.

Totally the right fucking choice. The bitch witch can go screw for all Isabel cares. Try to mess with story Isabel. Try to come between story Isabel and some prince dick? Shit. It’s a fucking shame “punch her in her witch face” wasn’t an option because that would have been an even better option.

“I think not, but thank you for the offer.” Isabel kindly tells the witch.

“Are you refusing my gift?” The witch says, her friendly demeanor starting to slip away.

“It’s not really a gift if you have to pay for it. I believe I can win the prince over just by being myself.”

“If you won’t accept a boon, perhaps a bane will suit you better.” The witch cackles and black storm clouds start to cover the previously perfectly clear blue sky. A rumbling of thunder accompanies them. The air crackles with an energy and the water grows colder by the moment. “Because of your inability to accept a favor, from here on out you’ll speak with the tongue of a sailor.”

A bolt of lightning comes down upon the pond.

Isabel is sure that it will be the death of her.

She clenches her eyes tightly closed and her entire body stiffens.

After a few moments, she realizes she still breathes. She opens her eyes and sees only the pristine scene she came to earlier.

No sign of clouds, nor witches, just a still pond.

Maybe she fell asleep in the water and had a strange dream.

“That was fucking weird,” Isabel says and, surprised at the words, clasps a hand over her mouth.

Maybe it wasn’t a dream.

She swears she hears cackling in the distance…

Isabel flees from the water, puts on her dress, and rushes back to the safety of her home.

When she arrives, her mother bars her entry at the door, hand on her hip. “And just where have you been, daughter?”

“Move bitch.” Isabel says and her mother is stunned and aghast.

“What did you just say?”

Isabel starts to cry. She’s afraid to open her mouth, for fear of what will come out, but she has to somehow explain to her mother. “Some witch cunt cursed me, mother whore. And now my slutty mouth can’t stop saying these dreadful shit words.”

Her mother nods solemnly, then speaks, “You have two choices as far as I can see, you could cancel your date with the prince and hope this is only a temporary situation… or you could try to stay silent the whole time.”

Isabel, do you—

Cancel the date

Vow to remain silent

If Isabel can’t control herself, it’ll be a horrible date. Isabel knows from firsthand experience, having been on a fuck-ton of shitty dates lately with boring ass dude after boring ass dude. She’s had enough bad dates in reality and doesn’t want to live one vicariously through this story. Fuck that.

Isabel selects—Cancel the date.

Men have always been Isabel’s problem.

The solution seems simple enough.

Stop seeing men.

Men never did it for her anyway. They were just boring cocks with legs and a dumbass mouth.

She looks down at her pussy and sees the answer to all of her problems. She’s never needed a prince. That was the problem all along. She needs a princess. She wants to play with pussies and titties just like her own. She wants to maul boobies in her hands, just like she’s crushing her own, mixing pleasure and pain with each nipple twist. She wants to vigorously rub clits and stroke other women to orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. She cums at the thought and, when she licks her fingers, she pretends the juices aren’t hers and that she’s diving into another woman’s slit.

Once her fingers are clean, loathe as she is to do it, she starts putting on clothes. Skimpy clothes that don’t leave a single inch of her body to the imagination. An outfit, like all her outfits, that says she’s ready for action, but now she knows what kind of action.

She’s going out and finding herself a muff to dive into.

And she will sing with pleasure as she swims in another woman’s ocean, diving for pearls.