The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

ADRIANA RAMIREZ

Rachel Holmes is an entitled bitch.

I feel bad for thinking it, as I sit behind in her AP English, but it’s the truth. You don’t have to be an entitled bitch. Presley Jensen is nearly as pretty as Rachel, though maybe not as financially well off, and infinitely kinder.

Maybe I’m thinking it so that I feel okay with doing what I’m about to do.

I complained about Rachel one time too many to my friend Aurora Cooper and she said that some of her friends had a plan to use some sort of mystical website to get revenge on some bullies. I didn’t get much more detail beyond that, but she was pretty certain that the whole thing was the real deal. She sent me a link to my email address and I opened it, tooling around the site and seeing what it had to offer. Aurora said that the “Choose Your Own Adventure” style stories allowed you to change someone if (A) you were near them when you launched the story and (B) you made the “right” choices. I don’t know what the right choices are, nor if this will work, but even if it’s a distraction from Rachel’s unstoppable self-importance, it will be pleasant enough.

I wish she hadn’t sat in front of me in the second to last row. I tend to keep my head down and the teacher, Mr. Williams, said that so long as I turned in all of my assignments on time, he wouldn’t question what I was writing in the back of the room. So I sat in the back of the room, hoping for the space I wanted to write all of my poetry uninterrupted. Rachel had other ideas. She wanted to flaunt her designer clothes, jewelry, expensive perfume, in front of the “poor girl” (me) to look even better by comparison. In contrast, I smell like whatever soap is on sale and my closet is filled with hand-me-downs from cousins and whatever I could find at the thrift shop that fit decently well.

Her incessant need to be worshipped probably shows that at her core she’s as insecure as any other girl, but the way she has to rub her wealth in my face whenever possible has instilled a stomach-churning hatred in me.

She makes me hate myself…

For hating her.

For — at least in some small part if I’m being completely honest — the jealousy I feel towards her easy life.

The final straw happened last week when she took my laptop away from me and read aloud to the whole class what I’d been writing. That was my poetry. That was my soul. It wasn’t hers to share or to bare. I felt naked, exposed, and deeply wronged, even if some people came up to me after class and said how much they liked my writing and had no idea I had such talent. It may not have completely worked out the way she wanted, but seeing the embarrassment seared on my face gave her a big old smile on hers.

So today in AP English class, instead of writing my poetry, I’m visiting a website in the hopes that I can change Rachel Holmes for the better… If that’s, hope against hope, even possible.

I scroll through the titles and select the probably too apropos “The Princess and The Pauper” story.

It confirms that I’m eighteen and a female. Then, the input screen asks me to select a “partner” for this story, listing everyone in the entire class, even Mr. Williams. It’s weird that it “knows” this, but it possibly lends some heft to the fact that this site can work wonders.

I select Rachel Holmes and the story begins…

You’re busy going about your day in the fields, on your hands and knees picking strawberries, when you see what looks like a lost noblewoman, cloaked and making her way toward you. She is dressed head-to-toe in refinery you can only dream of. What you can see of her skin looks flawless and completely free of dirt and debris. Likewise, her hair looks like it would be as soft as the finest silk and even has a shine to match. She walks with a posture that clearly says she’s never spent even an hour hunched over in a field and her bosom swells out over her corset. You can smell her sweet scent on the breeze, even above the fruit. You start to wonder if the heat has gotten to you because the closer she gets, the more she resembles an idealized version of you. You sigh and think about how much better your life would be if you had just one bit of her apparent abundance of riches.

Adriana, do you choose to fantasize about —

Her clothes

Her cleanliness

Her body

Her hair

Her wealth

Knowing the possibility that this “story” could impact reality, I feel like I should pick the most benign option to dip my toe in the water.

I select — Her cleanliness.

RACHEL HOLMES

A deep breath of a yawn brings some sort of weird smell through my nose. I can’t tell if it’s my own breath or my armpits… Shit, it could be my ass. I’ve never been much of a fan of washing. I limit myself to a shower a week, and only if absolutely necessary. If other people judge or have a problem with the way I want to live my life, that’s on them, not me.

ADRIANA RAMIREZ

The gag pulls Adriana briefly out of the story. Rachel, little miss perfect, now smells like a trash can on legs. The rumors of the power of these stories are accurate. To breathe even remotely normally, I have to pull up my shirt up over my nose. In doing so, I experience how wonderful I smell in contrast. I don’t smell like the bargain bin soap I was typically forced to use. I smell like a million bucks… like Rachel’s million bucks… and I realize with a mischievous smile that the story didn’t just change Rachel, it changed me as well. Excited, I dive back into the text —

“What brings someone such as yourself out into the fields?” You ask, the question burning in your mind and you hope the answer will adequately extinguish that fire.

The noblewoman hesitates, looking you over and clearly deciding whether she is safe to share her truth with you. “I am only out for a stroll,” she says, looking down her nose at you.

Adriana, do you —

Allow this clear lie to go unchallenged

Slap her for talking down to you with such a clear falsehood

I mean, if this was real life, and I could get away with it, I’d totally slap the shit out of Rachel Holmes.

I select — Slap her for talking down to you with such a clear falsehood.

RACHEL HOLMES

Sensing Adriana behind me, I can’t help but shiver a little. There’s something so intimidating about her, I seem to cower in her presence. To top it off, when she looks at me, I’m incapable of lying to her. All of my secrets are hers to know… all she has to do is ask. My only respite is when I can, briefly, put her out of my mind, but I feel her presence… always.

ADRIANA RAMIREZ

I feel empowered as my distaste for Rachel shifts to disdain. I know I previously felt angry at her intrusion into my space, but more at my inability to do anything about it. Now, I know I can do whatever I want and get away with it. Control is such a lovely feeling. I silently thank the story before returning to it.

“Do not lie to me!”, forcefully comes out of your mouth with anger.

You slap the noblewoman who clearly had such contempt for you that she couldn’t bring herself to be honest with you. Your hit knocks the cloak of her outfit back and you see, for the first time, this woman looks very nearly your twin. Surely, a twin who has lived a much different existence, but a twin nonetheless.

“No one has ever dared strike me before,” she says, rubbing her cheek.

“Welcome to the real world, your highness” you reply, not caring about her hurt face or feelings.

“Then, you know who I am?”

“What?” You ask.

“You said ‘your highness.’ Did you recognize me as the kingdom’s princess before or after you slapped me?”

Your face goes red. You drop to your knees. You had no idea she was a princess — THE princess — when you did what you did and hope that it will not cost you your head.

“I did not know until you said you were. I meant ‘your highness’ as an insult. I would not treat you so poorly knowing your position.”

“Get up,” she says.

You rise and you see the most unusual thing on her face, considering the circumstances — a smile.

“I have seen you at the farmer’s market. I do not know why we’re so similarly featured, but we are. I wish to know better my subjects before I am queen and you provide me with a unique opportunity to do so…”

“What are you saying?” You ask, confused.

“I propose a switch. You take my place in the castle and I will take your place here.”

“And you think that would work?”

“It would, I know, take more than a little effort on both of our parts to go undiscovered. As payment, you will live a lavish lifestyle at the castle and, when I feel like I have learned all there is to learn from your life, you will also receive a sizable amount of coin. All you have to do is say ‘yes’ and I will take care of all of the details.”

She extends her hand out to you.

Adriana, do you —

Accept her hand and the plan

Deny her because of the risk

The story is titled The Princess and the Pauper. It’d be a shame for me to not honor the exchange of identities from the source story.

I select — Accept her hand and the plan.

RAQUEL RAMIREZ

I feel Adrienne’s eyes bore into the back of my skull. Why does she always have to be such a judgy bitch? Not everyone can be born into a wealthy family and start life with a silver spoon in their mouth like her. Me and my family scrape by. Every day is a challenge. The simple blessing of a meal is something we can’t take for granted. I can’t stand Adrienne and how she always looks down her nose at me for being poor. If she knew even a little tiny portion of the struggle, maybe she wouldn’t be so hard-hearted. It’s just too much to ask from that entitled bitch to have a modicum of empathy or sympathy for her less fortunate classmates.

ADRIENNE HOLMES

My mind feels a little fuzzy.

Details seem… hazy.

I know I was reading this story because it had the ability to change reality, at least that’s what I was told, but why would I even want to allow lowly Raquel Ramirez to share even a digital page with yours truly? Poor, dirty, smelly Raquel — her pathetic existence is pretty much punishment enough. Oh well, might as well see how this ends. It could be amusing. Not likely, but it could…

The noblewoman takes you under her wing, coming out to the fields on a daily basis to teach you all of the in’s and out’s of the castle — from the major players, to where everything is, to a crash course in well-born manners and etiquette — everything you’ll need to know on your end to pull off the reversal. When she finally feels you’ve taken in and on enough to be ready, she asks you how she can successfully pull off the role of “you.”

Adrienne, do you say —

“Love and fear the wealthy and act accordingly.”

“Always keep your head down, knowing that everyone is better than you.”

It’s only right that the lowly poor should love and fear the wealthy, so…

I select — “Love and fear the wealthy and act accordingly.”

RAQUEL RAMIREZ

As much as I hate Adrienne for how she makes me feel — lowly, frightened, and unworthy — I adore her. I hate myself more than I hate her for that. She’s so beautiful, poised, and rich. Everything I would love to be. I probably love her because, given the chance, I would totally jump at the opportunity to be her without hesitation. I do what I can with my limited means to imitate her — her walk, the way she talks, the way she dresses. Anything I can do to be even a smidgen more like Adrienne, I do. She’s noticed this and it’s opened a whole new arena of ridicule, but I don’t care. Piece by piece, I’m going to be her… whether she likes it or not.

ADRIENNE HOLMES

Do I find it at all cute or endearing that Raquel tries her best to low-rent bite my style? No, I do not. I’m sure her mom is very proud of that “do it at home hair cut,” but I don’t like it in the slightest. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but having her walk the halls in her Goodwill best mimicking me cannot stand. Clearly, the fear of my wrath has waned too much. I’ve been too kind, too benevolent to the girl. She needs to be taught a lesson after class… and after I finish this story.

“Love and fear the wealthy and act accordingly.”

“That sounds like a horrible way to live,” the noblewoman says in response to you.

“You are about to find out. I will never understand why you would want to put yourself through this, but I guess it is not in my lot to do so.”

Wearing the noblewoman’s clothes, you pass your father on his way out to the field. Even he doesn’t recognize you in your disguise as his eyes lock on your replacement. You know by the chilled, distant look that he’s about to beat her. You still feel the marks from your last beating on your body.

Adrienne, do you —

Use your newfound sway as a noblewoman to stop the beating

Warn the noblewoman of what’s about to come

Continue on to the castle

If the peasant had to deal with it, it’s only fair that the noblewoman also deals with it, trying to walk a mile in her shoes.

I select — Continue on to the castle.

RAQUEL RAMIREZ

Maybe I love Adrienne so much because she punishes me and I so love to be punished. Every sharp word, every mean look, every slap, trip, and push… all of them leave me wetter and wetter.

I know she’s behind me right now.

I can only imagine the mean things she’s thinking.

I can only imagine all of the torture she’s conceiving in that beautiful mind of hers.

I bite my lip hard to stop from moaning out in the middle of class.

Class. I have none of that left if I ever had any to begin with.

Born on the wrong side of the tracks.

Born poor.

Born to serve.

ADRIENNE HOLMES

We’re the perfect pair, Raquel and me.

I get off on abusing her — my little puppy who can’t help but follow me around lovingly.

I know she gets off on the abuse.

I make her lick my boots until they’re nice and shiny with her peasant’s tongue and by the time she’s done, she’s already cum a couple of times at the degradation. She doesn’t even have to touch herself. All of which leaves me nicely hot and bothered.

I think I’ll make my little servant ditch her bra and panties in the girl’s room and then walk the hallway repeatedly whispering, “I’m not wearing a bra or panties.”

I wonder if she will make it all the way down the hall without dripping down her legs.

I doubt it.

She has no self-control.

Any and all control she has comes from me.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Time passes and you find yourself absolutely in love with your identity as a princess. Everyone caters to your whim. Everything you want, you get. It’s a life you never expected to experience in your wildest dreams.

A guard wakes you from a nap. It’s normally a punishable offense, but he seems concerned.

“A girl has appeared at the gate, claiming to be you, princess,” he says.

Your time is up… or is it.

You could meet with her, trade identities and return to your old life. She might even go through with giving you gold to upgrade your existence, if not to anywhere near this level.

Or… you could deny her. You could say that she’s a pretender. You could maybe even accuse her of being a spy, sent to sabotage the kingdom by some rival. That could spell the end of her and cement your place in the castle.

Adrienne, do you —

Go back to how it was, accepting your fate

Never go back

Why would anyone ever willingly give up the perfect life?

I select — Never go back.

RAQUEL RAMIREZ

I have dreams of abusing Adrienne. I know my place was, is, and always will be under her control, but the dreams are so vivid and so wonderful that I cherish them whenever I wake up in my family’s double wide and I try my best to hold onto their gossamer promises. Adrienne has taught me proper hygiene. She said as much as she loved to point out my formerly wretched smell, it started to be too much for her. Also, she told me that I have to understand that she’s a loving Mistress and only wants what’s best for me.

I love her so much.

Sometimes I feel like I’m going to snap. Like I’m going to break. Like I’m going to find a way to suffocate her with my love.

Those are nice thoughts — as nice as the dreams, even — but I love her abuse too much to ever do anything but accept it.

I always do whatever she tells me to. I’ll always listen for the one time she gives me enough power to love her like I want to, though.

ADRIENNE HOLMES

I close the story out. It’s clearly a cautionary tale, informing me that I must always keep Raquel in her place, or potentially lose all that I have.

The bell rings.

I tell Raquel to go to the bathroom, toss her bra and panties into the trash, and begin her shameful march down the hall.

I’ll watch her do it, too, relishing the control.

She’ll be visibly dripping by the time she reaches her locker.

My panties will probably be soaked as well. It’s a good thing they’re high quality. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that me and the trailer trash girl, my pale imitation, ever actually had anything in common beyond her outward desire to be me.

As if that sort of switch could happen.

That is the stuff of stories.