The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sometime in that first quarter of the year Anjika began confiding in me that she would like some more girls. Well why not? If Mistress wanted more slaves then she should have them: as far as I was concerned she could have as many as she wanted but I did caution her against openly recruiting more from our employer as tongues would wag. None of us, neither Mistress nor her property, socialized with our work-mates and naturally anyone else joining her coterie would drop her work-friends as soon as she was conditioned.

Mistress thought for a while and then agreed. “Unless,” She added, “we find a suitable loner or get another volunteer, like Rebecca.”

I nodded my agreement but advised caution. At the moment there was space in the Maintenance room for ten slaves in total and perhaps we could squeeze another two couches in there without it being too cramped. Mistress therefore could obtain another seven without the need to allocate more space. More than that and we would need to equip another room. I pointed this out also and she nodded and then smiled. “Okay, Shiv, we’ll take things slowly like you advise.”

I shivered with pleasure. She rarely called me ‘Shiv’ these days but in doing so meant that she still regarded me as a person rather than an object.

Then shortly afterwards she made her first visit to Wendy’s home. She was so astounded when she returned home that I thought she was suffering from culture shock. I listened as she described everything to me in disjointed, rapid-fire sentences. “My God, she’s got about fifteen pets, but she doesn’t just use them as sex-slaves, she also runs a small business and her girls work for her. It’s a call centre but she’s talking about expanding and starting up a secure data-processing company. And wow, she even under-cuts India!”

I poured her a glass of wine and thanked her when she told me to join her. She was more wound-up than I had seen her in years but I could tell that there was more so I looked at her with my best questioning expression and waited.

She relaxed and sipped her wine. “Did you know that Wendy also conditions and prepares girls for other mistresses?”

So that’s it... Or so I thought!

“We could do that.” Anjika gushed brightly before adding. “She sometimes sells her own girls, the ones that she gets fed-up of, but I could never do that: it just isn’t right! Our relationships have to be based on trust, after all!”

I looked at her and smiled and then switched to ‘controller-mode’. “The girls that she enslaves for other mistresses: where do they come from?”

An emotion flickered across Mistress’s face, I think that it was annoyance, but it only lasted a split second before she smiled and answered. “Sometimes the client supplies them and they are usually relatives but other times she abducts them herself, or rather her girls do. Wendy told me that she’ll help me get started as there is more business available than she can handle.”

Brainwashed and conditioned, or not: the enormity of her statement rattled me, and questions buzzed around in my head like so many hornets.

Firstly: Just how many mistresses are out there anyway?

And: Why haven’t I heard about this sort of thing before?

Then: If there are ‘mistresses’ surely there are ‘masters’.

And Finally: Are all of the mistresses lesbians?

I was unsure about any of it and tried to think things through but couldn’t as all of my doubts and unease were quickly drowned by a string of new thoughts that bubbled up from somewhere deep in my modified mind swamping the little shard of the old Siobhan who still seemed to survive somewhere deep in my subconscious:

If my Mistress wants to enslave girls for other mistresses then I will help her.

I’ve got no business questioning Anjika.

What she does is none of my business.

…and the doubts all faded away into tranquil nothingness.

Within a week, we were making plans that were intended to lead to Anjika ‘going into business for herself’. “Do you know how much slaves sell for?” She asked me one day completely out of the blue.

I didn’t but she didn’t tell me, instead she carried on as if I knew. “And the cost of conversions...! We’ll have to employ a beautician, or two.”

“Why not enslave them?” I interjected.

She looked at me as if I had slapped her. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Then she changed the subject. “Wendy’s got her own surgeon, you know. The woman was struck off for malpractice, but once her ego was deflated she proved to be surprisingly skilled.”

Still in ‘Controller-Mode’ I hesitated. “It will be much harder to obtain one of those.”

She chuckled. “Oh my pet!” Her smile was dazzling. “”Wendy says that we can use hers.”

This was the Angie of old: when something really grabbed her attention she couldn’t think straight and kept flying off on tangents and in random directions. That shard of the old Siobhan bubbled up from deep inside my marshmallow-like brain and smiled because her old friend still existed inside the new Mistress.

“Angie,” I said, using my old name for her for the first time in a year, “let’s take this slowly and think every step through. Hadn’t we best check that the system in the basement can do all this?”

She glared at me almost as if to say: Who the hell are you to question me? But her expression softened a little before she muttered. “Yeh, I guess so.”

Looking back I think that this was the tipping point when Mistress’s attitude towards her slaves began to change and the first thing to change was our costume.

It was a Sunday afternoon in late March, the day after one of Dr Dryden’s visits, and we were all gathered in the downstairs living room just basking in our Goddess’s divine presence and resting after a fantastic roast dinner cooked to perfection by Jasmine. One of the pets, I think it was Emily, was sitting at Anjika’s feet with her head resting contentedly on her lap while Mistress ran fingers through her beautiful long red hair. The rest of the girls were sitting on the carpet while I, as befitted my status as Slave-Controller, occupied another armchair.

It was an idyllic scene and all of us slaves were there and radiated tranquil contentment. No, I tell a lie, Prita was missing: she was on-shift at the local police station: her transfer having come through back in February. But either way we were happy and relaxed and there was more than a hint of female arousal in the air. Rebecca and Jasmine were idly running hands over each other’s bodies and Anjika and I were idly watching them. The television was on in the corner but we weren’t paying it any attention, the girls were far more interesting. This is how Sunday afternoons were meant to be.

Suddenly, right out of the blue, everything began to change and the changes were heralded by a simple few words.

Anjika suddenly looked across at me and said. “The clothes you girls wear aren’t very sexy. Are they?”

“No, Mistress!” I said automatically agreeing with her.

“I just love watching those two fingering each other but their hands keep disappearing into their clothes. I can’t see what they are doing.” She sounded peeved. “Wendy’s pets wear something much more revealing.”

I knew then that things were going to change but not by how much.

It was a beautiful June and things were getting back to normal after the latest visit by the builders who had been very busy! Besides adding extra toilet and bathroom-facilities, there were also significant alterations down in the basement. The most obvious change, however, was the construction of a large two story block at the side of the house, and yes, it was clad in matching grey stone so that it looked as if it had always been there.

According to the plans submitted to the local planning authorities the extension was a six car garage with two large bedrooms and en-suite bathroom above. What had actually been built differed in a few small, but important aspects! Sure, the garage-bit was more or less unaltered, except that it had somehow gained a staircase... No; I will not give a step-by-step description of all of the changes for that would be tedious. Instead I’ll describe a typical week day.

Let’s make it a Tuesday, mainly because I like Tuesdays, it was the day I was born and also the day that I became Anjika’s a sex-slave so it is a very good day for me!

I remember that I had spent the last part of the afternoon at work sorting out one of those annoying intermittent network problems: three computers in accounts were crashing, although for no obvious reason. Problems like this are a pain in the seat but I love them! I checked the machines but they seemed to be working properly, so it was either a network fault or the computers were sulking. If you don’t believe that computers can sulk then just ask any IT or network professional!

Assuming a network fault I began tracing the wiring section by section and it all checked out until I opened the cover of the last junction box before the server room. Five seconds later I knew the problem and chuckled to myself. I walked over to the nearest internal phone and rang the IT office.

“Jason? You installed the new panel in junction box four?” I asked, sounding as light hearted as I could.

“Err, yes, Boss.” He answered, sounding puzzled.

“Okay, stop what you are doing and come and see me, I’m right by that junction box.”

He was there within five minutes and sounded bemused when he enquired. “Yes, Boss?”

Still smiling, I gently slid a screwdriver into the box and brought it into contact with the wire protruding from a spade connector then wiggled it up and down. The spade connector wiggled with it.

“Ah!” He exclaimed as I handed him the screwdriver.

“Sorry boss!” He sounded contrite as he tightened up the screw and checked all of the others.

I watched him as he finished the job that he had previously botched. When he had finished I issued my version of a reprimand. “You know, Jason, it’s moments like this that make me wish that I had a dick.”

“Boss?” He asked, sounding bemused.

“Yeh, then I could shove it in your ear and fuck some sense into you!”

He scampered away, still looking contrite but knowing that he had got off lightly as I wasn’t going to make an entry in his personnel file.

I finished off and then checked the computers and found that they were no longer sulking, err, had stopped crashing. I checked my watch, it was knocking-off time so I made my way to the car park where I found the car that I was travelling in today, it was a mid-range Toyota and had once belonged to Rebecca: it was parked next the brand new Audi that Anjika preferred. When the others arrived Rebecca climbed into the Toyota’s driving seat and I occupied the front passenger seat. The other two girls joined Mistress in the Audi, only she wasn’t Mistress, not just yet.

It was a pleasant twenty minute drive and Rebecca and I spent the time chatting about normal things: work-based gossip, people who had annoyed us, what was on TV: that sort of thing. We both had a laugh about what I’d said to Jason.

Eventually the car pulled into our drive and Rebecca headed for the new garage, the door opened in response to the security code transmitted by the device fitted to the car’s electrics. The code changed daily!

Once inside the garage I noticed that the third car, the Volkswagen Polo, was there and parked in front of my old van. The Volkswagen was reserved for Prita’s exclusive use and I was pleased to see that she was home. She was on ‘earlies’ which were officially 0700 to 1500 but the shift could over-run if there were any on-going jobs.

Rebecca and I left the car and headed over to the pair of doors set in the end wall: the right hand one led to the kitchen: I operated the palm lock on the other one. It clicked open and revealed a rather austere staircase. By now we had both fallen silent and as I climbed up to the first floor I could almost feel ‘Siobhan O’Rourke’, the confident, pushy Departmental Head, beginning to fade. By the time that I pushed open the door at the top and stepped into the first Changing Room, another personality had joined her, a much more gentle and pliant one. The room seemed to be nothing more than a well lit twenty foot long corridor with a row of doors lining the wall opposite the large window.

Once inside I walked over to one of the doors, it opened to reveal a large walk-in wardrobe that contained all of Siobhan O’Rourke’s clothes and accessories. I undressed; the jacket and trousers would go again so they went onto a hanger while the shoes went into their place on the rack. Everything else except the bra went into the laundry sack. The bra went onto its shelf. Somewhere to the side of me Rebecca was inside another wardrobe doing the same, although her business suit went into the ‘dry clean only’ sack.

Once naked we went back into the room and walked up to the end door and after operating another palm lock, entered the large walk-in shower where we mechanically washed our selves and each other before stepping out into the next room where a tornado of warm air dried us in minutes. Somewhere behind us, Jasmine and Emily were now entering the shower.

The last task before leaving the bathroom was to brush hair; only then did we move on into the second Changing Room, which was slightly smaller than the first. It was also laid out differently and walls were lined with racks of black garments and boots. I walked over to mine, lifted off various items, inspecting them carefully for damage before beginning to dress in the style that Mistress Anjika had recently ordained. The first item was a one piece garment in black shiny material that looked like rubber or plastic but it was actually the same fabric that was used to make the clothing worn by racing cyclists: it was incredibly light, thin and stretchy but unlike latex, it was porous and so could be worn for much longer periods. It also looked too small!

I stepped into the leg holes and worked the garment up my thighs until my pussy was outlined by the open crotch. Next I worked my arms into the sleeves and wriggled and pulled until my hands popped out of the ends. Then I eased my shoulders in and closed the incredibly flat zipper that ran from just above my navel right up to the neck easing my breasts into position as I did so. Finally I fastened the catches at the front of my neck. The garment covered me from mid thigh to chin, including both arms and was so thin and tight that it looked as if it had been painted on. There was a catch attached to the garment on my belly, half way between my navel and the groove leading to my pussy. There was a similar catch at the back. I lifted the crotch-piece off the rack; this was actually moulded in butyl rubber and was as thin as tissue paper. Its fittings snapped onto the catches, stretching it out as I did so. Because it was so thin every fold and bulge of my labia and clitty were plainly visible. I could remove it when I needed to relive myself and Mistress could whenever She desired access to my snatch or arsehole. In the future other designs of crotch cover would appear on our racks...

Only three items of clothing remained: the patent leather thigh boots, which I struggled into, they were secured by zippers on their insides and more than met the main body-hugging garment. They had four inch stiletto heels which had taken quite some time to master. The next item was the black hair tie to secure my ponytail—after I had brushed my hair again and gathered it up carefully. Finally came the third item: my new collar which was black and shiny and rather stiff. It covered the whole of my neck with a groove for my chin to fit in which held my head firmly in place. There were three words embossed in silver across the front of this one: “SLAVE-CONTROLLER SIOBHAN”. As soon as I had clicked the locks shut, the last vestiges of Siobhan O’Rourke evaporated like dew on a warm summer morning leaving her submissive counterpart in sole charge of my body. I was home!

I made my way out of the dressing room, my heels click-click-clicking on the hard floor surface, and entered the upstairs corridor in the original part of the house. The Maintenance Room was on the left and I pushed the door open and entered. I made my way to my couch where I stretched out, slipped on my head set and relaxed gratefully under the gentle torrent of relaxing, hissing music that flooded into my head. Music; words and images: all there to help me focus on who I am and what my real purpose now is:

• Yes, Anjika owns me.
• I love and serve Her.
• Anjika is my Mistress.
• I am Her willing slave.

…and on and on: a wonderful re-affirmation of my glorious life as owned property.

A series of tasks could be programmed directly into a slave’s mind: I knew this because as Controller I would soon have my own terminal and be the one to carry out this task. However this part of the system had yet to be activated so instead, I received the instruction. “Follow standard domestic routine”, this was followed by “Execute!”

Smiling, I removed my headset, switched my station to “stand-by” and stood up feeling relaxed. I looked around and saw that Emily, Jasmine and Rebecca were blissfully relaxing on their couches receiving reinforcement. I smiled at them then left and made my way downstairs where I was grabbed by Mistress and kissed passionately. She ran Her fingers over my crotch cover, if anything the thin tightness of it magnified the sensation of Her caress and I moaned as She kissed me.

She broke the kiss and smiled up at me. “You will spend the night with me: just the two of us, I’m going to enjoy fucking you!”

All I could manage was a breathy, “Oh.” As She moved away leaving me with weak knees and a fluttering pussy.

After a delicious but simple evening meal of chicken and mushroom pasta prepared by Jasmine, we all gathered in the living room after an hour’s clearing up and general housework. I joined Mistress on the couch so that She could fondle and caress me while my slave sisters had sex on the floor in front of us.

The show began with Prita tongue-fucking each of the other slaves’ arseholes in turn before retiring early as she had to be on duty well before seven in the morning. The activities conclude with Emily, Jasmine and Rebecca forming themselves into a mouth-to-pussy triangle and eating each other to as many orgasms as they could manage before collapsing sated and then retiring to their couches. During the proceedings I heard Mistress mutter. “Isn’t Rebecca beautiful? That divine face is just made to sit on!”

I smiled. “Oh yes, Mistress.”

“I’ll have to think of a special way to use her.” She said quietly but with an inflection in Her voice that I do not remember hearing before.

Shortly afterwards, just after the floor show had ended, Mistress led me up to Her room where I watched Her undress before undoing the catches securing my crotch cover. She then put Her new eight-inch strap-on to good use and spent the next hour athletically fucking each of my three holes in turn. This went on until She was too exhausted to continue and too sated to need to.

As She ploughed into me that annoying little remnant of the old Siobhan that still survived sneaked out of hiding and pointed out that Her old friend, Angie, was changing, and not for the better. She tried to point out that this time last year my Mistress had been careful not to cause undue discomfort and to make sure that pleasure was shared. Now it seemed that Her main concern was for Herself and that the sexual gratification of Her slaves was incidental... If we orgasmed: fine! But if we didn’t: (Shrug!)

As usual the slave-me heard her but didn’t listen and soon the waves of satisfaction and orgasmic release washed her back into the hidden depths of my subconscious. Besides, Mistress was, well, Mistress! And I existed to obey and not judge Her.

At the end of the week Anjika handed Her notice in at work and from now on would devote the whole of Her time to being Our Mistress. As the Head of Human Resources they didn’t want Her to stay on in a position where She could do damage so She was sent on what is euphemistically known as ‘gardening leave’, in other words She received a month’s pay in lieu of working out Her notice. This left Her free to concentrate upon building up Her ‘Stress Counselling Clinic”, as She jokingly referred to the row of couches in our basement: oh, and it also left Her free to spend time with us except that there was a snag: we all worked full-time. One solution was that one or more of Her pets could also quit their job; this was highly appealing on a personal level, though not so on a financial one.

No, there was another solution, a much more obvious one and this is the course that our beloved Mistress adopted,