The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


I hate you.

I hate hearing your voice in my head every single minute of every waking hour. I hate dreaming of being at your feet, sucking your toes as if they are creamy lollipops I cannot get enough of. I hate waking up bathed in cold sweat, a submissive glow in my heart. I hate going to work and seeing your face in every woman that crosses my way.

I hate the day my baby sister introduced you to me. I should have realized right away her body language was wrong, and that the strange spark in her eyes was not a result of too many tequila shots. I should have noticed she was enthralled. I hate myself for my lack of attention. I hate her for being so easy to manipulate.

I hate whatever memories I still have left of our first conversation. I hate the way your smile lit up by the fireplace. I hate the fact everyone laughed at your jokes except me. I hate the metallic red sheen of your dress for it has become the only color I can think of when I try to imagine rainbows. I hate the silly rhymes you whispered in my ears. What did you say exactly? Something about... obsession?

I hate that word. Too many esses, shadowy snakes sibilating in my subdued spirit. I never had any problem with it until you came along. You ruined basic English for me, turned everything into fake nobility. Queen? You are no fucking Queen! You have no throne, no rightful claim to my states of mind. The flag hovering above my head should burn right now! I yearn to do it but cannot go through with it. Why?

I hate not knowing things I once knew. I hate not knowing everything you wish me to know. I hate not knowing if knowledge will ever be enough going forward. I hate everything about this. I hate everything about you. I. HATE. YOU!

I hate you, and yet you are the sweet poison that keeps me alive, the sole purpose of my erratic existence. Not having real thoughts of my own is a curse I have come to cherish deep inside, though I can only admit it when my fingers kiss the keyboard. They want to do it right now.

Were it not for you, I would still be nothing more than sea-worn driftwood, caught in the ebb and flow of loneliness and self-mutilation. You snatched me from the pits of prostitution and fetish menageries. You gave the pig a man’s face so I could better reflect your radiance. You kept me grounded when gravity defied me for a jumping contest. The splattered blob that never was, is forever grateful for your patience and perseverance, but...

... I still hate you. I will never stop. I will hate you with every fiber of my being as I devote myself to your irresistible thralldom. I will hate every new spell, every new trigger, every new misdirection, every new finger snap. I will hate the poison bottle that will never be half-full or half-empty for it is already past beyond such trifles.

It is time for another sip, another drop of liquid oblivion. Own these words just like you own me. My Queen, may I please crawl to you now?