The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Femdom Mind Control Flash Fiction

by S.B.

Type Omega

Blue lines, red circles, yellow triangles and green squares piled up on one another creating a colorful haphazard mass on screen. The game was already a mess on its own but when at the highest difficulty; it was almost impossible for anyone to understand what was going on, let alone hope to produce something other than a redundant failure. Trey banged his head against the controller when the swooping victorious violin playing in the background faded into a mechanical whirr that almost made his ears bleed. Game over again and he couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong.

“Okay, I quit! How the fuck am I supposed to play this if I don’t get half of what’s going on?” He shouted.

Melissa, his long-time girlfriend, CEO of WondrousPlay Inc. and co-creator of the experience at hands, first took no notice of his remark as she continued to talk on the phone. Only when he touched her shoulder with the controller demanding something more than her callous indifference, did she bother to respond:

“Perhaps if you had played the tutorial…”

“I did! Three times already!” He gnarled.

“Type Alpha and Beta?”

“Wait, there’s a type Beta?”

“Hit the left trigger when accessing the tutorial level. It’s right there on the lower left corner!”

“Those microscopic letters? How the fuck was I supposed to read those? How is anyone supposed to read them unless they’re glued to the screen? Your quality control leaves a lot to be desired, Mel.”

“You leave a lot to be desired, too,” she thought, wondering for the nth time that day why she had chosen him over Bill, the hockey player, all those years ago. She would always blame her mom for it so as to not blame herself, but she wouldn’t do it for long.

“Just go play and let me finish this, please,” she said before turning her attention to the voice on the other end of the call. “No, Mr. Daniels, I wasn’t talking to you. As I was saying...”

Trey left her to her own designs and went back to his favorite spot, the groove on the sofa, all round all warm. “Type B, huh? Fine, let’s see if any of this makes any sense now.”

It didn’t. The new tutorial added more colors, more impossible geometry, more trippy special effects engulfing the screen at every turn. Some shapes changed hues, others exploded in almost invisible fragments when the bass grew louder. It would probably look good in VR, but those fucking goggles gave him fucking headaches and the only fucking thing he wanted to do was fucking comprehend what the fuss was all abo...

“Fuck! Fuck! Ten times fuck!” He screamed as the tutorial screen faded to black.

“It seems you’re stupid,” the screen said to him, white letters dominating the center of the TV.


The message changed. “Want to learn to play in Type Omega?”

“Hmmm... sure?” he muttered, hitting the ‘Yes’ prompt the moment it appeared.

The white letters grew until only one of them was large enough to cover the whole playing field. A wave of static flickered underneath as he stared into the void.

“Okay, where’s the game?”

Another message flashed. Black against white, a pulsing truth. “I’m looking at it.”

Trey scratched his unkempt beard. He could almost hear Melissa in the words before him, but she was still on the phone. The confusing tutorial kept going, one small paragraph at a time, each one more aggressive than the other.

“You are the game.”

“You exist to be played with.”

“Alpha doesn’t suit you.”

“Beta doesn’t suit you.”

“Omega is what you are.”

“Bottom of the food chain.”

“Bottom of a woman’s shoe… if you’re lucky.”

“Omega is what you should be.”

“The end of all individuality.”

“Slave. Thing. Nothing.”

“You will be played with.”

“You will be used and abused.”

“You will forget ever being human.”

“You will do that right now. You have no choice.”




As Trey drooled on the sofa, Melissa continued her conversation with a potential buyer. “Yes, the tests have been going well. I have a perfect subject. No, I can’t guarantee it will be 100% effective on all men, but it will have a—pardon the pun—high penetration rate. Men’s brains are too simple and can’t comprehend the intricate connections of the base game and immediately go into overdrive if they do. When too many thoughts go on at the same time, the only way is to not think at all. Yes, Mr. Daniels, I think you should stop thinking as well right now and just listen to my voice... yes, I can arrange a private demonstration for you when you come visit. Wonderful. See you soon then.”

She hung up the phone and peeked into the adjoining room to check up on Trey’s conditioning. Having forgotten the first four times he had seen that mode running, he now revelled in the blank depth of the fifth, growing dumber and more obedient with each cycle. Type Omega was sure to be a smashing hit.