The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was on a humid Friday afternoon, after a long English lecture, that an exhausted Helen Tate stumbled into her living room, ready to collapse on the couch. Instead, she froze as the last person she wanted to see, lounged on said sofa.

John Van Der Beek, professional asshole. Pro-Gun, Pro-Life, Pro-Military, Pro-God, and Pro-American thank you very much. Everything about him reeked of wealth and little brains. And that included his taste in polo shirts and loafers.

Helen, by contrast, was a hippy. A pot smoking, acid tripping, pro-choice, pro-gun control, free love advocating hippy. Often dressing in denim shorts, sandals, tank tops with the Marxist and peace symbols attached to a bandana around her forehead, Helen was proud of her appearance. And that included her unshaven armpits and legs.

And if you didn’t like it. Hey, that was your problem.

“Hi Helen,” John grinned his smug grin.

“John, what an unpleasant surprise,” she answered coldly, as she turned to place her handbag on the coffee table.

“C’mon girl,” she heard him laugh “aren’t you happy to see me.”

“Well,” she replied, trying to control her mounting annoyance, “knowing I can demolish you in a debate, I’ll admit I like catching sight of you on stage, just not in my house.”

She then turned to face him; arms folded: “So asshole, how did you break in?”

The bastard lifted up his palms in peace. “It’s a shared house, one of your friends answered the door. Anyway, I’ve come here to talk turkey. I’ll give credit where it’s due Helen, you’re a smart woman, fast on your feet and out of all the people on campus, I admire you the most.”

“Uh huh,” she responded, unmoved.

God, was this bozo trying to disarm her? Perhaps flatter her so she’d go easy on him during the next debate. Maybe he was here to bribe or blackmail. So, somebody had a picture of her stoned and topless at a music festival, and he was threatening to post it online. Big deal.

“Just to make sure,” John asked, “what do you think of me?”

“You?” she shrugged “You’re in college because of your dad’s cash and perhaps how great you were as a quarterback. Your politics are toxic and you’re an idiot for holding them. So please leave.”

John smirked as he always did when being insulted.

“Yeah, I’m not denying I look that way to the other team. But damn it, Helen, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m in love with you. You’re everything I want in a woman.”

Jesus, was that it? Had this moron mistaken passionate debating for something sexual, did a telling off from a girl give this bully a hard on?

“You and me?” she grimaced, “yeah not happening.”

“But every time we debate, we come alive,” he exclaimed “and it’s not just the shit we’re discussing that day, it’s like we’re in sync. I’m more excited with you than anyone I know. God, you must feel it too.”

“No, can’t say I do,” she replied admitting to herself that he made her emotional, in the same way online trolls did.

“Don’t you see? We could be a fantastic couple! The fact you’re a damn liberal is the only thing keeping us apart. If you were a republican like me…”

“Oh, piss off!” snapped Helen “The idea I’d change my core beliefs just to date you!”

What else could she say? John was nothing to her, but she wouldn’t put it past the guy to take rejection badly. Best make an excuse to go to the bathroom, lock the door, then call someone.

John though, let a devilish grin emerge from his lips: “Let me show you a new gadget of mine. Cool thing really.”

And with that, he whipped out from his pocket, a black circle-shaped piece of card which he held up to the light. Helen blinked, as she noted a red X against the dark surface, unsure what the deal was with this flimsy disk.

Then it happened.

Like an express train slamming against her skull, an intense migraine throbbed in her temples. On shaking legs, Helen staggered towards a leather chair, cradling her spinning head in her hands.

“You feel good?” John’s voice echoed.

“What” Helen was able to gasp “are you doing to me?

“I’m making you well,” his voice boomed “Liberalism? That’s a disease that needs curing.”

Despite her dizziness, Helen felt the indignation flare up and she forced out a snarl:

“Fuck off, I’m not…ugh…”

Another wave of queasiness struck her, and she collapsed in the chair, unable to move, as John’s voice, like a horn in a whirlwind of fog called out to her.

“We’ll have none of that language young lady. Now Helen, let’s see…what do you think of America?”

Helen would have remained silent, but something odd happened. Almost as if this fainting spell compelled her to talk. She couldn’t refuse to answer and couldn’t lie, for her honest opinion was forced out of her.

“It’s run by fascist pigs,” she replied “They’re ready to trample to death anybody for profit. Capitalism is the monster ruining America…”

“Nope,” John said as his face came into focus in her blurred vision “we’ve got to correct your thinking. Listen to me Helen, Capitalism is amazing, the real monstrous stuff is crap like communism and socialism.”

Before when John made stupid statements like this, her knee jerk response was to retort, and her gut instinct knew how damn wrong he was but…

But now it felt as if she was unable to argue with him, that some deep-rooted impulse, painful and powerful urged her to agree.

“Fuck you,” she forced out her defiance as her own conscience nagged at her “I’ll never ignore my country’s short comings…”

But John’s voice, almost soothing and sweet like good music silenced her mutterings.

“Think how amazing America is. Best country in history!”

And something within Helen told her, what he was saying was true, in her heart of hearts she couldn’t deny how amazing the US was. She pictured Old Glory fluttering in the breeze and her chest swelled with pride.

“It’s flawed,” she spoke no longer believing what she was saying “made so many mistakes.”

“So what? Why focus on the negative, why not praise and preserve the best of America, the greatest nation on the face of the earth. Say it!”

God, the jingoism, the arrogance of speaking a simple absolute!

“You ever been to other countries idiot?” she snapped back “how can you said that…that… America is great, America is amazing. Oh, fuck I love America!”

It happened; Helen gave her honest opinion. America was an amazing country, best there ever was and would be. She couldn’t deny it and was ready to argue with anyone who’d say otherwise.

But how? This wasn’t like her at all.

“John, what are you doing?” she pleaded “What’s happening to me?”

“I told you; I’m curing you of your liberalism. I’m making you well.”

He could do it, couldn’t he? And there wasn’t a single thing she could do to stop it!

“Think Helen!” John continued “How do you feel about children?”

She didn’t sugarcoat it, merely mentioning the word children conjured up images of wailing, stupid brats. Hell, the very notion of motherhood felt like having a ball and chain clasped around her neck before being flung into the sea.

“I hate them,” she answered “Motherhood’s certainly not in my future. Being held hostage by a bunch of screaming, shitting monsters, and let them gobble up the best years of my life. No, thanks.”

“You want children,” John stated and as soon as he said it, she knew it was true. She did.

“You want to be a mother,” he went on “You want to be a mother so badly.”

Helen remembered only last week penning an essay on remaining childless for life, and how she frankly welcomed the menopause, only now the menopause felt like facing a firing squad as her own gut and heart craved…

“Oh stop!” was all she could say.

“See yourself Helen, walking around in the kitchen, your stomach bloated thanks to a man’s seed, doing what God put women on earth to do. What could be more natural for a woman to bear children?”

She was shaking, excited, even aroused by his words.

“Picture,” John said slowly, “a baby in your arms, you hold it up to your breast to nurse as you feel absolutely complete!”

And Helen couldn’t help herself. In her mind’s eye she saw a baby opening its lips for her nipple and her heart ached with longing. She knew he was right. She was a fool to pretend otherwise. God help her, she needed to breed.

“So, Helen?” John asked again “how do you feel about children?”

“I want to be a mother!” she growled “I want my own darling babies to love and nurture. I want a big family!”

She blinked, amazed that this was her honest answer and almost hating to admit it, something in her welcomed John’s treatment. She told herself to resist but found it harder and harder to fight off the growing excitement and gratitude John was bringing out of her.

“What do you think about hippies?” he asked.

At once the joy and pride of being a pot smoking, war protesting, unashamed hippy ignited within Helen. And the people she met, the experiences they shared.

Getting high with Judith and Simone at Burning Man or venturing to Washington D.C. to protest the war. They were fighting the forces of tyranny like radicals had done in generations past, knowing they had love and compassion on their side.

“We’re rebels,” she grinned. “We’re changing the world for the better. I’d rather be a hippy than a reactionary asshole.”

“And republicans?” he inquired.

Why even lie? She told the simple objective truth.

“Monsters. Selfish, stupid, frightened of change because they have so little imagination.”

That was Helen’s mantra, a belief that defined all of her life. Her unshakeable, unbreakable conviction and nothing could change it.

“Hippies are dirty and smelly,” John stated in all honesty.

“What?” she stammered, unable to contradict what he had told her.

“They’re immature,” he went on “think they’ve got all the answers. As if they can give us world peace with a few folk songs, free love, and dangerous drugs. It’s all bullshit. They’re the stupid kids who barely know how the real-world works.”

And God help her, instantly Helen agreed with him. All the time spent tripping at the campfire, or going on protest marches were wasted moments. She thought of her fellow flower power friends and rather than love and pride, she now felt disdain and embarrassment that she had ever called herself one of them.

“Republicans?” Jonn said “We’re smart, we’re practical, we’re grownups, ready to work for a living because we believe in personal accountability. We want to maintain all that’s great and traditional…and you’re one of us.”

It was true. To be called conservative was...

No, she had to resist this, didn’t she?

“Please stop!” she lied.

“Say it!” he said with a slight annoyance “you’re conservative.”

“God no!” she whimpered, trying to find any reason to disagree.

“Don’t deny who you are!” John said as his warm hand took hers. “You’re a conservative woman. You believe in strong traditional values. Admit it.”

“But I’m not,” she muttered, “I’m not one of those beautiful feminine women. I’m an ugly stuck-up hippy.”

“Really?”

His voice was a grin.

“I mean,” Helen went on “being a republican wife, finding a strong man to provide for me. That’s not what I want. I’m a hippy, I’m a liberal, we’re a bunch of self-righteous bullying children who haven’t got the first clue on…on…what was I saying again?”

“You were telling me how great conservatives are,” laughed John.

“I was?”

That didn’t sound right, but why argue?

“Sure, keep going.”

“Well,” Helen continued “we conservatives believe in a strong country, supporting our troops to defend America against the enemy. We believe in taking personal responsibility and not succumbing to stupid ideas. We’re smart, we’re practical and…and…”

Something snapped, her resistance vanished and nothing, but an overwhelming sense of pride and contentment engulfed Helen. She sat up, the world no longer spinning, as she now saw everything clearly and in focus.

She felt good. Damn good.

“So, is it true Helen?” John asked her “Are you conservative?”

“Yes, it’s true,” she replied, loving the rush that statement gave her “I’m conservative. Oh god, I’m conservative! And it feels amazing.”

“Yup,” John grinned “that’s what being an out and proud republican feels like. You have the satisfaction of knowing you’re right.”

Helen leapt to her feet and gazing down was surprised to find that her hippy attire had completely vanished. Gone were her bellbottoms, sandals, and tank top. Instead, she was now clad in a light blue suit with high heels. The outfit often modelled by first ladies and senators’ wives.

“Damn straight, this is right,” Helen beamed, running her fingers over a smooth hairless leg. “Oh, darling, I can’t thank you enough for freeing me from that bullshit liberalism.”

“No problem,” he laughed “And what do you think of Jesus?”

“Our Lord and Saviour,” the former atheist answered proudly “as real as the earth is round.”

“Evolution?”

“A myth invented by Satan.”

“Guns?”

“Every American’s God given right.”

“Abortion?”

“Murder, no ifs or buts.”

“Feminism?”

“Misguided at best. Traditional gender roles are natural and healthy.”

“The Welfare State?”

“Don’t make me laugh. You want money, you work for it.”

John grinned and then blushed.

“And what do you think of me?”

No sooner had he asked it then Helen realised he had been right. The intense attraction had always been there. John was handsome, painfully so, and his beliefs, now she shared them, made him all the more attractive. She found it funny to recall all the pointless hate he inspired in her when now she had to admit just what a catch he was.

“You?” she replied “Before I’d have said you were cocky, arrogant, and stupid. But now I’ll call you handsome, insightful, and compassionate. You’re a man who doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Yeah, I’ll admit it, I find you sexy as hell. And there’s nobody I’d rather have as the father of my children.”

As John leaned forward and kissed her, Helen sighed in bliss. She wrapped her arms around him, embracing their shared passion. She needed this man, to love, to hold, to raise kids with.

“How about a date tonight?” he asked.

“Fuck yeah,” she laughed “I need a real man, not some cowardly boy calling himself a feminist to impress women. And you John Van Der Beek. You’re a real man.”

“And I need a real woman.”

“Don’t worry love, I’m totally that.”

People weren’t completely surprised when John Van Der Beek and Helen Tate started dating. The way they had passionately hated each other’s guts was almost sexual. What was surprising was that Helen had gone completely 180 politically, unashamedly calling herself right-wing.

Gone was her peace symbol, instead she wore a cross around her neck, dressed femininely in public and was often seen attending church with her fiancé.

Her speeches although just as enthusiastic and as well-argued as before were now in favour of tradition. No longer calling for women in the workforce, she now encouraged girls to be wives and mothers, having as many children as possible, for nothing could beat that experience.

Years later it was a heartwarming sight to see Senator Van Der Beek and Mrs Van Der Beek standing side by side in a photograph that graced plenty of newspaper and magazine covers. He stood behind a podium, with her to his right, heavily pregnant with their first child.

Both were very happy.