The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hypnotizing My Bratty Daughter To Be My Sex Slave

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The shiny pendant burns against the palm of my hand. It’s not even warm, consisting of a silver filigree chain and one large diamond, but I’m clutching it so hard that it’s turning my skin red; I shouldn’t be considering using this.

My daughter should have been home hours ago. Technically, she no longer has to come home, having turned eighteen a few weeks ago, and this is where the bulk of our problems lie. She thinks that she’s ready to grow up and move out. She thinks that I’m controlling and want her to stay my little girl forever. She thinks that flitting around with party boys and experimenting with adult-things is what young women “just do, dad, God!”—and while some of those things might be partially true, overall, she’s wrong and I know better.

Luckily, the family heirloom I’m holding is rumored to have certain mind-altering powers to keep children and wives in line. My father handed it down to me with the instruction that it go to my first-born son, but since I don’t have one, I guess someday it might have to be given to Kirsten. Perhaps if I wait long enough to die, it can go to one of her future sons—but before all of that, it only makes sense to try it out on her and see if I can convince her to behave like a good little schoolgirl, who prioritizes college classes over college boys and family life over party life.

I sit up a little straighter as the front door cracks open. I’m sitting quietly in the pitch dark, fully aware that my daughter is trying to sneak in without alerting me. It’s my fault for letting her get away with such scandalous behavior as wearing short-shorts and playing around with make-up during her high school years. If only I’d been a little more strict, we wouldn’t be in this position now, with me forced to try extreme measures to stop her from continuing down a road of disaster.

At least, that’s what I tell myself when I clear my throat and she screams, her wide eyes locking on to mine.

“Jesus, you scared me!” Kirsten says before giving a small laugh. “Look, I’m sorry that I’m late but—”

“No need to apologize,” I interrupt her smoothly, forcing my grip to loosen a little around the pendant’s stone.

“What?” she stammers.

I can tell that my simple act of remaining calm and reassuring has thrown her off. Normally, I might lecture her (rather uselessly) or even yell until she cried, but now there’s no need for any of that. Now, I’m willing to curb her behavior the hard way—or the easy way, depending on how one looks at it—even if it’s potentially morally corrupt. It’s all in her best interest, though. So why am I already feeling a little sick with guilt?

“Come sit down, and we’ll talk it out,” I murmur as I flick on the lamp next to my oversized leather chair.

When she gives me a strange look and heads over to the couch, I clear my throat again and say, “No, sit right here”, and scoot the little stool that I typically use to rest my feet on further away from my chair.

Kirsten freezes and her expression grows even more wary. “Uh, no thanks.”

“Please,” I say with a gentle smile. “I have a gift for you.”

I open my reddened hand to display the gleaming diamond pendant and watch my daughter’s eyes grow double in size. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, and I can’t keep my smile from breaking into a grin as she stumbles towards me; it’s already working better than expected.

“Wow! Is that—” She breaks off as I close my hand around the pendant and nod at the footstool, her cheeks pinkening.

“Yes, it’s real. Now sit, or it will never be yours.”

“Fine,” she huffs, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulders as she sits with an unladylike plop.

Even though she’s small and petite, the low footstool creaks under her and I shake my head. She really does need to be taught some delicacy in all matters—not only in conducting her life but in respecting herself and the things around her.

Fortunately, that’s where the precious heirloom and I come in. If what my father told me is to be believed, it doesn’t take a lot of experience or effort to wield the thing—the gem only needs to be dangled for a bit in front of the victim’s . . . er, patient’s eyes, and then the wielder just speaks whatever commands need to be followed.

My heartbeat skitters into my throat as I stare at my daughter and wonder what sort of madness I’m giving into. Either I’m going to look like a great big fool chanting at her with a pretty necklace or I’m going to be manipulating her into being . . . well, something that she’s not.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

My daughter’s concerned voice jolts me from my reverie and I force a flimsy smile. “Do you think this is pretty?”

That seems like a safe question to ask first, I figure, as I lift the pendant up by the chain and hold it out to her, not close enough that she can take it easily, but about a foot in front of her face. She doesn’t answer for a moment, her eyes widening again as she takes it in, and then she whispers, nearly reverently, “God, yes….”

Hmm. So, there’s definitely something about it that is making her act differently. Perhaps I won’t be made a fool after all. I let it swing back and forth, watching her eyes follow it, the gleam of the jewel reflecting in the blackness of her pupils.

“Wow,” she murmurs.

“Keep watching,” I instruct, a giddy warmth spreading through me as little pinpricks of light begin to swirl in her eyes; her pupils grow into large, luminous pools and her gaze goes glassy.

My voice is almost shaky as I ask, “Where were you tonight?”

“With Jordan,” she answers immediately. “We were watching scary movies in his bedroom.”

Her tone is strangely calm and clear—and the answer annoys and overjoys me all at once. Usually when I ask her questions she tries to beat around the bush, “Oh daddy, I was just held up at the library” or “My car had trouble starting and it took me a bit to get it going”, without actually giving me a straight answer. I’ve never heard about this Jordan fellow, and even though a part of me really doesn’t want to know about him, a part of me really does.

I try to keep my voice equally calm and clear. “Who is Jordan?”

“My friend,” she murmurs, her face flickering with something before I make the gemstone sway a little faster, and then her expression glazes over while the diamond continues to make brilliant reflections in her dark eyes. “I want him to be my boyfriend, but I don’t think he wants that.”

I relax a little in my seat. This Jordan is clearly an idiot because my daughter is absolutely stunning (although I might be a little biased); she mostly takes after her mother, with smooth, clear skin, a naturally slender body and delicate features. Unfortunately, Aiko left us several years ago to care for ill parents in her home country of Japan, and my wife has since stopped communicating with either of us. I suspect she’s found a boyfriend . . . and unlike Jordan with Kirsten, one that clearly wants her all to himself.

Sometimes I still burn with rage with the injustice of it all, but mostly I’m happy that I at least still have Kirsten—even if she is a bratty teenager.

“Why don’t you think Jordan wants to be your boyfriend?” I ask calmly.

“Because he only wants to fool around,” she whispers, and my heart about stops in my chest, “with me and every other girl he can get into his bed….”

My vision goes red as I hiss, “So you’re not a virgin?”

“No, I am….”

I relax a fraction but note the conflicted expression on her face, as though she’s not telling me all of it and is trying to fight off the pull of the gem.

“But there has been some fooling around?” I press her. “Keep watching the pretty gem, my dear,” I whisper when she doesn’t answer, her face reddening and her eyes blinking as though she’s trying to break free of my commands. “Keep watching and relax. Shh, relax.”

She makes a strange whining noise until I begin to twirl the gem faster and faster, and then she goes silent, her body sagging slightly forward as she whispers, “Yes, master.”

Master? Is she teasing me or is this some effect of the gem? I swallow an uncomfortable knot in my throat, realizing that I quite liked the sound of it coming from her pretty mouth, but then I shake myself of the notion. I must press on! I must figure out what this Jordan fellow has done to my little girl! I must wrench out each of her sins so that I can absolve her of them—or at least keep her from doing them again!

“Have you fooled around with Jordan or anyone else?”

“Yes,” she says blankly.

I grit my teeth. “Tell me. Everything.”

“Billy Smith taught me how to give him a handjob on my eighteenth birthday.” She ignores my gasp (that little fucking prick, I thought he was a good Christian lad!) and continues softly, “That’s why he bought me that expensive watch, because I told him I was curious and would try.” I nearly want to stop her now (she’s admitting to being some sort of whore? Christ!) but I bite my lower lip and continue twirling the gem, knowing that if I stop she might snap out of her trance and not be honest with me. “It wasn’t hard, the doing it I mean . . . his dick was very hard . . . and wet….”

I groan, closing my eyes for a moment as my daughter’s filthy words fill my ears.

“I was surprised at how wet it was. I didn’t think boys got wet! But he just kept dribbling all over my hand as he helped me slide his skin up and down. He told me he wasn’t circumcised and that’s why it was like that. I thought it was neat….”

Neat? I would neatly like to chop off Billy’s prick the next time I see him.

“You made this little cretin cum?”

“Yes,” she says breathily, as though remembering it excites her. I groan again as she says, “It got everywhere. All over the carpet, my bed—” I groan so loudly that she pauses and blinks, so I whisper, “Continue….” and move the twirling gem a little closer to her face. “I didn’t realize boys spurt so much—and the sounds he made! Like I was killing him. But in a good way.”

“Mmhmm.” I would like to kill him, too, but not in a good way. “Did you do anything else with this shithead—I mean, Billy?”

“No, I didn’t want to be Billy’s girlfriend. I just wanted to experiment with him before I went after Jordan….”

I groan again. So, my daughter’s a little slut who whores herself out for watches! I almost feel sorry for Billy, but not quite. I still hope he gets in a horrific car accident or something.

“Unless there is someone besides Billy and Jordan, tell me about Jordan,” I mutter.

“There’s only Jordan,” she says dreamily, and I’m tempted to smack that glowing look off her face.

“His dick is much bigger than Billy’s….”

I choke and splutter, “What?”

“That’s why I haven’t had sex with him yet. I know it hurts for girls, the first time, and I know his will hurt really bad.”

Good gracious, fuck this asshole for getting anywhere near my little girl with his monster, but also thank God she’s scared of it. Well, somewhat scared of it, I grumble to myself internally as she continues breathily.

“It’s fun to touch and suck on though….”

“Suck on?” I bite out.

“Jordan taught me how to give him a blowjob. He says they feel amazing and that when a girl really likes you, she swallows.”

Well, that seals it. I’m going to prison for murder. There’s no way I can let manipulative shits like Jordan continue to exist—unless I can convince my daughter never to speak to him again. I twirl the gem faster and faster, hardly realizing how quickly it’s spinning and swaying as I drown in a hot pool of red anger.

“You will never see Jordan again. I forbid you to contact him from this point forward.”

My breath catches as she says, “As you wish, master.”

Is it really that simple? I stare at the spinning gem in shock. Does this thing really work so easily? And there was that word again—master—said so reverently and obediently that my head went swimmy. I shift awkwardly in my seat. There’s a tension between my legs, and I realize that I’m half hard. It’s likely only the giddy rush of power affecting me, I reassure myself. It doesn’t mean anything.

“So you….” I start, swallowing hard because I know I really shouldn’t continue to ask her these questions, but something inside me must know. “You pleasured Jordan, the boy you do not love and will never see again, with your mouth?”

“Yes. He taught me how to combine a handjob with a blowjob. He made me use one hand to stroke him, the other to play with his balls, and then he told me to use my mouth to kiss and suck on his cockhead. That’s what he kept calling it. His cock.”

“So you sucked on it.” It doesn’t come out as a question, just a deadpan fact, and I nearly stop twirling the gem so that I can release her from the trance, but then she whispers, “It made me really wet, daddy. Sucking on him and hearing him instruct me—like he was some kind of demanding teacher or something.”

Good Lord, does my daughter have a submission fetish? My cock thumps against the front of my trousers at the thought and I grit my teeth. This is really wrong. I shouldn’t be listening to her talk like this. I shouldn’t be this aroused by it. I shouldn’t be imagining her little mouth pleasuring a man until that man fills her throat with hot cum, while her tender pussy soaks her panties.

“He tasted so good, daddy,” she says dreamily. “It felt like a frog leaping in my mouth—and then everything was very warm and wet. I choked on it at first but then he told me to relax so that I could swallow it all down.”

“Enough,” I whisper, shaking with both anger and a strange excitement. “You will be punished for these transgressions. You are grounded for two weeks—one week for each boy! You will clean the entire house and cook all my meals. You will be in service to me and me alone!”

“Yes, master,” she says dutifully, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and caressing her sweet, obedient face, because if I do then I don’t know what will happen next—and I can’t chance it, can’t chance that I’ll do something heinous, can’t chance that I’ll do something I really regret.

“Dismissed.” I stop twirling the gem, palming it quickly, and lean back in my chair.

It takes a minute for her cloudy eyes to regain focus. She wipes at her face like a child waking up from a long nap, and then she peers at me questioningly. “Uh, am I in trouble?”

Does she not remember everything that just happened? Well, that’s somewhat of a relief. Other than I don’t know if my commands will still be listened to. I decide to say nothing as a test to see what will happen without any further instruction, and merely give her a deeply disappointed look.

“Sorry daddy,” she mumbles, standing slowly. “Are you hungry? I could start dinner.”

I smile. Perhaps it is working behind the scenes of her mind, and she doesn’t even know the control I have over her.

“Yes, dear,” I say warmly.

The warmth dies as she turns from me and I realize that she’s wearing a hideously short skirt. It’s some pink denim thing I’ve never seen before (or I would have burned it) and I realize she must have hidden it from me and worn it to impress that utter wretch, Jordan. I follow Kirsten into the kitchen, watching her barely covered ass sway with each step and growing angrier and angrier. The little slut is wearing a jacket, but I bet under it she has on something that will infuriate me even more.

My cock throbs like the angry beat of my heart, but I say nothing, just watching as she begins to methodically pull ingredients from the fridge and cabinets (God, you can even see the delicate curves of her lower buttcheeks when she bends over!) and growing more furious and aroused every second.

“A hot stove and a jacket don’t mix,” I say as casually as I can muster.

“Oh.” She stops preparing the raw chicken breasts and peels off her white coat, throwing it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

I nearly groan as I take in the short crop-top she’s wearing, complete with a weirdly threaded opening that displays her cleavage.

“Did you think this was an appropriate outfit to go visiting friends in?”

“No, daddy….”

“Take it off,” I demand, letting the fury and heady power control me.

“What?” She turns to me, her eyes wide, so I take out the gemstone again, twirling it.

“Okay,” she mouths, staring at the diamond.

“Right here.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Her tone is calm and her pupils are large and blank. I can’t believe the gemstone is working so well.

“Wash your hands, Kirsten.”

“Yes, master.”

I worry for an instant that it might break the spell when she turns away to wash her hands, but she walks woodenly over to the sink and completes the task with mechanical efficiency. My heart soars at the success, and then I latch onto just how nice it was to hear her call me master again. It makes my cock twitch to imagine making her call me it again, and to carry out my original demand of making her strip down in front of me, as punishment for wearing such an obscene thing outdoors.

“Kirsten, dry your hands and come stand before me.”

My heart starts to thunder inside my chest. Am I really going to make her remove her clothing in front of me? I’ve never seen her without clothes before. Her mother always tended to her growing up, and I’ve been a diligent and respectful father in keeping firm boundaries with her. I kept hugs to a bare minimum and kisses were never on the table. Displays of affection were mostly given verbally or shown through gifts. I’ve been a good role model and head of household—but now I must use my authority to see what she’s been showing off to Billy and Jordan. It’s a father’s duty. A father’s right.

I twirl the gem faster and faster in front of her waiting face. I’ve hardly noticed she’s come back to stand awkwardly in front of me, her expression showing traces of confusion until her eyes latch onto the diamond. When her pupils blow wide, I whisper, “Take off your slutty skirt and top.”

“Yes, master,” she answers, her hands immediately pulling up the crop-top and exposing her tiny black brassiere.

I groan as her perky tits jiggle with the movement. She’s so lithe and petite and perfect. Her young, nubile body looks just like Aiko’s did when I met her during a college trip abroad. I’ve always had a thing for slim, coltish girls with long legs and slender bodies. Eternally youthful looking—like a teenager that never grows up.

“Beautiful.” I sigh to myself as she pulls down her skirt and reveals an equally tiny piece of fabric hiding her maidenhood.

I know I should be set off by the fact that she wore all of this for Jordan, but I’m nearly as entranced as my daughter as my eyes skim over the black strip of fabric covering her pussy. I shouldn’t want to see it, but I really, really do.

“Did you shave your pussy for Jordan?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Did you let him play with it?”

“He didn’t seem to want to….”

What a selfish shit, I think to myself, even though I’m very happy that she hasn’t been touched by anyone.

“So, he didn’t make you cum?”

“No, daddy.”

“Do you want to cum?”

What am I doing? I nearly stop twirling the gem, but realize I can’t very well break the trance now with her standing in front of me like she is.

“Yes, please,” she whispers.

The sound of her soft, breathy voice sends a jolt straight into my groin. Pre-cum dribbles from my cockhead, staining a dark spot on my trousers. It’s hard to think straight with a beautiful, half-naked girl practically begging me to let her have an orgasm, so I do what any good person would do and whisper, “Play with yourself….”

She slips her hand into her panties and begins to rub at her clit. Her thighs glisten with wetness, and I can hear the slick sound of skin on soaked skin. A waft of the scent of her arousal hits me like a train, and I sway where I stand, fighting the urge to touch her myself, fighting the urge to taste her, to take her.

Her moans fill the kitchen as she stares at the gem and continues to pleasure herself. I wonder how often she’s done this before, and my cock nearly hurts as I think about how our bedrooms are only separated by a wall, but she might have been just on the other side, fingering herself senseless.

Good girls aren’t supposed to touch themselves. Good girls are supposed to go to sleep after saying their prayers. It’s anger that makes me undo my trousers with one hand, remembering that only an hour ago my daughter was probably gagging on Jordan’s huge cock—and this time, as an appropriate punishment, I think she should gag on mine.

“On your knees, Kirsten. Keep playing with yourself.”

I groan as she drops down before me, her eyes still fixated on the gem. Everything that should be screaming at me that this is wrong is deadly silent. The little slut deserves some eye-for-an-eye punishment. If she’s going to go around town pleasuring every Tom, Dick, and Harry, she clearly needs to learn the error of her ways. She should be tending to the man of her own household. She should be tending to my pleasure and my needs.

“With only your mouth, show me what you did to Jordan.”

My cock dribbles a stream of pre-cum as my daughter opens her obedient mouth and uses her free hand to drag down my unzipped trousers. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe that I’m going to go through with this. I almost take a step back when she pushes her slender hand into the hole of my boxer shorts, but freeze as a burst of pleasure goes through me when she grips my erection, pulling it out.

“Oh fuck,” I groan as she kisses the wet head of my cock, painting her pink lips with the glossy fluids.

She looks so innocent and sweet and slutty all at once—with her eyes attached to the spinning gemstone and her mouth opening to take me in. I shiver as her hot, wet tongue swirls around my cockhead, and then she begins to suck me down-down-down, until I’m nearly lodged all the way into her throat.

Maybe I should be offended that she can so easily engulf me, but it feels so amazing to be fucking my little girl’s mouth that I can’t find it within myself to care.

“Keep watching the stone, Kirsten,” I whisper, gripping the back of her head as I hold her still, and making sure that the gemstone is still swaying and twirling.

I can’t have her coming around while this is happening between us. If she can still keep her focus on the gemstone while I thrust into her eager mouth, there likely won’t be any awkward moments or issues. I slide myself back and forth against her tongue, groaning as she suckles softly. God, it feels so fucking good that it’s hard not to smash her face into me so that I can bury myself completely inside her. I will at the very last second, I decide, just so that I can pop off down her throat.

“Cum with me, dearest,” I murmur, the pleasure expanding as she moans around my cock and I hear the slick sounds of her fingering her wet cunt.

I close my eyes and let myself imagine holding her down and fucking her tight virgin hole. It must be gripping around her fingers by the way she’s moaning—and my thrusts grow uneven as I think about how it’d grip around me like a wet vice while I pounded into her, her little whimpering cries driving me on until I bathed her cervix in my seed.

“Almost there….” I push all the way in, my cockhead expanding in the back of her throat, and shudder as she chokes and moans. “Cum with me!”

Her throat spasms around my cock, making my mind blank as ecstasy rips through me. Through the haze of agonizing bliss, I hear her moaning and can feel her thrashing against my tight hold. Spurt after spurt of my hot cum floods her throat, and I don’t even care if she snaps out of the trance in the moment, just pumping my load into her sinful mouth and hoping that she tastes every last drop of it.

What a good little slut, a voice inside me whispers as the golden aftershocks make me shiver, orgasming just as she milks her daddy dry….

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