The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“This is never going to work on me,” I say, feeling confident despite the bind I find myself in. Because even though I’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, I was prepared for this. There is no way this mind controller is going to get the drop on me. I’ve spent months now, programming my head full of resistance, such powerful resistance that even someone as famous, and as feared as Silveya can’t wear it down. And I don’t care if she knows it either.

She’s walking slowly around my chair, observing me silently. Her piercing gaze makes me a bit uneasy—but I remind myself that I’m safe, protected against any of her tricks.

“You may as well just give up and let me go now,” I say. “You’re never going to get through my programming.”

“We’ll see about that,” Silveya says, coming to a still, standing position as she surveys me one more time. “Though I do love a challenge. A lot of the precautions people have taken against me have been laughable at best—maybe you’ll be the first one to impress me.”

I swallow. Even if she is powerless against my preparation, she is still a sinister figure. A veteran mind controller who one day decides to start abducting and brainwashing young woman off the night-time streets of the city—who is so confident in her abilities, she will target anyone at any time; any time, anywhere. So confident in fact, that she doesn’t bother with a mask, that all the authorities know exactly where she lives, and yet, even though she has almost no security, she is never apprehended. The news broadcasters talk about her several times in a week, always with an edge of fear—no one ever knows when she is about to strike next, who she is about to strike, and no one ever seems to escape her.

But Silveya has finally found her match in me—For months, I’ve been practicing self-hypnosis and doing all the research I can about it. I’ve implanted every possible counter-induction, and every possible loophole to get out of any hypnotic loop. My mind is an unbreakable steel trap—I’ve tested it, and it’s proved foolproof time and again. It’s going to be satisfying to see her fail—and to be the first one to come back from her clutches. I can be the one to finally end her reign of terror—once I’ve proved my method works, I can teach others, and more and more people will be protected from her.

“Come on, Laura,” Silveya goads—and I realize she must have checked my wallet for my name while I was unconscious. “Impress me.”

“I think it will work best if you try to induce me,” I say, relaxed and at ease, even though the ropes are biting in to my naked skin, and the metal of the chair is cold against my butt.

Silveya nods. “Listen to my voice, Laura.” Her voice has taken on a richer, fuller tone. She’s intoning her words now, adding an edge to them that was missing before. “Such a pretty voice to listen to, isn’t it, Laura?”

“Sure,” I say, brightly, happy to play along.

“It almost doesn’t matter what I’m saying, does it? You can just focus on the way my voice flows out smoothly, completing ignoring the words I am saying to you and allowing them seep straight into your subconscious. They don’t need to pass through your conscious mind at all. Your conscious mind is completely shut off now, and you feel so deliciously blank just listen to my voice drone on and on—it’s like your conscious brain has been removed, and all that’s left is the most primal, animalistic part of your brain stem, that lizard brain which only understands two things—death and sex. Let that part completely take you over. Picture it branching out from deep within your mind, erasing all human, modern, contemporary thoughts and identities. Language doesn’t exist. There is only survival… and pleasure…”

She is almost swaying in her black leather catsuit as she speaks, trying to underline the melodious rolling tones of her inductions with subtle twisting movements, as she shifts from foot to foot. The fluorescent lights in the warehouse catch the black leather, shining off the rounding flesh of her breasts.

Doubtless, she has calculated the ideal angle.

I can’t help but feel slightly relieved. The programming has worked. I am still consciously registering every word she says to me, and I don’t feel any more tired, or obedient. I am the same Laura, relieved that I am immune to her powers, and her silver tongue.

I keep smiling at her brightly, which seems to unnerve her, and then I decide to start repeating her words back to her to prove that I’m completely aware and completely conscious.

“—just a thing, just a fucktoy, and the more you listen and speak, the truer it becomes, because I am your Mistress, and I always will be…” I’ve gotten so good at repeating that I’m practically saying the words with her. We are practically speaking in unison now.

She sighs, and stops talking for a minute. “Well, that was some of my prime material. I’ve known it to drop a person in less than 5 seconds. Most are lost by the “You can just focus on the way my voice flows out…”… sometimes I even get a drop before the end of the first sentence. You have done something different.”

There is a spark of something in her eyes that might be admiration—not that I did this for her admiration. I’m starting to wonder how long she’ll hold me here before she gives up—the only flaw in my plan. The chair is really uncomfortable—why didn’t I think of that?

“Yep, I have a secret recipe. 100% effective, completely hypnosis and brainwashing resistant. I told you. It’s a steel trap.” I pull against my ropes slightly. My shoulder blades are digging into each other, thrusting my chest out, and it’s an unpleasant feeling. The rope isn’t only around my arms and legs, but against my breasts and stomach too. It’s coarse rope, and it’s really scratching my nipples as I’m sitting here.

“Do tell,” Silveya asks, stepping closer to me.

“I can’t be induced by another person,” I said, with a smile, inspite of my discomfort. “Foolproof, right? I only respond to self-hypnosis, and I don’t have any trigger phrases.”

Silveya crosses her arms below her chest, causing her breasts to expand out into the leather of her suit. “Do you use mantras at all?”

“Sure,” I reply, managing to stay cheerful. The sit bones in my buttocks are really aching now, and the rope is chafing my skin at every point of contact.

“I’m my own Mistress,” I say. “That’s one, oh, and ‘nobody tells me what to do, I decide, and I never get sleepy or drowsy for anyone but myself.” I smile again. “Those are only a few of them. Did you want to hear any more from me?”

“No, that’s alright,” Silveya says, bringing her hand to her face. She strokes inward with her thumb and forefinger along her lip, deep in thought.

“So you’ve programmed yourself full of anti-brainwashing commands,” she says. “Interesting. I must say, that is a first… and setting up a command that only enables you to go into trance for yourself is clever. You must really have been afraid of me, and my overwhelming hypnotic powers.”

I shrug as well as I can beneath the restraints. “You aren’t going to get me. I’m the one you’re never going to successfully break.”

“Hmm,” Silveya said. “You do seem to have ingrained resistance deep into your mind. Tell me, why did you go to such lengths? It must have taken many hours.”

“I don’t want to lose myself,” I reply, matter of factly. “I don’t want to be like all your other zombie harem girls. No thanks, it’s free will for me all the way.”

Silveya lets her arms come down to her sides, and begins swinging them again, letting her arms sway as she does. “And what’s so bad about being a zombie harem girl?”

I roll my eyes. “Your identity is erased. You’re reduced to nothing more than a sex puppet servicing your Mistress’s whims. Who would want that kind of life?”

Silveya shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. The kind of people who enjoy spending their life giving and receiving pleasure, and never having to worry about participating in the struggles and stress of the modern world. Having all your needs met and catered to, and accepting intense pleasure beyond your wildest imaginings—that’s some people’s idea of a dream.”

“Well, it’s not mine,” I say, an edge coming into my voice. My skin is burning from the rope, and my buttocks are going numb from the pain. I try to shift on the metal chair, and all it does is inadvertently split my pussy lips, pinning them open against the cold metal, so I can feel it kissing into my clit.

“A lot of the girls I’ve taken, they were actually out wandering the streets at night hoping I would kidnap them,” she adds, her voice conspiratorial. “I really can’t blame them… I have only the finest luxuries up at my manor. Fine silk beds with lush feather stuffed mattresses and pillows—when you lie down on one, it’s like being enveloped by a cloud. Only the softest lingerie—it feels like heaven on your skin. And room after room of spas, and hot tubs. I’ve even programmed some of my slaves to give massages. And of course, those expensive creams I have shipped in, that just make the skin sing. All pleasure and enjoyment, all the time. Just living your life with a pink cloud of pleasure in your mind at all times—it’s like living a dream. You never have to wake up.”

The descriptions are starting to bug me. The idea of soothing cream for my chafing skin sounds heavenly right now, and the idea of a masseuse’s hands on all of my sore spots makes my mouth almost water. The ropes are holding all of my limbs at unnatural angles, straining them, and the idea of relief is powerful, and alluring. Not to mention being able to lie on a soft bed when my backside has gone numb now, and the idea of being clean, when I can feel my pussy juicing and getting sticky against the metal of the chair.

“Does that sound so bad?” She coaxes, and for the first time, I am not ready with a quick retort. It doesn’t sound so bad. But that still doesn’t mean I want to give up my freewill.

I decide to sidestep her question. “Alright, the material delights and living in luxury I can understand. But not everyone wants to have constant nonstop sex! There’s a certain point where a person needs to recover. You can’t keep people going forever.”

Silveya shakes her head. “You misunderstand,” she says. “Sex isn’t always an act—it can be a state of mind. You can achieve such perfect mental pleasure that you can orgasm just from a thought—or a lack of a thought. That pink cloud I talked about is always there. It never has to be manifested physically. It can all happen internally—and of course whenever you’re inspired to express that internal pleasure into the external world, you have many sex partners just waiting there to eagerly participate at any given time, whenever the fancy strikes you.”

I sigh. It does sound appealing—I didn’t think she’d speak honestly about these things. I thought she would just take shot after shot at my mind, and then give up. I shouldn’t have underestimated her.

“I still don’t want it,” I say, weakly. The discomfort in my body is becoming unbearable.

“You’ve ingrained that resistance so deeply you can’t even allow yourself to want it, can you?” She asks, a touch of sympathy in her voice. “Do you see that all that resistance is just to cover fear? You’re afraid of that part of yourself that wants these delicious, toe-curling things. You’re afraid to want them, and even more afraid to have them. But all your resistance is really doing is keeping you in a box—it’s just like the ropes tying you to that chair. You could be free any time you like, but you’re choosing to stay in this place of pain and discomfort because it’s more important for you to be right than for you to be at peace. You’re the one who’s tied yourself to this chair—this is what you are doing to your own mind. You could so easily be free to explore and enjoy plumbing the depths of pleasure and submission, but instead you’re choosing to suffer.”

“Yes,” I agree. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, because I’d rather suffer and be free than have comfort and be erased!”

“But are you free?” Silveya purrs. “Is it freedom, to be tied to a chair and suffering intense pain? Is it slavery to live in complete comfort and decadence, doing whatever you want whenever you want to? Think of yourself and one of the girls back at my home. One is sitting tied to a metal chair with coarse rope. One is free to move about, and come and go as she pleases. Tell me, which one is free and which one is a slave?”

It’s compelling logic—there is something so simple and neat about it, even though I’m aware of all the information she’s leaving out to make it seem this way. Like the constant demands for servicing she must make of them—I can almost picture it.

I’m ashamed to feel my pussy lips tingle against the metal at the thought.

“My answer is still no,” I huff, trying very hard to ignore the pain that has become unignorable.

“Yes, I thought,” Silveya said. “I’m sure you’ve even programmed yourself so it is impossible for you to say yes to me—you took every precaution, I believe. So even when I tempted you with images of another life, even if I convinced you to want it… you still couldn’t say yes even if you wanted to. Do you see? Do you see how tightly you’ve tied yourself into knots, trying to make a point and be right? Was it worth it? Is the pain you’re in right now worth proving yourself right?”

“No,” I admit. “But maybe you’ll get tired of me eventually and let me go,” I try weakly.

“Let you go!” She exclaims, with a laugh. “Not for all of the world, especially not now. The fact that you have gone so far out of your way to repress your submissive side, even to the point of extreme pain, means you need my help more than ever. It means you need to submit so much more, and so much more deeply than another girl who drops easily for me. What kind of person would I be, if I abandoned someone in need?”

I scoff at her. “I don’t need to submit.”

“Yes, you do,” Silveya says, kneeling in front of me now. “You’re the type to try and control everything, aren’t you? And aren’t you the type who always needs to be right about everything, who needs to be in control. And yet, you’re still a virgin, and you’ve never had a partner because no one is ever good enough. And the only kinds of orgasms you’ve had are cheap, easy, fast and dirty. They never satisfy your deepest cravings and stirrings.”

I stare at her. “How did—”

“You’re a type, dear,” Silveya says, giving me a stroke on the cheek. “I’ve seen a lot of girls like you… but never one who’s gone to such lengths in order to resist. It’s sad, really. You’ve tied yourself up so tightly you can’t submit now, even if you wanted to. Even if every part of you is screaming for freedom.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I can’t say yes now. I have too many safeguards in place.” It comes out like a lament.

“But you know I can help you,” Silveya says, moving her hand to my knee. “All you have to do is give me the key.”

“The key?” I repeat, distantly.

“Put yourself under for me, and then give yourself a command to obey me, and not yourself. And then I can start the long healing process, and the beautiful journey to perfect surrender and submission. And just like that, these ropes can be gone, the pain can be over, and you can be at home with me getting a message on a silk-covered, feather-stuffed bed.”

“I-I can’t,” I say. All my own safeguards are popping into my head—that I can only ever trust myself, only ever listen to myself.

“You can,” Silveya says. “I believe in you. Just drop yourself to reinforce your anti-brainwashing programming, and we’ll go from there.”

With a sigh, I drop myself. I’ve gotten so good at it, it only takes thinking, ‘time to drop, Laura,’ and I go.

As soon as I’m down my mantras start running—you always resist it when hypnosis because you love yourself and you don’t need anyone else to tell you what to do you can’t trust anyone but yourself, you can only ever listen to your own hypnotic programming.

Silveya’s lips are against my ear, speaking softly. “Just a suggestion, dear. Not a hypnotic one, just some friendly feedback. You love yourself so much, you want to set yourself free from fear and control.”

The mantras are still pouring out of my lips, but what Silveya has just said slips in through the cracks. It’s not sinister—it fits in with programming I already have about respecting myself, and trusting myself, and only wanting the best for myself. I let it in.

I love myself so much that I want to set myself free from fear and control, which fits nicely with I will never give control of myself to another and I am always in control, I am never controlled.

“Another one for you,” Silveya says. “Loving myself means saying yes to things that are good for me.”

Again, it fits my other mantras beautifully. I incorporate it. Loving myself means saying yes to things that are good for me, I say, which fits with, I only deserve the best, and I deserve to have privacy in my own mind.

“One last one should do it, I think,” Silveya says, her voice silken. “Giving Silveya the power to hypnotize me is a loving act. It is an act of self love. When I give Silveya the power to program me, I am setting myself free from fear and control.”

And to my surprise it fits. It’s already sinking in, and coming out of my mouth, even as other parts of me are realizing the trap, and trying to go into emergency lockdown. It’s already too late, I can feel that—and part of me is delighted to be surprised with this kind of trap. It just feels like a weight is being lifted from my shoulders.

Giving Silveya the power to hypnotize me is a loving act, it is an act of self love. When I give Silveya the power to program me, I am setting myself free from fear and control.

I exhale, as if a weight is being lifted off of me.

“There we are,” Silveya purred. “One last little push, that’s all it will take. Silveya has the power to hypnotize and program me. I am completely helpless against Silveya’s programming. I want her to hypnotize and program me.”

I repeat it, and feel it become true. The ropes fall away and I am free.

And yet I still feel the hesitation of resistance—still feel just how much this command clashes with all of my other commands. It feels weaker than the rest of them, a new track that doesn’t flow easily—there’s no worn in groove for it to run on.

The idea fills me with sadness.

But Silveya is helping me to my feet, and giving me a kiss on the forehead. “There, there, Laura. It’s alright. We have much work to do.”

I let her put her arm around me, wrapping me in a coat she’s produced some how, and I lean into her as she leads me out of the warehouse to her car.

She drives me far away, deep into the night.