The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Okay, let’s talk about the kids. I’ll start with Bill because boys come first. Ha, I made a fantastic joke, you’re all allowed to laugh now. No? Tough crowd, no doubt about it. Well, whatever... you’re just here for the ride, anyway.

Do you remember what I told you about him? How he wasn’t loser material but almost getting there? Yeah, let me elaborate on that. Bill liked to call himself a “free spirit” but in fact he was nothing but a loner. He had no real friends, no real social life, no real ambitions. Hell, there were days when he felt like he had no real body either and was just an ethereal being doomed to wander this Earth.

Yeah, that was melodramatic, I admit, but I had to make a point and if you’re thinking about depression and whatnot, don’t. He was just confused about many things. The overbearing attitude of his mother didn’t help at all. I saved him my way, and this is how I did it.

After observing him for a couple of days, I caught him as he was heading to college, to spend a few more hours pretending he was happy with his third choice of career. He was a walker, so I walked alongside him, trading the high heels for flats, the usual dress for a pair of black, form-fitting jeans. At first, he looked at me as if he had seen a ghost. Then, he decided ghosts didn’t have dangerous curves such as mine and focused on those instead. His first words were a mix of curiosity and pick-up line, but I don’t do late teenagers. I have no trouble mindfucking them though.

“You’re our new neighbor. I’ve seen you around,” he mumbled.

“I’ve seen you too, Bill. The question is: do you like what you see?”

“How do you know my name and is that a trick question?” He scratched his head.

“No, the trick is in the answer you give me.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you say yes, we can continue talking.” I hurried along the sidewalk.

“And if I say no?” He picked up the stride to catch up.

“We can continue talking, too.”

“I fail to see the trick then. Either way, we will continue talking,” he noted, mouth opening in a pleasant smile.

“Yes, we are,” I agreed, the trap already set. “Because talking to one another is a pleasant experience. You like talking to me.”

Bill nodded and before he could say anything, I sped up once again, giving him a clear view of my ass. “Do you like what you see or not?”

“You have no idea, lady,” he thought, but it’s more than obvious than I did.

Mind reading is not something I do a lot because not only it’s cumbersome but also annoying. Thoughts are messy things, never knowing where to begin and where to end. In their purest form, they’re tangled streams of raw information, images, ideas, and unbridled fantasies. I can work with them only when they’re focused, when they’re not multiple voices talking over one another, but just one. All thoughts should only have one voice, and that voice should be mine.

“Are you coming or are you too busy staring at my ass, Bill?”

“You still haven’t told me how you know my name.”

“You told me yourself, little one,” I teased.

“When did I do that?”

“When you responded to Bill.”

“Oh... so it was a lucky guess?” He asked, his brain trying to wrap up the notion that, of all the names in the world, I had been able to figure out his out of sheer coincidence. He didn’t believe it, yet felt somewhat dismayed. Everybody wants to feel special and poor “third-choice-boy” needed that more than the rest.

“No, I’m just messing with you. I saw you with your father a few days ago. I heard him call you that. It’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks. I like it better than William.”

“What’s wrong with William?”

“I don’t know. It seems too formal.”

“There’s a prince named William. Don’t you want to be a prince, too?”

“Oh, I could never be one!” He blushed.

“Why not?”

“Because princes have everything figured out from the start. I, sometimes, have trouble figuring out how to get out of bed in the morning. I’m not even sure what I’m doing right now.”

“You’re walking to college talking to your neighbor who is a hottie,” I said. He agreed again, his mood lightening up.

“Yes, you are.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Your name is Vivian, right?”

“It’s been that way for a while now,” I said. Perhaps one day, I’ll tell you all the other names I’ve used over the years.

“My mother doesn’t like you. In fact, we shouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

“Why? Does your mother make all your decisions for you?”

“No.”

“Do you want her to?” I kept pressing the open wound.

“No.”

“If you don’t want what your mother wants, then you should only want what you want and you want to continue talking to me.”

Bill stopped under the shade of a tree, eyed me from top to bottom. A hint of animal desire became visible in his red cheeks, in his droopy, lustful eyes, in the tiny thing he had between his legs that would never be enough to satisfy a real woman. He was already into me, drawn without realizing it. Things could only escalate from here.

“Yes, I want that.”

“It seems I know what you want better than you do. Would you like me to tell you other things you want but are too afraid to tell yourself?”

“You can do that?”

“I can do whatever you want me to do if you want me to do it,” and even if you don’t want me to, I forgot to say. “Let me tell you what you want.”

“Okay. Tell me what I want, please,” he sighed.

“You want someone to show you something different, you want a brand new pair of eyes. You want to see the world beyond the shades of grey you’ve grown accustomed to. You want to believe magic is real and it can touch your soul.”

“That’s... deep,” he blabbered. Of all the things he expected to hear, my little confession was not one of them.

“Not as deep as your current state of mind, listening to my voice, staring at my body. Magic is real and I can show it to you but I will have to ask you something in return.”

“What?” he laughed, somberly. “You want my soul or something?”

“A single memory will suffice. Let me touch it and something good will happen.”

“Like what?”

“Trust me.”

“But we’ve only just met.”

“And yet you already trust me. You like talking to me because you trust me. You trust me because you like talking to me, and the combination of the two is a powerful thing. Just one memory for a promise of bliss. Let me touch it.”

“How do I do that?” He asked, bewildered.

“Just think about it, let it come to the surface. When I touch it, you’ll feel your world changing. Think about it for me now, Bill. Think about your mother.”

“My... what?”

“Think about your mother, Bill.” My eyes burrowed onto his. “You don’t want her to control your actions, you want to be your own person. You can only do that if you are willing to relinquish the memory you have of her now, and you know you are. You know it as much as you know you enjoy talking to me, listening to my words, staring at my body. Your neighbor is a hottie, hotties make you hard. You’re hard right now in mind and body, getting harder with each breath, hard to look away, hard to stop listening, hard to prevent the memories from blooming. Think about your mother. Let your memory of her become a bubble floating away from the deepest part of your brain. Picture the bubble now. Let me see it.”

He did, thoughts becoming real. The bubble was there, so simple and perfect. It was translucent, reflecting images of Theresa from the various periods of his life. Such a beautiful bubble, blown out of his imagination. I could touch it, prod it with my fingers, hold it steady as if it were a ball. Best of all, I could make it...

pop

He blinked and looked at me, his eyes reflecting the delicious essence of a newborn. Now, when I put “delicious” and “newborn” in the same sentence, don’t get me wrong. That whole thing of witches wanting to eat babies and shit like that is bad fairytale stuff. I don’t like newborns with french fries. I love how they’re blank slates though, ready to be inscribed with whatever we deem fit, and Bill fitted the bill. Oh my, yet another joke! You better all be laughing this time.

“How are you?”

“What just happened?” He asked.

“You felt indisposed but I’m here for you. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know.”

“You were talking about your mother. Do you remember that?”

“No, I... that’s impossible, I couldn’t have been talking about that.”

“Oh? Why is it impossible, Bill?”

“Because I don’t have a mother.”

Perfect, absolutely perfect. I reeled him in, rubbed his left shoulder. He would believe in everything I wanted him to, now.

“You’re offending me, silly. Of course, you do. I’m your mother.”

“Huh?” he pushed back. It was hard for his feeble mind to comprehend how someone who only appeared to be slightly older than him could say something like that yet the shock was necessary.

I grabbed his hand and said: “Come with me.”

I led him to a park across the street where we sat in a red wooden bench watching pretty girls go by. The warmth of my fingertips interlocked into his provided a sense of security essential for the rewiring to take place. He flinched once, tried to do it a second time. The third attempt fell through of the cracks of his confused soul.

“Poor baby, the heat must be getting to you if you don’t remember basic things. Just relax and the memories will come back in no time. I’m your mother, Bill. You’re safe with me.”

“You can’t...”

“Yes, I can. I am. That’s all I’ve ever been. Your mother, the one that birthed you, the one you love more than anything in this world. I’m your mother. You’ll acknowledge it as true if you whisper it in my ear. Do that for me, Bill. Do it for your mother.”

Bill’s eyes roved as a tanned roller skater whooshed past us. I grabbed his chin to regain control. “Let me hear you say I’m your mother.”

“You’re m-my...” he stammered.

“Your mother.”

“Yo-you-re m-my...”

“Your mother, Bill.”

“M-my...” he was shaking, pearls of sweat on the back of his hands, a maze of blue pulsating veins clashing against the pale skin. He was holding his breath.

“Your mother!”

“... m-mother?”

“Yes, Bill. Mother. I raised you. I created you. You love me. You obey me. I’m your mother. Obey me and tell me what I want to hear, what you know you want to say so that all confusion disappears.”

“You’re my mother,” he exhaled on my right ear, the sweet breath of surrender coming to life. The first time is always the hardest, the following repetitions become second nature.

“Yes, I am. Oh, I’m so glad you remembered it. I’m your mother, the one you love and obey.”

“You’re my mother, the one I love and obey,” he repeated.

“Such a good boy, Bill. I love to hear you call me ‘mother’ just as much as you love to be called ‘good boy’. Good boys are obedient. Good boys are submissive. Good boys are attentive and do anything their mother tells them to do. You’ve always been a good boy for your mother. You will continue to be a good boy for me from now on. Say ‘Yes, mother, I obey.’ Say it now.”

“Yes, mother, I obey,” he repeated.

“I know you do. Not once have you disobeyed me in all this time so you will not start now. Even if you wanted to, you can’t. You are a good, loyal, obedient, and submissive boy. Your mother knows she can always count on your subservience and she loves it. You love being my good boy.”

“Yes, mother, I love it so much. I love you so much,” he leaned against me, seeking warmth and affection, again just like a newborn. I’m sure everyone walking by would have us mistaken with boyfriend and girlfriend instead of mother and son. Let them think what they want, it makes everything so much better.

“Loving me is the right thing to do. Obeying me is the right thing to do. My sweet boy, as much as I love having you near me like this, I need your undivided attention now so sit up straight and listen to your mother. You will obey me.”

“Yes, mother,” he agreed, my perfect mindfucked slave son.

“Where can I find your sister?”

“She’s at the library right now... I think.”

“I seem to have forgotten where that is so you’ll be a good boy and take me there, won’t you?”

“Yes, mother.”

He got up and so did his cock, now rioting against his pants. What was small before now appeared big which was a pleasant surprise. Like father like son, uncontrollably aroused at the thought of having no will of his own. I touched the tip with my words alone.

“Down, boy,” I said, and Bill knelt by the bench. “Not you,” I laughed. “Keep that dick under control, submissive toy.”

“Yes, mother,” Bill struggled to stand up. I helped him with a firm push and even dusted his pants.

“Lead the way,” I ordered, and my obedient boy complied. I suspected Jemma wouldn’t be so easy to manipulate but I was in for a surprise. As the sun kissed my skin, we resumed our walk.

Mike’s daughter wasn’t at the municipal library, rather idling with some friends at a bar two blocks away from it. It was Bill who noticed it first, pointing an accusatory finger. The last thing I wanted was having to deal with three women instead of one so I watched them chit-chat from a safe distance. My new slave remained next to me, somewhat agitated, yet unable to go against my wishes.

The two girls with her had long auburn hair, perky boobs, and athletic legs. They also wore matching strapless dresses, one dark blue and the other emerald green. The thigh-high boots in the Summer heat were overkill, yet the ensemble suited them. If they were to become nurses too, many men were sure to lose their wits around them.

I admit I found their plain perfection annoying. I’m not the jealous type (oh who am I kidding?) but those two had everything in their favor from the genetic pool to their attires and glistening smiles. They also didn’t know when to shut up, babbling about prospective boyfriends, the puppy eyes of the new waiter, and expensive handbags where one would be so lucky to fit more than a cellphone. Yes, I magically eavesdropped this time around, sue me!

I waited for about half an hour, patience wearing thin with each giggle. After the last remark about the best choice of sun lotion, I said “Fuck it!” and joined their table, with Bill in tow. My presence flabbergasted the three women, but Jemma was the most vocal about it.

“Excuse me? What do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving you all from this charade,” I yawned. “Ladies, Jemma and I need to have a word so be on your way, will you?”

“What the fuck? You can’t just walk in here and...”

“I’m asking nicely,” I snapped my fingers. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Look, lady,” the girl in the green dress intervened. “I don’t know what your deal is but...”

“ENOUGH!” I shouted, but it wasn’t a real shout, more like a mental projection only the people sitting at that table could hear. Everyone shook except Bill, who gawked at my demonstration of power. And before you say anything, yes, I could have done this sooner and I owe you no explanation why I didn’t do it but, regardless, I’ll give you one.

Magic flows all around us and spells are conduits for that flow. Witches, sorceresses, warlocks and other special creatures can tap into it, and use the energy unleashed to alter the fabric of reality little by little. However, the energy itself isn’t infinite. Not only it needs to be replenished but also those that wield it, can’t do it all the time. When we alter reality, we’re also altering ourselves. Our bodies suffer the effects of the residual threads and since I already use glamor to maintain my young and beautiful appearance...

“You will leave us now,” I ordered the two girls. The sudden incantation flashed above their heads, hitting their surprised bodies like a lightning storm. They looked at one another, then at me, and left without saying a word. The rippling energy faded as soon they crossed the street. I laid my wrinkled hand on the glass table then hid it from sight. It would take a while before I could cast again.

“Can I have a soda, please?” I asked the waiter. The electrolytes in it would help my body restore its normal balance.

“What was that?” Jemma asked.

“You tell me,” I smirked.

“What you did is impossible.”

“If it’s impossible, then how did I do it?”

Jemma crossed her legs, moistened her lips. Then, she turned to her brother.

“You saw it too, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. Isn’t mother great?”

“Mother?”

“It’s a long story,” I replied. I snatched Jemma’s drink as I waited for mine. Ginger ale, yuck! “Okay, not that long but one of little consequence. We need to talk.”

“So you’ve said already,” the young girl noted. “Can I see your hand again?”

“Why?”

“I need to know if it’s real,” she shook her head.

“It’s either impossible or it’s real and since we already agreed it can’t be impossible...”

The waiter returned with my soda, served in a beautiful tall glass with a spiral pattern all around. I drank it all in one gulp, ordered two more. I was feeling drained for anything other than frivolous banter.

“No one else saw this, right?”

“If they had, they would have freaked out, don’t you think?”

Jemma sighed. “You’re Vivian, right? And either you’re a skilled magician or you’re a witch,” she concluded. What a smart girl!

“Why can’t I be a skilled witch?”

“Mother is skilled at everything,” Bill blabbered.

“Okay, what’s up with the whole mother thing? Unless... oh, my God, you bewitched my brother, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged. Although he also bewitched himself.”

“I’m mother’s submissive boy,” Bill parroted. Against all odds, Jemma cracked a smile.

“That’s funny.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. Tell me how you did it, please.”

“Got you hooked, did I?”

“Intrigued is perhaps the most appropriate word.”

Well, that was an interesting development, one I didn’t see coming. In good honesty, I expected her to act just like her mother but instead she was proving to be open-minded, and I could work with that.

“Interesting...”

“Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“That depends, my dear.”

“On what?”

“On whether you want to know the answer or not. I can tell you but this is something where there’s no coming back from.” I drank my second and my third drink. There was still room in me for a fourth.

“I want to know,” she peeked under the table. My wrinkled hand remained out of sight.

“You’ll think differently if I tell you why I’m here.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What brings you here, Vivian?”

There was no need for subterfuges so I went straight to the point. “I came to enslave you. Your father is already under my spell and so is your brother. You’re the missing piece in my plan.”

Jemma remained calm, perhaps more than she had the right to be. I attributed it both to doubt and shock. Hearing the truth revealed to you in such a blase fashion does that, you know? For the next sixty seconds, she sat there, blank-eyed, mouth slightly agape, thoughts racing like stunt car drivers with no fear of death. Next to her, Bill droned another one of his involuntary conditioned responses. Poor kid, my spell fried his brain!

“Mother has enslaved me. It feels good.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jemma asked, curiosity and confidence now replaced with an underlying current of fear. I felt the tide changing. Everything was too real now and the initial surprise laid, shattered.

“Because I want to. Your mother and I want the same thing and I don’t like her. I take what I want when I want it and I destroy what I don’t like. That’s how I’ve always played the game and I see no reason to change it. You just happen to be the new pawns on my board.”

“People’s lives aren’t a game.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. They’re the greatest game of all. Your father was easy, your brother even easier. Now we need to put you in your right place for this new happy family to work.”

“You’re sick!” Jemma vociferated.

“What happened to ‘this is funny’?” I mocked. “The best way for you to know how I did what I did is to live it yourself.”

Under the table, my hand shivered, the lost energy returning. Had Jemma been cognizant of the rules of magic, she would have figured out I was stalling long ago. The spark of awareness in her almond-shaped eyes not only was too thin, but it also came too late. As she rose from her seat, hoping to make a run for it, Bill grabbed her right leg and muttered:

“Mother isn’t over with you, yet.”

“Don’t forget your drink,” I instructed, a solitary finger dipped into the liquid. I made sure she saw the hint of lilac mist brewing inside before splashing her face with it. A few droplets entered her mouth, others slid down the nose bridge, dripping onto the floor. Magic stains wear off easily so her dress was safe. Jemma’s cheeks became swollen, her throat turned red. She coughed harshly as if she had just swallowed a vial of acid. I guess she did.

Here’s another thing you need to know about me. I don’t like to repeat myself. I don’t like to repeat incantations, either. Even when I use techniques I’ve used before, I always add a little variation, a new personal touch to help me realize the difference. Different situations require different memories and I can’t have them if everything I do is the same, can I?

The first time I used the mist was three hundred years ago to turn a French nobleman into a trusty steed. I rode him hard for three days and nights in a row and met no one with such stamina ever again. Then, I used it again fifty years later to convince a judge he was the one that should be in prison instead of me. Rumor has it, he grew fond of anal there, and there’s even a soap bar named after him. More recently, I made a sleazy car salesman forget the papers he wanted me to sign before driving away from the stand. I ruined his perfect leather shoes, too. This was the first time I incorporated it into a drink but one has to use what’s at hand so...

Speaking of hands, while mine already appeared identical to the naked eye, Jemma’s were bubbling from inside out. I can assure you it wasn’t painful, just a simple side effect. Prying eyes turned her way but only saw a clumsy young woman trying to clean herself. I finished my fourth soda and counted the seconds left.

In average, a spell such as that one takes about seventy-five seconds to work. It’s an intricate trap, a sentient parasite, if you like. Unlike others that start at the surface before sinking deeper, the mist works the other way around, at an atomic level. It fuses with your cells, replicates them in new, beautiful ways. My favorite is “convincing” those same cells they’re no longer independent. The mist takes over, rewrites the DNA, and whoever controls it...

“Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy...”

Jemma collapsed on her seat, a lilac shade enveloping her eyes. The color looked good on her, like a new make-up she had just applied. A fugitive swirl crept at her lips.

“Listen to my voice, Jemma. You’ve had a taste magic and magic now wants to taste you. I know there’s still a part of your old self inside hearing these words but it won’t be there for much longer. Little by little, it will fade away, memories becoming as irrelevant as a single drop in the ocean. There were a lot of things you believed in that will stop making sense but that’s normal. You don’t need the old when you can be a part of the new. Don’t be afraid and let it happen. Let my words lull you and turn you into what you’re supposed to be. You’re not Theresa’s daughter, you’re mine. You’re not an independent young woman, you’re a mind-controlled servant. You are nothing but a devoted and subservient soul. Your father, your brother, and now you, serve me. In this family, I make the rules and all of you follow them. You will follow me. You will obey me, Jemma.”

“You will obey Mother,” Bill echoed.

The nurse-to-be felt her voice shrinking, dreams collapsing under the weight of my words. A drastic measure, perhaps, but one that appeared appropriate. I know some of you will say “but what about her open-mindedness?” Yeah, it wasn’t what I thought it was because—and here’s the shocker!—sometimes, I get things wrong, too. It was all fun and games until I showed her my true colors. Had we been living in the 1600s, Jemma would have burned me at the stake, and I will not go through that again.

Feeling drained again, I had a fifth soda. And a sixth. Jemma paid them all. I wouldn’t have it any other way and neither would she.

And that’s how these kids met their mother. Someone should make a sitcom out of this.