The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The feeling of hands massaging her breasts roughly was what woke her. Sheila startled awake at the touch, and thrashed to try and pull herself away from the contact. When she thrashed, it was only to find that there were bindings around her limbs—her wrists and ankles were secured in place. The bindings were firm, but not painful. Against her back she felt softness—a bed. She couldn’t tell if it was her bed or not, and the darkness held no clues for her. She couldn’t make out any of the familiar parts and pieces of her room.

The hands didn’t stop fondling her, kneading her breasts deeply. It was the way she had always craved to be touched there, but no lover had yet succeeded in doing it just right, like this. If she didn’t object to being tied up and fondled against her will on principle, she would be enjoying it. To be honest, her body was enjoying it, and that was distracting. She could feel herself leaking arousal onto the bed with each deep roll of her tit, each pulsing squeeze. They set tremors through her, and made her feel hazy with lust. But she maintained mental clarity... somewhat. She objected to this on principle. Her body may have been responding naturally to these kind of touches, but her mind wasn’t on board, and that was all that mattered.

She could feel a weight on her hips. Whoever it was that was groping her (skillfully... but still groping) was also straddling her. They didn’t seem to be naked, and she couldn’t make out the outline of a cock anywhere on her person or near her entrance, so it was a safe bet that they were fully clothed, unlike her, as she was naked on the bed beneath them.

The strangeness of the situation struck her. They, fully clothed, were straddling her, and just kneading her breasts over and over again. They might have been doing it for hours, while she lay there unconscious, but they hadn’t done anything else, and they definitely weren’t doing anything to pleasure themselves. What was their goal? What were they getting out of this?

“Who are you?” She hissed in the darkness, not quite trusting her voice enough to give it her full air support. It might lapse into a moan at any minute.

“A loyal servant,” came the response, slightly edged with humour. It was a female voice, to her surprise. She’d assumed a male, though now she thought of it, it did explain the lack of penis pressing into her. The way the woman was straddling her made that absence anatomically impossible, if she had been a man. “A loyal servant, come to prepare you.“

“Prepare me for what?” She asked, but instead of getting a response, she felt one of the woman’s hands cover her mouth.

“That’s enough language from you. You’ll very shortly be losing that faculty. If it is decided it should be returned to you, it will be. Otherwise you will be like the others.”

Others? She tried to speak it, but the hand pressed in, keeping her words back.

“The other cows. You’ll be one, just like them. I’ve already injected you with the serum to set the lactation process in motion, and I’m just working your milk bags to get them all warmed up and ready for that mind-numbing milk.”

Sheila stared up at her incredulously. What the hell was she talking about, cows? She was a human being, not an animal. And she wouldn’t be lactating... right?

“Yes, you’ll be a good cow. You’re a little skinny now, but they’ll get you nice and fattened up. And of course, when you’re impregnated, your milk production will double, even triple, which will just blank your mind out even more. It feels so good, so horny and slutty to be a mindless fuck-cow.

You get fucked by steers all day long, milking them and milking them with your slutty cow-cunt, and your mouth. It feels so good to be impaled, deep inside. Your body is built for it, and you won’t be able to resist. The farm only has steers of the finest, largest girth.” Even in the dark, Sheila could make out the woman cocking her head, regarding her. “Larger than you’ve ever experienced, I’m sure. And they’re all just as beautifully mindless as you will be, unable to resist their urge to rut into your warm, waiting cow-cunt. You’ll be fucked, and you’ll be milked, and you’ll calve youngling after youngling—and you’ll be available for use 24 hours a day to whoever wants you, in between that. And you’ll be such a mindless, horny slut for it that you’ll love every second.”

The insanity was starting to get to Sheila now. She thrashed with new abandon, as the strange interloper continued to knead her, but her restraints held firm, and inspite of (because of?!) the strange words, she was still lubricating down there, just getting wetter and wetter all the time.

“I think it’s time to give you a taste,” the woman purred, and her hand disappeared from Sheila’s mouth, and suddenly, to her horror, it was replaced with a large, distended nipple.

Before Sheila could think to bite down, the woman’s hand was there, squeezing, and liquid spurted onto Sheila’s tongue.

Heaven. Liquid heaven. She had never tasted anything so delicious, nor anything so addictive. It took all the arousal she already felt, and weaponized it, suffused her mind with it. No longer could she claim any semblance of mental clarity, because the sharp edges of concentration were fading, being gently smoothed out into a sense of indifference. None of her fear mattered, none of her disbelief mattered, nor her incredulousness—not when something could taste this good.

The milk poured onto her tongue, and without thinking, she latched onto the nipple and began sucking it in earnest. Without a doubt, it is the best decision she has ever made in her life, because it flowed twice as fast in response to her sucking pulls, and it filled her mouth, coating her throat, gushing down towards her stomach.

It was creamy, and rich, and felt like heaven everywhere it touched the insides of her throat and mouth, and it tasted even better than it felt, sweet and musky in the best way. She drank with abandon, her fears from the minute before forgotten.

“Yes, you can taste how good that is,” The voice comments. “That is the taste of surrender, of mindlessness, cow. Your body will be producing its own, shortly. And even when you aren’t drinking it—even when you feel it filling your udders, even when your body is just holding it, it completely erases your thoughts, your mind, your words. It makes you into a blank, obedient cow, ready and hungry for fucking.”

Sheila—even though something about that name was starting to feel wrong—couldn’t do anything but moan in the back of her throat, even as the milk gushed past, an endless supply that never let up. Fine by her. She could drink forever.

“Your favourite thing in the world is to be milked,” the voice coaxes. “You love to be on all fours at all times so that you are always ready to be fucked, or ready to be milked. The only thing you like better than being fucked, your favourite thing in the world, is to be milked. When your tit-bags, your udders are hooked up to the milking machine by the nipples, you come instantly, and have constant, spontaneous orgasms with every sucking, pumping pulse of the machine. It feels just like my kneading your tits, but better. You can’t stop yourself from coming, again and again. It’s just so hot to have your body used for milk production, to be pumped, and drained, and used like a mindless animal. You are a mindless animal, and you love to remember that.”

She grunted around the flowing milk again, the images too much for her poor, aroused cow-brain. She was creaming her own legs, creaming the bed, her cunt spasming in time with descriptions flowing into her brain at the same time as the milk is flowing into her mouth. Her tit-bags were being kneaded again, roughly, and the milk flowed onto her tongue, and there was nothing better than being a cow. She wished she had known this all along.

“The only thing you like better than being milked, which is the only thing you like better than being fucked, is being fucked while you are being milked. It just makes the orgasms so much more intense, and a slutty, depraved cow like you can’t possibly resist. You’re a begging, desperate hungry slut for fucking, and fucking your way through your milk is your favourite treat. But you can only ever get it when you have been a good, obedient cow. So you really want to be a good, obedient cow all the time.”

Cow was nodding along absently to this, but she couldn’t really make out the words anymore. She knew they were all true, but she was lost in the bliss of having her udders ravaged, of being pumped full of milk. She was impatient to start producing her own, so she could feel like this all the time—her body could force her to feel like this all the time.

“To be an obedient cow, you must be ready for fucking at all times. You are constantly ready to be bred, and to pleasure. You love milking cocks for their precious cream, and you love milking cunts for their precious cream, and you give pleasure to anyone who wants you, and you let them do anything they want to your body. You love to be used as a fuck toy, to be used as an incubator, to be used as a milk producer. It’s the only thing you want.

You are a good obedient cow.”

At last, the flow of the milk production stopped, and Cow keened at the loss.

The restraints from cow’s wrists were released. “There, there. There’s no time to waste. I’m going to take you home now.”

And obediently, Cow followed her mistress out, just like a good obedient cow should.