The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

On her 18th birthday, Tayla Torrens was raped.

She had spent the night of her birthday at the local bar, and as midnight approached, she had been more than a little drunk. She had chosen to go outside to get some fresh air with Oscar, one of her friends. She knew Oscar had a crush on her, but she chose to ignore it, because he was a bit creepy, and she was really only friends with him because he knew how to get his hands on cheap weed.

As they stood there, Tayla had stumbled a little, from her intoxication, and Oscar had caught her, and she had giggled—and then, suddenly, Oscar had a hand over her mouth, and he was dragging her into an alleyway, and he had pulled up her dress and ripped off her panties, and then he was fucking her. Raping her.

It was the first time she had ever had sex, and it was terrible. The next day she was filled with shame and guilt—and she knew she wasn’t going to report it. She lived in a small town, and she had been dressed like a slut the night before. People would say she had invited rape. People would say she deserved it.

She had intended to keep the secret forever, and just avoid Oscar—who tried to text and call her, but she blocked him—but then her period failed to show up on time, and she took a pregnancy test, and discovered her worst nightmare—she was pregnant with her rapist’s child.

Abortion was illegal in her state, and nor would her parents support her to get an abortion. They were so pro-life that they’d make her carry it to term. They might even make her marry Oscar.

So she collected the savings that she had, packed a bag full of clothes, got in her car—her new 18th birthday present from her father—and began an interstate road trip to have a medical termination.

Unfortunately, she left home late. And she was not the most experienced driver. And shortly after she left home it started to rain, and by the time the sun went down it was a proper storm, wild and furious in its bluster, whipping her windscreen with violent downpour and turning the road into a sluice of water.

She had just passed the sign reading, “Welcome to Modwina Valley, population 9,872,” when she lost control of the car. It slid across the road, and she wrestled desperately with the wheel, and crunched into a light pole, passenger side first.

Tayla’s head hit the steering wheel, and she blacked out.

When she woke, she was naked, on a hospital bed.

An older man, perhaps in his 50s, was looking down at her. Judging by his coat, Tayla thought he must be a doctor.

She shivered, and instinctively tried to cover her breasts—which was when she discovered that her hands were strapped to the bed. And, for that matter, her legs were strapped too, slightly spread apart.

“Ah, you’re back with us,” said the man, and noted something on a small tablet computer in his hand. “How are you feeling, Miss Torrens?”

“My head hurts,” she said. “Where am I? Why am I strapped down?”

“Well, you’re at the Modwina Maternity Hospital,” said the doctor. “It’s just a small institution, but we thought you’d be more comfortable here than at the general hospital. Were you aware that you were pregnant, Miss Torrens?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why am I strapped down?”

“May I ask where the father is?” asked the doctor.

“There’s no father,” said Tayla.

The doctor’s face darkened. He made a “hmm” sound, and added some notes to his tablet.

“And who, may I ask, is your supervising male?” he continued.

“What do you mean?” asked Tayla. “My dad, I guess. But please don’t tell him I’m here.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he won’t let me get an abortion,” said Tayla—and then immediately regretted it. Abortions were illegal in this state.

The doctor’s face told her she was correct to have regrets. He frowned, and made more notes on his tablet.

“Normally we’d have to notify your supervising male of your whereabouts, Ms Torrens,” said the doctor. “But given that you’re from out of town, you may avail yourself of our local guardian laws. Would you like the town to appoint you a supervising male for the duration of your stay, or shall we call your father?”

“Appoint one, please,” said Tayla, not knowing what she was really agreeing to. “Just don’t tell my father.”

“Very good,” said the doctor. “Sheriff Rutman generally does the duty in cases like these. I’ll give him a call, and see if he can come down to chat with you.”

The doctor turned to leave, and Tayla called out, “Please! Why am I strapped down?”

The doctor looked at her. “Oh, that’s just for your own good. It’s to stop you accidentally breaching the Modwina Valley laws relating to pregnant women.”

And before he could explain, he was gone, leaving her alone in the room, naked, and bound.

As she waited, somewhere in the hospital, a woman screamed. It was a sound of violation, humiliation, and misery. Tayla shivered. She was beginning to become very, very scared.

It took two hours for the sheriff to arrive. When he did, accompanied by the doctor, he was dressed in his full uniform, complete with gun and radio at his belt. He looked at Tayla’s naked body, and nodded.

“You did the right thing, Dr Harcourt,” he said, in a slow drawl. “I’ll take it from here.”

The doctor nodded, and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Hello there, sweetie,” he said to Tayla.

“Hello,” said Tayla. “Would it be okay for you to undo these straps?”

“Not just yet, honey,” said the sheriff. “My name is Dylan Rutman, but you can call me sir, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Tayla. It was common in her home town to call older men “sir”—she was okay with this. “Sir, why am I…”

“Shush,” said the sheriff, and put a hand over her mouth.

He used the other hand to touch her hair. “Blonde, no dye. Very good,” he said.

He released her mouth. Not eager to have his hand back, Tayla stayed silent—until he put his hand on her breast, and squeezed.

“What—stop it!” she squealed.

He ignored her. “Large udders, natural, not yet lactating.”

“What are you doing?” she asked—but was again ignored.

Sheriff Rutman moved to between her legs—and bent down and spread her labia open with his fingers.

“Stop it! Stop it! I’ll scream!” she threatened.

“Go right ahead, darling,” said the sheriff.

Tayla remembered the scream she had heard earlier, and had a sudden sinking feeling. But as the sheriff began to push a finger up into her vagina, she decided to try anyway, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

No one came.

“A tight cunt,” said the sheriff, to himself. “Looks like no previous babies. No signs of recent sex or sperm. Not currently aroused.” He pulled his finger out of her, and licked it. “Tastes healthy.”

She felt like she was on the edge of tears. “Please, what’s happening? What are you doing? Why am I here?”

Rutman moved around the bed, and sat next to her, near her head.

“Honey,” he said, “this right here is the town of Modwina Valley. We’re a God-fearing people, and we believe that every unborn child deserves a life, and we believe that God made women for men to breed, and we take a dim view of any woman who tries to thwart God’s will.”

Tayla felt sick to her stomach. What had she fallen into? This man couldn’t be serious, could he?

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was raped. I’m pregnant with a rapist’s child.”

“Were you raped, honey?” asked the sheriff, “or did you cocktease some poor boy until he had no choice but to buy what you were selling?”

Tayla was so shocked by the question that she was silent a moment too long, and all too late she realised that her silence sounded like an admission of guilt.

“No!” she said. “No! I mean, I…”

“Shush,” said the sheriff, and put his hand over her mouth again. Tayla struggled in her bonds, but couldn’t resist him.

“In any case,” said the sheriff, “how can it be rape to use a woman for the purpose God created her for? The proof of your consent is that baby right there in your belly. I think the real criminal is the little slut who ran away from this baby’s father, instead of giving him a chance to form a family and raise his child.”

She screamed again, but the sheriff’s hand muffled it. Then he lifted his hand, and slapped her across the face with it.

“I don’t appreciate that noise, young lady,” he said, as she gasped, and looked at him with shocked, wide eyes. “Now, we have some very good and thorough laws regarding pregnancy in Modwina, and now that you’re here, you’re obliged to obey them. And the first of those is that every pregnant woman needs a supervising male.”

He reached out to squeeze her breast again, this time doing it almost idly, as something to occupy his hands. It hurt—but it also provoked a reaction somewhere deep inside her. It felt good—like a massage.

“Now, normally a bitch’s supervising male would be the father of her baby, or if he’s not available it would be her own father,” said Rutman. “But being as you’re from out of town, and you’ve invoked the surrogacy law, your supervising male for the duration of your stay is going to be me. Understand?”

Tayla whimpered.

Rutman pinched her nipple—hard, cruelly, painfully.

Tayla gasped. “Yes, sir,” she said, quickly.

“Now, you’re held down for two reasons,” said Rutman. “The first is that, given your admission you are seeking an abortion, we just can’t let you leave Modwina. Not until that baby is born.”

“But that will be… months!” said Tayla. “You can’t just keep me here!”

“We can, and we will,” said Rutman. “And the second reason is because, by Modwina Valley law, pregnant women are forbidden to touch their own udders or genitals. That’s to protect the health of your baby. If you need to do anything with your own breasts or pussy, you’re to ask a man for help.”

“You’re crazy!” screamed Tayla. “You’re insane! You can’t do this!”

Rutman slapped her again—twice.

“You’re lucky I’m slapping you, young miss,” said Rutman, in a cold voice. “Modwina Valley laws are very clear that if a woman can’t follow them, she will have her hands bound behind her back until she delivers, and have her clitoris pierced so that a leash can be attached to it. I’m giving you a chance to have control of your own hands here. But if you keep mouthing off, I will restrain you and leash you.”

She did start to cry then.

“Thank me for slapping you,” said Rutman, raising his hand for another slap.

“Thank you, sir,” Tayla sobbed. “Thank you for slapping me.”

“Good girl,” said Rutman. He lowered his hand, and caressed her cheek, almost tenderly. “We’ll make sure that baby is delivered safely for mother and child,” he told her. “Don’t you worry.”

In time, the sheriff left—although not without taking out his phone and photographing her naked, and then stepping between her legs and spreading her pussy again for some further close-up photographs.

“The doctor says you’ll be fit to be released tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll be back for you then.”

The doctor returned shortly thereafter. He gave her a cup full of pills, and she swallowed them without protest, assuming they were painkillers.

Then he passed her a cup of sticky white liquid, and she drank that too. It tasted salty.

“I’ve prescribed you a course of pregnancy preparation supplements,” the doctor said. ‘You’ve just taken your first dose. They will provide nutrients to the baby. They will also promote early lactation in your udders, and maintain you at a low level of sexual arousal, which will keep your vagina lubricated to help prepare it for eventual delivery.”

“What?” asked Tayla, alarmed. “Aroused? What the hell is this? Are you even a real doctor?”

“Now, now, be still,” said the doctor, as Tayla struggled at her restraints.

“No!” Tayla screamed. “I’ve had enough of this! I’ve changed my mind! Call my dad! He can’t be worse than this!”

“Well, that’s a matter for the sheriff, as your supervising male,” said the doctor. “I’ll give him a good supply of your new drug regime when he comes tomorrow.” The doctor paused. “You may notice some side effects. Many women complain of having difficulty focusing on complex tasks, or while trying to do maths. Don’t worry, though—the sheriff will ensure you don’t need to do anything that takes any real thinking until your baby is born.”

“What was the other thing?” Tayla asked. “The drink?”

“Oh, that was my cum from when I masturbated earlier today,” said the doctor. “Science has shown that regularly ingesting semen during the pregnancy is good for the baby and good for the mother. I’ve recommended you receive daily doses from now on. The sheriff will provide for you.”

Tayla wanted to be sick. She had just drunk the doctor’s cold, thick cum. And worse, she could feel a throb in her pussy. She was becoming aroused from the drugs, just as the doctor had said she would.

Finally, though, the doctor let her free from the bonds. He pointed to a camera in the corner of the room. “We are watching you,” he said. “Do not think about touching your udders or your vulva. The sheriff was serious in what he said about leashing you. Do you need to use the toilet?”

She did, and said so, blushing. The doctor helped her down off the bed, and led her to an enclosed bathroom in the corner of the room. Even inside, though, she could see there was a camera near the ceiling watching her.

Pissing without touching her pussy was easy enough—although she realised she could not wipe herself clean afterwards. She emerged, intending to just pretend nothing was wrong, but the doctor stopped her, and she had to submit to humiliatingly have him wipe her cunt dry with a square of toilet paper, as if she were a baby, before being allowed to climb back into bed.

The doctor placed a set of headphones on her head as she lay there. “We find these help new visitors to remember the laws about touching themselves,” he said, and he pressed something on the device attached to the headphones.

White noise flooded Tayla’s ears, and she could no longer hear anything but the headphones. She tried to ask the doctor what the device did, but couldn’t even hear her own voice. In any case, the doctor ignored her, and left the room.

Tayla thought about taking off the headphones—she could touch them, at least—but suddenly she felt a wave of dizziness. She had been awake for hours, and stressed, and she still hadn’t fully recovered from hitting her head.

She faded away into sleep, the white noise running rampant in her mind.

No, don’t touch your udders. Bad girl. bzzap

No, don’t touch your pussy. Bad girl. bzzap

Men should touch your udders. Good girl. ding

Men should touch your pussy. Good girl. ding

She woke up fuzzy, confused. Had someone been talking to her? Saying the same things, over and over again?

She was still naked, in the hospital. The memories of the horrific day before flooded back to her.

She went to cover her tits, instinctively—but then remembered. “No, don’t touch your udders,” she muttered to herself. “Bad girl.” And she let her hands fall to her sides.

The doctor came in soon after she woke, and helped her off the table to use the toilet. But this time he had an unpleasant surprise—she was to receive an enema. A nurse came in to assist him—and to Tayla’s shock and embarrassment, the nurse was completely nude, except for a little nurse’s cap. She could not have been more than 23 or so, and she was pregnant, her first baby bump just showing. Her breasts were large, with wide dark brown areolae, and Tayla was disgusted to realise she could smell that the nurse was sexually aroused.

As was Tayla, now that she thought about it. Her cunt had been throbbing since she woke up, and the only reason she hadn’t idly rubbed it while she waited for the doctor was the presence of the camera on the wall, and the vague thought, “No, don’t touch your pussy. Bad girl.”

Being given an enema by strangers was the most humiliating and degrading thing that had ever happened to Tayla. They had her get down on all fours, and then the naked nurse stuck a nozzle into Tayla’s anus, and began to pump warm, soapy water into it. Tayla began to feel uncomfortably, lewdly full—and then the nurse removed the nozzle, and Tayla cried in abject humiliation as she felt the water squirt back out of her anus and pool around her knees, before vanishing down the drain in the floor.

It would have been humiliating enough by itself. It was more humiliating that she was aroused the whole time. It was even more humiliating that the doctor filmed the procedure on his phone.

When they were done, they showered her, and dried her—and then the doctor had one final surprise. He had her bend over again, and she felt something else poke into her anus—something hard and metal.

A butt plug! The doctor had put a butt plug in her!

“Just a little training device, Miss Torrens,” said the doctor. “Now, remember to ask for male help to remove it before toileting, and replace it after. Sweet-Tits here has one too.”

The nurse—was her name really Sweet-Tits?”—turned around, and bent forward, showing Tayla the plug nestled in her ass. It was shiny chrome, with a pink gemmed love-heart shaped base.

“Training device for what?” asked Tayla. She wanted to fidget with the plug, adjust it, or pull it out, but she knew not to touch herself there.

“As your pregnancy progresses,” said the doctor, “there are a range of medical reasons we may need access to your anus. This is just going to make things easier for us.”

“Can I have some clothes?” Tayla asked plaintively.

The doctor passed her a brown paper bag. “Unfortunately many of your belongings were destroyed in your car crash,” he told her. “The things that we recovered are here.”

She looked through the bag. There was no sign of her phone. Her wallet was in there, but upon inspection it contained no cash or bank cards. Her ID was missing, although someone must have found it if they knew her name was Tayla Torrens. There was no sign of her car keys.

As far as clothes, she found a couple of tight shirts she had thought were pretty when she bought them, and a pair of cute miniskirts, plus a pair of high heels. All her heavier clothes were gone—and so was all of her underwear. There wasn’t a single bra or pair of panties to be seen.

She was more than a little suspicious that this was genuinely all that had survived—but she knew there was no benefit in arguing, so she pulled a shirt over her head, and cinched a skirt around her waist, and got into the high heels. It felt weird and slutty to go without panties, especially with a plug in her anus, but no one seemed to be offering to find her a pair.

The shirt got stuck coming down over her large breasts as she tugged it on. She tried to get it into place by pulling at the back—and then tried to tug it from the front, but the doctor frowned, and a voice in her head said, “No, don’t touch your udders, bad girl,” and she blushingly had to ask the doctor to help her finish dressing, which he did.

When she was dressed, they gave her her morning pills. She didn’t want to take them, but she didn’t even know how to begin faking it, and the doctor and the nurse were looking at her, so she swallowed them obediently.

Then the doctor asked, “Would you like this morning’s sperm warm or cold?” and she blushed, and, guessing what would happen if she said “warm”, she instead said “cold”, and sure enough she was given a cup full of cold semen, and forced to drink it. She gagged a little, but kept it down.

Finally, Sheriff Rutman arrived. He looked her up and down, and Tayla was sure that he had already mentally categorised her outfit as “slutty”. “Hello, sir,” she said.

“Hello, Tayla,” the sheriff replied. “You’re going to be staying at my house for the immediate future, until we can make a better plan for the rest of your pregnancy.”

He looked at her. He wanted her to say “thank you”.

Tayla had no intention of saying “thank you”. She wanted to swear at him again.

Except… she could still feel the sting of his hand on her cheek where he had slapped her. And there was no one anywhere nearby who wanted to help her. She truly was helpless. This was going to be awful and humiliating for her, but she realised that there was still room to make it worse by being difficult.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, sulkily.

“Good girl,” said the sheriff. “Come along, Tayla. Pregnancy is a wonderful experience. You won’t want to miss any kof it.”

And with that, he led her out of the hospital, and into the streets of the town that she would soon come to think of as the nearest thing on Earth to a real hell: Modwina Valley.