The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


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Sheriff Rutman’s house was a large two-storey building near the centre of Modwina, with attractive, well-maintained lawns. When the Sheriff’s car stopped in the driveway, and the Sheriff opened his door and got out, Tayla briefly thought about making a run for it, and trying to escape this crazy town.

But she remembered the gun on the Sheriff’s belt, and decided now wasn’t the time.

Instead, she followed Rutman meekly to the door of his house, which opened as they arrived to reveal an attractive redhead in her late thirties.

“Hello, honey!” she enthused, wrapping her arms around Rutman in a hug. “Welcome home!” And then she turned to Tayla. “And you must be Tayla!” she said. “Oh, sweetie, it’s wonderful to have you! Come on in!”

It took Tayla a moment to respond, because she was stunned by the woman’s breasts. They were huge. Tayla couldn’t estimate a cup size, but each was nearly the size of the woman’s head, and distractingly round and fake. And they were exposed. The woman wore nothing but a pair of red high heels, and a red kitchen apron. The apron was bunched together in the front, so that in ran through her cleavage, with her tits in full view on either side. When she turned, her butt was exposed too.

Around the woman’s neck was a leather collar, and hanging from the collar was a dog-tag that read “Bessie”.

“This is my wife, Bessie,” said Rutman, as he led Tayla into the clean, well-maintained, comfortable domestic environment inside. He turned to the woman. “Bessie, have you got the collar?”

“Of course, honey,” said Bessie. She hurried to what appeared to be the kitchen, taking mincing steps on her preposterously high heels, and returned with a leather collar like her own. She passed it to her husband, who advanced on Tayla, clearly intending to put it on her neck.

“What is that?” asked Tayla, backing away. “I don’t need a collar.”

Rutman stepped towards Tayla—and slapped her across the face. “Thank me,” he growled.

Tayla just blinked, her face red. She didn’t think she would ever get used to being slapped.

Rutman slapped her again. “Thank me,” he said.

Tayla held her hand against her stinging cheek. She looked around for help—but Bessie showed no sign of intervening. What was with the people in this crazy town?

But she was vulnerable, and had no escape.

“Thank you for slapping me, sir,” muttered Tayla, her eyes downcast.

And before she knew it, Rutman had the collar around her neck. It fit snugly—and to her dismay she heard a sound like a lock clicking shut as he secured it behind her neck.

She also felt something poking against the skin of her neck in front—like two blunt metal nubs. She pulled at the collar, but it was a tight fit, and had no give.

There was a dogtag hanging from the front of the collar. It was blank. There was nothing on it at all.

“That’s a pet control collar,” said the Sheriff. “Pretend there’s an invisible fence around the property. If you cross that fence, the collar will give you a pretty bad shock.”

Tayla’s eyes widened. She pulled at the collar again, but it was locked firmly in place.

“Now, I’m going to go shower and change,” said the Sheriff. “Bessie, can you look after Tayla? And Tayla, I expect you to help Bessie out with the dinner.”

“Of course, honey,” said Bessie, lovingly.

And with that, the Sheriff left, climbing stairs towards the second storey.

Tayla took her chance. “Please,” she said to Bessie. “I’m not here willingly. I want to leave. I didn’t even intend to come to this town.”

“But you’re here now!” said Bessie brightly. “Clearly God had a plan for you, and for that little bundle of joy you’re carrying.” She ushered Tayla towards the kitchen.

“I don’t want it!” said Tayla. “I can’t be a mother! I’m too young! I was raped!”

“Here,” said Bessie, giving Tayla a potato peeler, and pointing her to a bowl of potatoes on the kitchen bench. “Start peeling. And I’ll tell you a story while you peel”

For lack of anything better to do, Tayla began to peel potatoes.

“Back when I was a teenager,” said Bessie, “I was a pretty sore trial on my parents. I was full of all sorts of silly notions about feminism and opportunity. I thought I was going to go to university and be a lawyer. I must have driven my poor parents round the bend with my constant harping on about women’s rights and the sins of patriarchy.” She giggled. “It’s a wonder they put up with me.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “I was at least a fairly pretty thing, so young Joseph down the road—that’s the Sheriff, sweetie—he took a shine to me, and one day he asked my parents if he could abduct and rape me. I’d been a real bitch that week, pardon my French, so my daddy said yes, and before I knew it Joseph was literally sweeping me off my feet as I came home from the shops, and I spent the next two weeks in his basement.”

“Now, we can’t be sure, because he raped me twice a day for all that time, but I like to think that he put my son Edward into me on the very first try.” She paused, and said, “You’ll meet Edward later. He works late at his job, but he said he’d be home for dinner.”

“Anyway, after that very first rape, he brought Dr Harcourt round, with the doctor’s assistants, and they upgraded my udders into these.” Bessie pointed at her cartoonishly-huge tits. “And when it was done, the doctor ejaculated on my face, and then Joseph made me look at myself in a mirror and masturbate while I repeated the words ‘women are animals’ again and again.”

Tayla felt sick. What Bessie was describing was horrible—and yet she sounded so cheerful about it.

“Oh, silly me, it’s on the wall!” said Bessie, suddenly. She pointed across the room, to where a large framed photograph hung on the wall. It showed a young Bessie—barely 19—completely nude, and kneeling, her breasts recently enlarged. The Bessie in the photo was crying, and she had streaks of cum on her face and tits, and her fingers were desperately fucking her exposed cunt.

“Joseph took that of me during the first week,” said Bessie. “Don’t I look pretty? That’s what I saw in the mirror every day, and pretty soon it got the message through to me that I wasn’t ever going to be a lawyer. Can you imagine me in a courtroom with udders like these? The judge would laugh himself silly, and then order the jury to rape me!” She blushed—and Tayla realised that the thought of being gang-raped by a jury both embarrassed Bessie—and aroused her.

“In the second week,” continued Bessie, “Joseph started whipping my cunt with his belt before each raping. And I’ll tell you—it hurt! And then hurt more when he stuck his cock in me! I was crying fit to burst. And he told me it would keep happening until I told him that I loved him in a way that made him believe me.”

“Well, this was back before Dr Harcourt’s sleep method, so I had to learn the hard way. It took me three days to say I loved him, but he didn’t believe me, so I had to think hard about all the reasons I loved him, and how lucky I was to be given these sex-balloons for free, and how grateful I should be for all the time and attention he was giving me, and what a cunt I’d been to my parents and how I probably deserved to be whipped, and how women are animals anyway, and by the end of six days I realised how much I truly did love him—and on the seventh day I must have sounded particularly passionate, because he believed me, and asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

She laughed. “Not that I could have said no with a baby in my belly! My parents didn’t raise me to be a disgusting unwed slut!” She suddenly stopped, realising who she was talking to. “No offense, honey,” she said, quickly. “I know you couldn’t help being a slut.”

She took the peeled potatoes from Tayla, and began slicing them, ushering Tayla to the sink to wash dishes instead.

“Anyway, I got married in front of the whole town, in a cute white thing that showed off my udders and my pussy prettily, and when I got married I took Joseph’s last name—Rutman—but also I gave up the name I’d been born with, because that girl had been a right bitch, pardon my French.”

“You changed your name?” asked Tayla.

“That’s right!” said Bessie. “When I was a teenaged bitch people called me Yvonne, but when I got married I changed my name to Bessie. That was the name of the cow my parents owned.”

Tayla couldn’t take any more of this. She put down the dish she was washing and turned to face Bessie. “How can you live like this?” she asked. “How can you be happy about this? Collared—raped—humiliated—named after an animal—it’s disgusting! You need help!”

“Oh, honey,” said Bessie, smiling ruefully. “That’s what I thought, in that first week after Joseph abducted me. But I came to see that this is just where I belong in the world, and exactly how I deserve to be treated.”

Then she patted Tayla gently on her belly, and said, “And don’t worry—long before you deliver this little bundle of joy, you’re going to understand that too.”

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Tayla hated Edward Rutman from the moment she met him.

He came home about ten minutes before Bessie was ready to serve the dinner, and Tayla had to admit that he was a very handsome man. Perhaps only a year older than Tayla, he was fit, good-looking in a rugged country way, and dressed in an impeccable and expensive business suit. His russet hair was closely cropped in a fashionable modern style, and his confident smile was framed by a short, well-groomed beard.

He came in without knocking, and called out, “Mom! Pops! I’m home!” as he hung his jacket on a rack by the entrance. Then he spotted Tayla, who was at that moment setting the table for dinner, and his grin widened.

“And who are you?” he asked. His eyes were fixed with avid fascination on Tayla’s tits.

Bessie bustled out from the kitchen, and embraced her son with a hug.

“This is Tayla,” she said. “She’s an out-of-towner, and she’s been a little slut and got knocked up, and she tried to have an abortion, so your father’s going to be looking after her until she’s had her baby.”

Edward approached Tayla, and reached out one hand to touch her hair. Tayla flinched, but was unable to completely pull away from him.

“Blonde hair,” said Edward. “Pale skin. You’re a pretty one, aren’t you, Snowball?”

“My name’s Tayla,” said Tayla brusquely, turning her head to try and pull her hair out of his grasp.

Edward tightened his grip. “I’m sure it is,” he said. “Tell me, Snowball, is this your first time breeding?”

Tayla’s face twisted in a scowl. “I’m not ‘breeding’,” she spat. “I’m pregnant. And your father is keeping me as a prisoner. It’s against the law!”

Edward’s smile had a cruel twist to it. “Not here it’s not,” he said. “Here we do things the right way.” Then, without warning, he yanked yard on her hair. Tayla squealed, and lost her balance, and fell to her knees. He laughed—and when he laughed, Bessie laughed along with him, a nervous laugh as though she were afraid of what might happen if she didn’t.

Edward then pulled her face forward by her hair until she was right up against the crotch of his pants. Her cheek rested against the material. She could feel the bulge of an erection pressing against her.

“And if you’re going to be living here, I’d advise you not to piss me off, Snowball,” said Edward quietly. “I work as assistant to the mayor, and some day I’m going to run this town, and you’d do best to keep me happy. And that means not badmouthing my father, do you understand?”

Tayla was scared, and trapped. “Yes,” she said, in a small voice.

“Yes, what?” asked Edward.

“Yes, sir,” said Tayla. She felt stupid, calling a man practically the same age as her “sir”, but she had no real choice.

“Good girl,” said Edward. “Now show you’re sorry with a kiss.”

Tayla initially didn’t understand. Kiss him? She didn’t want to do that—and anyway, how could she? He was still holding her hair tightly, and she couldn’t stand up.

But then she realised he didn’t expect her to kiss his face.

She felt like she might cry.

Shaking, she turned her head slightly, and then lightly kissed her abuser on his cock, pressing her lips against the fabric of his pants, right where the tip of his dick was tenting them.

“Good girl,” said Edward, laughing—and he finally released her hair, allowing her to pull away, and awkwardly rise to her feet. “Even the dumbest cow can learn to behave, if given the right incentive.”

“I’m not a cow,” said Tayla, sullenly—and then had to suppress the urge to flinch, expecting to receive retribution for her defiance.

But there was none. Edward ignored her. “Is there a coffee ready for me?” he asked his mother.

Bessie jumped, as if shocked. “No,” she said, sounding afraid. “I forgot! But I’ll go make one.”

Edward nodded. “See that you do,” he said.

As Bessie hurried back to the kitchen, Sheriff Rutman emerged from the corridor that led to the bedrooms. He had changed out of his work uniform into a casual shirt and trousers. “Welcome home, son,” he said, shaking Edward’s hand. “Good day at the office?”

“A long day,” said Edward. “That bitch the mayor keeps as a secretary is incompetent. I had to kick her in the cunt on three separate occasions to get her to do her job properly.”

“Well, you know women aren’t the smartest creatures,” said Rutman. “Have you met our new breeder?”

“Absolutely,” said Edward, smiling. “Snowball and I were becoming good friends.”

“Glad to hear it,” said the Sheriff.

At that point, Bessie returned from the kitchen, carrying a mug of hot coffee. She got down on her knees, and held it up to her son submissively.

Edward took it, and looked at Tayla. “Milk,” he ordered.

Tayla was confused. She looked around, and then started towards the kitchen—but the Sheriff grabbed her by one hand, and then slapped her lightly across the face with his other.

“Not like that,” he growled.

Tayla didn’t understand what Edward wanted—and then she realised that both Edward and his father were staring at Tayla’s tits, and suddenly she did understand.

“I’m not…” she said, anxiously. “I don’t… I’m not lactating.”

“Try,” said Edward, in a cold voice.

Tayla made a moan of distress. They couldn’t really expect her to take out her breasts and try and squeeze them into Edward’s coffee, could they? It was ridiculous.

But they did. They were all looking at her.

She moaned again, paralysed with humiliation and fear.

In her head a small, hypnotic voice said, “No, don’t touch your udders. Bad girl.”

Finally, Edward put his mug down on the dining table, then stepped towards Tayla, and roughly pulled up the front of her tight shirt, to expose her breasts. He grabbed her left tit in a firm grip, and used it to yank her towards the table. Tayla cried out, and stumbled, only just managing to keep her balance.

Then Edward pulled her breast down towards his mug, and squeezed it, hard enough to make Tayla want to cry.

Nothing came out, exactly as Tayla had known would happen.

Edward squeezed it again, and again, and then pinched and pulled at her nipple.


He sighed. “Very well, then.” He let go of Tayla briefly, raised his left foot on the nearest dining chair, and removed his leather shoe. Then he grabbed Tayla’s tit again and pulled downwards, until Tayla fell to her knees, her breast resting on the cool wooden surface of the table.

“Masturbate,” he told her. “It will hurt less.”

Tayla still didn’t understand what was happening—and she certainly didn’t intend to masturbate, right here, in front of three people. She struggled a little, but Edward’s grip on her breast was firm.

“Very well, it’s your choice,” said Edward, noting her refusal to follow his suggestion. Then he looked Tayla in the eyes, smiled—and brought the heel of his shoe down hard on her breast—SMACK—and again, and again—SMACK, SMACK.

Tayla had never felt such pain in her breasts. She shrieked, and the Sheriff had to step forward and put his hand across her mouth to muffle her.

Edward looked at her, still holding the shoe. “I’m going to ask for milk with breakfast, and tomorrow with dinner, and with breakfast the day after that, and I’m going to repeat this little punishment until you produce milk,” he told her. “I expect you to be a good little cow and start lactating.”

“It’s best for your baby if you start producing milk often and early,” said the Sheriff, next to her, in a calm, sensible voice.

Tayla could do nothing except weep. She wanted to clutch at her bruised tit—but her hands seemed oddly reluctant to do it.

“Say thank you, Snowball,” said Edward.

Tayla opened her mouth to speak—but found herself coughing, her throat choked with tears. And then she realised that that wasn’t how Edward wanted to be thanked anyway.

She didn’t want to do it. But her tits were still exposed, and he was still holding the shoe.

She leaned forward, and kissed the tip of Edward’s cock through his pants—softly, almost lovingly, eager to get it right on the first try and avoid having her tits beaten with the shoe again.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper, when she had sufficiently kissed her abuser’s cock.

“Good girl,” smiled Edward.

As Tayla watched, Bessie stepped forward, and leaned over Edward’s coffee, her massive exposed tits hanging downwards towards the mug. Edward grabbed his mother’s boob, and squeezed—and fresh milk squirted from Bessie’s nipple into the mug.

Bessie made a noise as her tit was squeezed—an almost involuntary “mooo”, like a cow. Her face reddened with a pretty blush.

“Thank you, mother,” said Edward. “You’re a good role model for Snowball here.”

“Now that that’s taken care of,” said the Sheriff, “why don’t we all sit down and enjoy the dinner that Bessie has cooked us?” He looked at Tayla. “And Snowball here can tell us all about just exactly how she got knocked up like that…”