The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first thing Tayla did after the Sheriff and his son left for work was test the collar.

Edward was the last to leave, kissing his mother and then heading out for his job at Town Hall, and when he left he closed the front door but didn’t visibly lock it. Tayla waited for the sound of his car leaving, and then made a break for it.

She was still nude, but she didn’t care. She had to get away from this crazy family—this crazy town—even if it meant running naked to the next town to get help.

The front door opened easily, and the green lawn of the Rutman yard, and the road beyond it, were suddenly laid out before her. Dizzy with hope, she launched herself down the front path, racing for her freedom…

… and then screamed, and fell to her knees, clutching at the collar. Or at least, she tried to scream. The collar was zapping her throat with such power that her throat muscles were spasming. She could barely breathe. She clawed at the collar, and rolled across the ground, not really knowing what she was doing, until suddenly the pain stopped.

She had rolled back towards the house. She was back inside the invisible electric fence.

It was true. She really was trapped.

“Now, young missy, that’s not the most grateful way to behave,” said a woman’s voice. It was Bessie, standing in the front door, looking down at Tayla with an expression of disappointment.

“Please,” begged Tayla. “This is crazy. You can’t keep me trapped here. It’s against the law.”

“We keep telling you, Snowball,” said Bessie. “It’s not against Modwina law. We have these laws for good reason. They protect unborn babies, and they help women find their proper place in life. If you just relax and accept it, you’ll be happier, I promise.”

“Your son is abusing me,” wailed Tayla. “He hits my breasts with a shoe. He raped my mouth.”

“That’s not abuse,” said Bessie. “That’s proper discipline and correction. He’s doing you a favour—and I’ve already seen that you’ve learned to thank him for it.” She shook her head sadly. “You know, that collar can be set to give you a shock if you stand up off of all fours. I’ve seen women who have their collars set so they can only crawl. You should be grateful to my husband that he lets you walk on two legs as if you’re people.”

Tayla just whimpered.

“Now, come on inside, Snowball,” said Bessie. “I know you younger generation like to show off your asses to the whole neighbourhood, but I’ve got chores to do and I can’t watch you play in the front yard all day.”

Reluctantly, Tayla got to her feet and followed Bessie inside.

The reality hit her—that she really was stuck here. That she wasn’t going anywhere—at least in the immediate future. And that therefore she needed to make plans to help her life at the Rutmans be—well, a little less awful.

Her hands twitched. Her tits were aching from where Edward had smacked them with the shoe earlier, and she wanted to hold them and protect them—but when she tried to lift her hands to her tits, they didn’t go anywhere.

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

She twitched again. That doctor at the hospital had done something to her—something that made her not want to touch her own breasts.

“Bessie,” she said cautiously, as she followed the older woman back to the kitchen.

‘Yes, honey?” replied Bessie.

“Your son wants my breasts to… make milk,” said Tayla. “Is that a thing that I can… make happen?”

“Oh, of course it is, honey,” said Bessie. “They’ll come into their milk naturally later in your pregnancy, of course, but you can get them started early with a combination of two little things.” She turned and looked at Tayla, and her hands moved to her own breasts, pulling them out from her apron so that Tayla could see them. “The first is stimulation,” she said. She took a glass in one hand, and held it under her left breast, and with the other, she squeezed near the base of the nipple. A squirt of milk shot out into the glass.

She passed the glass to Tayla. “Drink up,” she said.

Tayla didn’t want to drink another woman’s breast milk—but she supposed that she already had. And she needed Bessie, at least, to be on her side. So she lifted the glass to her mouth and quickly swallowed the white liquid inside.

“Good, isn’t it?” asked Bessie.

Tayla made a non-committal noise of agreement.

“Then why don’t you have some more?” asked Bessie—and motioned towards her breast.

She couldn’t be serious, could she? Did she really want Tayla to… suck on her nipple?

Tayla demurred. “I’m fine,” she said.

Bessie frowned. “I’m just trying to be helpful,” she said. “But if you don’t want to be hospitable, you can figure out your lactation problem for yourself.”

Tayla remembered the feel of Edward’s shoe banging her breast into the table, and the promise it would happen every morning and evening until she started making milk. She dithered, caught between two unpalatable options—but eventually made up her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s okay. I’ll try it.”

Bessie beamed, and held her breast in her hands, her nipple poking out. Tayla leaned forward, blushing, and put her lips on the other woman’s breast. She felt Bessie’s nipple poking against her tongue, and immediately tasted milk.

“There’s a good girl,” said Bessie. “Just suck. That’s right—just like a baby.”

Tayla sucked, and felt milk immediately begin to flow into her mouth. It actually did taste good—and the act of sucking felt surprisingly pleasing, too. It engaged some primal oral fixation in her from her own infancy. It had all the comfort of sucking her thumb—and the warmth of Bessie, and the softness of her breast, made Tayla think of her own mother. Despite Bessie’s active support for Tayla’s current state of enslavement and degradation, she couldn’t help but feel affectionate towards the woman, as the least-worst of her captors, and as the only person showing her anything like real affection.

She sucked and sucked, until Bessie lifted her off, and moved her face to the other breast. “Have to even them up,” Bessie said, “but also need to save a little for the boys.” Tayla obediently sucked at the woman’s other udder, until finally Bessie pushed her away altogether.

“See, now, wasn’t that fun?” she asked. She was smiling—and a bit flushed around the face, and Tayla realised with shame that she had made the woman sexually aroused.

“Thank you,” said Tayla, blushing.

“You’re most welcome,” said Bessie. “Now, let’s get working on your own milk.” She paused, thinking, and then said, “The trick to stimulation is to put your fingers back from the nipple a bit—up here, where the milk glands are—and squeeze down towards the nipple.” She demonstrated on her own breasts.

Tayla blushed again. “I, uh… I can’t touch my… my udders,” she said. “The doctor did something to me, and…”

“Oh, Dr Harcourt’s sleep method?” said Bessie. “Well, that’s fair enough. I suppose a girl like you can’t be trusted with her own udders and pussy.” She thought some more. “Well, we have some devices that will help you. How about we put you on the Helper Cow?”

Tayla didn’t like the sound of that—and she liked it even less when Bessie found the device in a cupboard in the hall, and showed it to her.

It was a metal platform, the size of a dinner tray and as thick as a book, on four solid wheels. It had what looked like a motor near one end, and three tubes coming off it that each ended in cups—two large, one small.

Bessie had Tayla get down on all fours over the Helper Cow. She connected a thin chain from the front of the Helper Cow to Taylor’s collar.

“When you crawl along, you’ll naturally drag the Helper Cow along with you,” she told Tayla.

“Why do I have to crawl at all?” said Tayla.

“Shush,” said Bessie. She reached down and flicked a switch on the machine, and its engine immediately began making loud mechanical noises. Then she lifted one of the large cups to Tayla’s left breast.

There was a “thump”, and suddenly Tayla’s nipple—and much of the titflesh behind it—was sucked into the cup. Tayla gasped. The cup was sucking at her breast with a powerful vacuum, in a rhythmic cycle. THUMPSUCK. THUMPSUCK. THUMPSUCK.

The other large cup went on her other breast. The sucking was offset—first her left tit, then her right, then her left again. THUMPSUCK. THUMPSUCK. THUMPSUCK.

It hurt—and at the same time, it was arousing. Tayla had never had such intense stimulation of her breasts. And the knowledge that it was a machine doing it, that it would continue indefinitely, without variation or mercy, somehow made it feel even more intense. She whimpered, and looked up at Bessie.

“One to go, honey,” said Bessie—and Tayla’s eyes widened in alarm, because of course there was one more cup, and she didn’t understand where it was going to go.

She soon discovered, as Bessie reached between her legs and parted her pussy lips. It went on her clitoris.

Tayla almost jumped completely off the ground as the machine WHUMPED and her clitoris was sucked into the small, thin cup. Her right hand flailed wildly. Every nerve in her body was telling her to pull the cup off her clitoris—and then maybe free her tits as well, for good measure—but she couldn’t do it. Her hand wouldn’t go near her cunt.

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

She made a low, choked sob. She raised her leg, half hoping the change of position would make the cup fall off her clit, but it just made her feel like a dog raising its leg to piss, and she put it down again.

“There, there,” said Bessie. “Just relax, and it will feel nice. It’s not doing you any harm. The thing is, being dry milked is going to make your udders hurt pretty bad before long, so the third cup is just to keep you nice and horny so you don’t feel the pain. And over time, it will make your clitoris a little longer and more sensitive—won’t that be nice?”

THUMPSUCK. THUMPSUCK. THUMPSUCK.

Tayla tried to rise up to her knees—but the cups were quite firmly attached to her nipples, and the base of the machine to her collar, and the Helper Cow itself was quite heavy, and all she ended up doing was increasing the pain in her tits as she pulled at them.

“There’s a valve on the cups to disengage them, honey,” said Bessie. “But I imagine if you can’t touch your udders or pussy, you won’t be able to use that valve, so you’ll just have to wait for me to let you out. And you won’t be able to stand up until then.”

“It hurts,” whimpered Tayla.

“No, it doesn’t,” said Bessie. “Not yet.”

And she was right, if Tayla was to be honest. She could feel her cunt growing wet as the machine pounded away at her clitoris, and that feeling was overwhelming any discomfort she felt in her tits.

But she whimpered again anyway.

“Well, I’m not going to put up with that pathetic little noise all day,” said Bessie sternly. “Open your mouth.”

Tayla very much did not want to open her mouth for whatever Bessie was going to do to her.

Bessie narrowed her eyebrows. “My son’s not the only one who knows how to use a shoe on an udder, young missy. Open your mouth.”

Reluctantly, Tayla opened her mouth.

Bessie shoved something into it. It felt like the oral end of a pacifier—a soft jelly-like nub that Tayla could suck on or chew. It wasn’t so bad. But the bit in her mouth was only part of a larger device. It was a kind of leather gag, and Bessie quickly secured the back behind Tayla’s head, trapping her with the nub in her mouth.

Sticking out from the front of the gag was a device half-duster and half-broom. She couldn’t believe it! She had a broom attached to her face! Every time she thought she had reached the height of degradation and objectification in this household, something new happened to her.

“You didn’t think you’d spend your days here just lying around like a lazy little slut, did you?” asked Bessie. “I expect you to help me clean.” She moved around to behind Tayla. “And this will help, too.”

Tayla squealed into her gag as she felt Bessie part her pussy lips again and shove something into her cunt. It was thick and stiff and maybe seven inches long. Bessie attached something from this new violating object to a strap that she secured around Tayla’s waist. Tayla tried to look beneath her to see what had been done to her.

It was another broom—or rather, a short mop. The handle had been shoved into Tayla’s cunt, and the rest was just long enough for the head to brush against the floor. The end of the mop was wet, and Bessie set down a tray of soapy water nearby.

“Now, get to work,” said Bessie. “I expect the kitchen and dining floor to be clean by lunch. If they’re not done, you’ll get ten whacks on the udders, and if I don’t think you’ve even tried, it will be twenty for your pussy as well.”

Tayla tried to understand why this was happening to her. Never in her life had she imagined she might end up trapped, pregnant, in some conservative sheriff’s house, gagged, attached to a breast pump, and with a mop shoved up her pussy. This didn’t happen to people, did it? Or at least, it didn’t happen to nice girls—girls like her.

Her traitorous mind wondered if she had done something to deserve it—and immediately she found herself remembering how she had wanted her friend to rape her, and how she had gotten off on the idea that he might get her pregnant. Except that wasn’t true. It hadn’t happened. It was a story she had made up to please the Sheriff and his son. She hadn’t wanted to be raped, and she had hated every minute of it.

Except… she had cum, hadn’t she? Why had she cum, from being raped, if she hadn’t wanted it?

She jumped. Bessie had lightly tapped her nude ass with one of her high heels.

“Don’t just laze about, Snowball,” said Bessie. “Get cleaning.”

Tayla felt her cunt throbbing. She told herself it was the relentless sucking of the machine on her clitoris—and not a reaction to the memories of her rape.

She had no choices. This was her life now.

Obediently, she lowered her head to push the broom head against the floor, and began to wiggle her hips to make the mop in her cunt twitch back and forth. And with the Helper Cow sucking mercilessly at her nipples, she crawled forward to begin her morning chores.

(TO BE CONTINUED)