The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

OK, it’s posted.

“DAMN IT JOHN!” Megan Foster yelled at her assistant. “I told you to give me the papers for the Thompson account two hours ago!” Megan was a white woman who measured in at 5′4. Her paralegal, John Burke, was a 6′4 black man . Despite the height difference she utterly dominated him as well as everyone in her law firm, Megan Foster LLC. Megan liked to think of her firm as a galley, with her as the fearless captain, and she wasn’t going to let some incompetent ghetto trash sink her ship.

“I’m sorry Miss Foster” John said nervously. “I put the Thompson account on your desk while you were at lunch.” “WELL IT’S NOT THERE!” She screamed. “MAKE ME A COPY IN THE NEXT TWO MINUTES OR YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO WORK AT A SINGLE FIRM IN THIS CITY YOU WORTHLESS FUCK!” She howled. “Yes ma’am, right away ma’am” the humiliated paralegal said as he ran off to his cubicle.

“Stupid coon” Megan muttered to herself after she closed the door to her office. “Maybe he should try football instead of being a paralegal. It’s probably more up his type’s alley.” Suddenly there was a chime from Meagan’s computer. She went to check it out. It was an email from an anonymous source.

The email was one sentence: “Would you rather be a Brazilian or African”?

Megan decided to humor the mysterious email and pressed “African”. Just then Megan’s body changed. Her white skin darkened until it was ebony. Her blonde hair darkened and curled. Her thin lips puffed up until they were comically large. Her nails grew until they were gaudy pink claws. Her narrow hips stretched out to give her a comical hourglass figure. Finally her b-cup breasts expanded until she had saggy DD udders. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Megan screamed as she examined herself in her mirror.

John rushed into her office. “Is everything okay Miss Fumnaya?” “What did you just call me?” She asked. I’m sorry ma’am, did I pronounce your name wrong?” He asked. Megan checked one of her buisness cards and saw that it said Megan Fumnaya of Fumnata LLC.

“Get out of my office” she snapped at John. I need to think. “Yes ma’am” he said, leaving. Megan logged onto Facebook and sure enough it logged her in as Megan Fumnaya, an African-American. Looking up Megan Foster brought up nothing. Her Facebook was full of pictures of her with her new black family, there were even pictures of her recieving her diploma from law school.

“This is insane” she thought to herself. “John must have put drugs in my coffee or something. People don’tjust magically change”. Megan continued her research online. Her parents and siblings still existed but they apparently had to connection to her. She was completely absent from the pictures of vacations they took as a family.

Megan’s computer received another email. “Would you rather be John Burke’s secretary or his lover?” “I’d rather be dead than fuck a black man”. She scoffed to herself. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you, creep, but I’d rather be a secretary than have sex with John Burke.”

Megan felt a strange sense of vertigo after she sent the email. Just then John walked into her office. Rather than the cheap suit he’d been wearing that morning he was dressed in what appeared to be a custom Italian suit. His posture was different as well, he seemed quite intimidating.

“What are you doing at my desk?” John asked Megan, annoyed. “Something is wrong!” Megan exclaimed. “You used to be my assistant and this was my office!” John laughed out loud. “You crazy bitch.” He said. “Are you high right now or something?”

Megan started sobbing but John just laughed. She ran into the firm’s bathroom and sobbed for twenty minutes. “How could this be happening” She asked herself. Just then she heard a chime. It was her flip-phone alerting her to a new email.

“Would you rather be a ghetto prostitute or an immigrant maid to a rich white family?” “I dont want any of that shit!” she said trying to type in a reply but her stupid nails and her clumsy hands pressed the maid option and sent it.

Just then Megan was no longer sitting in her office, she was in a room she’d never seen before. It was some sort of study full of books and antiques. She also realized that she was wearing a skimpy maid outfit that showed off her new hourglass figure. The top of her maid outfit revealed more cleavage than it concealed, her skirt didn’t go down to her thighs and her shoes were now eight-inch stripper heels.

Megan explored the study and was disturbed to notice that she couldn’t read any of the books. “Maybe if I apologize to whoever wrote the emails they’ll change me back!” She thought to herself. She went over to the study’s computer only to realize that she couldn’t read any of the keys on the keyboard. “I can’t read English” she exclaimed.

“What are you doing in my study, Maaike?” Came a stern man’s voice from behind her. She turned around and saw Mister Thompson, a former client of her’s from when she was a successful lawyer. Michael Thompson was a tall, handsome man. He was also very cruel and ruthless.

When she was a lawyer Megan had helped him exploit some loopholes to get a family evicted so he could build a shopping mall. Megan hadn’t cared at the time but when they went out for drinks afterwards to celebrate he joked about how the poor people needed to learn their place. She had laughed at the time but it didn’t seem funny now.

In her fright Megan jumped and several coins spilled out from her skirt. “Oh, Maaike, I’m so disappointed in you.” Mister Thompson admonished. “Mista Tomsan, me can explain” she started in broken English. “I hired you in spite of your illiteracy, inappropriate dress sense and the fact that you aren’t even a legal citizen and you repay me by pilfering my antique coin collection? I’m afraid I’m going to have to alert INS and have you deported back to Somolia.”

“No, please Mista Tomsan, I do anything!” “Anything?” Mister Thompson said. “Prove it to me.” He had Megan bend over his desk and he pulled up his skirt. “No panties, Maaike”? Mister Thompson said in faux offense. “You should be ashamed of yourself”.

Mister Thompson anally fucked Megan against his desk. Her mouth howled in ecstasy while her mind screamed in terror. When Mister Thompson was done she cleaned his flaccid cock with her mouth. “I suppose I’ll give you a second chance Maaike, but I’m going to dock your pay from five dollars an hour to four dollars an hour. “Four dolla!” Megan exclaimed!” “Now it’s three dollars an hour you black cow. Want to go lower?” “No Mista Tomsan” Megan said.

EPILOGUE

Maaike was both disturbed and surprised by how quickly she got used to her new life. The Thompsons were extremely strict about her new maid duties. If they felt she was slacking in any way they would either dock her pay for the day or come up with some humiliating punishment like being forced to clean Mrs. Thompson’s shoes with her tounge. Once Maaike accidentally dropped a plate while cleaning the dishes and Mister Thompson paddled her until her brown ass turned purple.

It also turned out that Mrs. Thompson had some repressed sapphic tendencies. She loved to sodomize Maaike with a strap-on on a regular basis. “Stupid black whore” she would grunt as she penetrated Maaike. “Thank me for debasing myself with an animal like you.” “T-thank you, Mistress” Maaike would sob as she was raped by this rich white woman.

Mister Thompson continued having sex with her whenever it amused him and come up with bizarre “games” he would use to humiliate her. Once he caught her masturbating and forced her to wear a chasity belt which only his family had keys to. Coupled with her uncontrollable libido and Maaike was almost happy when the Thompsons would rape her because at least it would relieve the pressure for a few minutes.

Mister Thompson’s 18 year old son Maxwell was the worst, however. He would regularly bring his friends over to gangbang Maaike. He charged each client $50 for oral and $100 for vaginal and anal (of which she got nothing.) At the end of his sessions she would be left lying on the floor, coated in the cum of Maxwell and his friends.

Maaike considered running away from the cruel family but no one seemed sympathetic to her plight. One day a pair of police officers saw her mowing the Thompson’s yard naked (a punishment for accidentally spilling wine on Mrs. Thompson’s dress while serving her dinner) and rather than arrest her for indecent exposure they simply laughed at her instead. Every night Maaike would go to the sleeping bag in the damp, bug-infested cellar the Thompsons allowed her to live in (for $400 a month) and remember the rich, white lawyer she used to be as she cries herself to sleep.