The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It’s really hard for me to write this, but I feel it has to be done. Hard, because let’s be honest, I’ve enjoyed the times we’ve had together, but it has to be done, because I just can’t go on like this. Quite apart from anything else, it’s costing me a fortune in clothes and make-up and such, and I’m simply not used to spending that much on things that I never thought that important. So this is me, letting you both know (and I bet you’re surprised—I was never sure whether either of you knew that the other one existed, but even if you did I’m sure you didn’t think I did, if that makes any sense at all) that there are going to be some changes. And I mean permanent, once and for all changes.

Katrina, when I met you I was...not unhappy with my life. I was a little frustrated, maybe, since I hadn’t had an awful lot of success with boys, and never even thought about girls in that way, but I had my psych studies and my music to work on, and my career was all mapped out. Then you came into my life, with your esoteric theories and your dark satanic good looks, and little by little you began to take over. I started to enjoy wearing corsets, and dyeing my hair black, and listening to that doomy kind of music you love so much, and by the time I had worked out that you were using magic on me, it was far too late for me to resist. You made me into a goth like you, and I stopped studying and started going to clubs like Fangdom and Black Geranium, and of course you persuaded me into your bed, and that was lovely. Please don’t mistake me. It didn’t matter that I knew by then you had coerced me. I loved you, or thought I did, and I was happy.

And then I met you, Taffy, with your bubblegum and your pink frilly dresses and your blonde curls, and you got to work on me. Who knew you were such a whiz at chemistry? You effortlessly drove all those dark doomy thoughts out of my head and replaced them with little pink bubbles, and you made me into your bimbo dyke girlfriend, and that was way cool too, and you got me into dancing at Love Jugs even though my boobs weren’t really that impressive, and I was all set to go get implants so that I could be a big-tittied dumb slut like you (not that you were ever as dumb as you pretended to be), and I loved you, even knowing what you’d done to me, and I was happy.

I’m really sorry, Katrina, that it took you so much effort to rescue me from that fate. I gather you had to make up a whole new set of spells just to rinse the bubbles out of my brain and restore me to what you thought was my rightful gothy self. And of course you had to make me burn all my pink bimbo outfits and buy new corset dresses and billowy black coats. I understand that, but they did cost me an arm and a leg, you know, and you never paid me back for them. Not that you let me remember that at the time. But you could have afforded it perfectly well, with all the money you magicked out of your family.

And then, just when I was stable again, you came along, Taffy, and whisked me right out from under Katrina’s nose and started in on me again. I’m so sorry I worried you when you thought you’d burned out my brain completely, but those new drugs of yours were wicked strong, and it did take me a week or so to remember who I was supposed to be. Still, all was well that ended well, and you did buy me a new wardrobe with the money you got from the tutors at college. I hope you’re looking after them in their new careers. That kind of life can be dangerous, even for older women.

I don’t need to go through all the other times you swapped me back and forth. I gather you’ve both got quite good at it now, and can snap me from goth to bimbo and back again with a word or two or a spritz of perfume. In fact, it was that incident with the revolving door that really started the process for me of waking up to what was going on. Really, if that had lasted another ten minutes I think I would have freaked out completely. I’d spent so long in a hazy daze of sexual longing and fulfilment, one way and another, that my mind had all but stopped working completely, but honestly, did you really think it could last for ever? Did you even guess that there was someone else working on me, or did you think I just kept relapsing into old habits? Never mind. I’ll find out soon enough.

The thing is, though, my loves, I’m getting a little tired of it. I’m me, and my life is mine and doesn’t belong to either of you. And while I’d have been happy being a slave to either one of you, I can’t take this bouncing back and forth. I’m a practical kind of girl, and this is not a sustainable lifestyle for anyone who isn’t rich like you two. Clubbing and dancing and wild, wild sex is fine when you’re young, but I have to think of my future.

And that’s why I’m writing this letter, because I’ve been doing some hard thinking, and some self-hypnosis (let’s face it, by now I’m the perfect subject) and I’ve pieced together everything that you did to me, every wonderful moment of it. And I’ve worked out how you did it.

Taffy, you won’t have recognised the magical symbols running down the margins of your copy, but you would have recognised the fragrance I stole from your laboratory, which is why I only put that on Katrina’s. It’s amazing how witchcraft and chemistry can work together to achieve the same result; the fragrance is boosted with some magical herbs I stole from Katrina, and the symbols are written in an ink containing a more subtle form of the same chemical. Right now, both of you are probably just reading this one line over and over, because you’re both in a highly suggestible, totally docile state, and I bet it feels really, really good. It did for me. But you need to read on, my dears, you really do.

Because in a few moments you’re both going to feel a strong desire to get up and dress in something really comfortable and come over to see me, and when you do see me, you’ll realise that I am the most lusciously beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life, just ordinary sweater-and-jeans-and-glasses me, and that all you want to do is to be like me, a pair of comfortable, bookish, retiring lesbo nerds. And we’ll all move in together, and we’ll have a nice old house lined with books, and take turns doing the housework, and you’ll think that’s absolutely perfect.

I’m going to get my studies back on track, and get my degree and go into practice, and you two will keep house for me when I’m out at the office, and you’ll love that too, and evenings and weekends we’ll make music together, me on the piano, Katrina on the bass and Taffy on the flute. (Yes, I know you can play the flute, even though you gave it up because it wasn’t sexy. Trust me, it can be.) And we’ll grow old comfortably together, loving and loved, and none of us will ever want that to change.

Katrina, you’re going to forget all about that silly old magic stuff, because you know it’s just not scientific, all that messing about with symbols and herbs and incantations. In fact, you’re forgetting it already, aren’t you? It’s sliding out of sight, slipping away, gone. And Taffy, all that chemistry knowledge you worked so hard on hiding from me, right now it’s hidden from you too, just poofed away like a bubble in your head, right? Your head doesn’t have any more room for bubbles, after all, because you’re going to want to study something else, something as far away from chemistry as possible. Who needs all that stuff anyway, when you’ve got me, and I’m all you’ve ever wanted and all you’ll ever need?

And of course the sex will be spectacular. See, I did learn something from you both. I guarantee you’ll be thrilled.

I don’t hold any grudges, darlings. Life’s too short, and love, even artificial love, has a way of staying with you. I just want to live my life, and since you both made me live yours, I feel a need to return the favour. I know you’ll enjoy living mine with me.

See you soon, loves.