The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There have been many cults thorough history. Most are a flash in the pan and go away after a short time. However, there are others that have longevity. Diane Stewart was like any other reporter. She wanted that one big scoop that would punch her ticket to the big time. Her opportunity came in January of last year during a routine news broadcast.

Diane’s day started like any other. Wake up at eight in the morning, take a twenty minute shower, get dressed, and get a quick breakfast before heading out the door for work. Though she was just six months removed from college, Diane was already the lead anchor for a mid-market TV station in the twin cities of Minnesota. The one thing that Diane hated about her job was the dress code. Her boss was old fashion, and required his employees to dress in professional business attire. This involved female employees to wear hosiery with skirts. Pant suits for women were allowed as well. Neither option was to Diane’s taste. She had grown up a tom boy in the neighboring state of Iowa.

On that day, Diane chose a classy looking skirt outfit. The top was an off white, sleeveless, collared shirt. Under it she wore a lacey, black bra. Normally this would be a problem because of the contrast of light and dark colors. But, the off white shirt was made of a thick material that made that a non-issue. This was also true of the skirt. It came with the shirt and thus matched in both color and material. As per the dress code, Diane wore white pantyhose with the ensemble. She completed the outfit with tan, open toed, 2 inch heels. The entire look was stunning on the news caster’s slender, five foot six frame.

“Good morning,” Walter, the parking garage attendant said as Diane pulled up to his gate. “How are you today Ms. Stewart?”

“I’m good Walter. How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Walter replied with a chuckle. After swiping Diane’s employee ID, he raised the crossing gate. “Have a good one.”

“Thanks,” Diane said back as she pulled into the garage.

After parking in a reserved spot, Diane went to her office. Waiting inside was the station manager Tim. “Here is outline for both the noon and six broadcasts.”

“Is there anything about the new cult in there?” Diane asked as she grabbed the notes from Tim.

Tim shook his head, “not really, just a recap about what is already known. They call themselves The Sheer Collective. Their leader is reclusive and has refused to be interviewed. The authorities can’t do anything since all the women joined freely.”

“Ok,” Diane replied, “I’ll do the recap. I just wish I had more information.”

The noon broadcast went off without a hitch. Diane did the cult recap and of course the other news of the day. When six rolled around she took her place at the news desk and prepared to go live. “Ok, the stage hand said, “we are live in, 3, 2, and 1.”

“Hello.” Diane said into the camera, “I am Diane Stewart. Welcome to the six o’clock news. Our top story continues to be a new cult called The Sheer Collective. To this point little is known about the organization.” Diane was about to continue on with her limited information about the cult when she suddenly got a message in her earpiece. The camera stayed rolling but the anchor was silent as she listened to her earpiece and looked on a laptop computer.

After a thirty second pause, Diane looked back towards the camera. “I have just received word that a woman claiming to be the leader of The Sheer Collective has called into this station. She’s requested to be interviewed live via satellite by me in a few moments.”

A screen of static came onto the laptop. A digital graphic mirroring the computer was placed by the production team next to Diane’s head. This was for the benefit of the viewers. They could now see what Diane was seeing on the laptop. The words, loading signal appeared over the static. Then, a picture came into view.

A woman was sitting on a solid concrete throne inside a darkened room. The room was plain looking for the most part. A few medieval style decorations adorned the walls but that was about it. The woman was striking. Her straightened, dark red hair flowed freely to mid shoulder. She wore black lipstick and dark colored eye makeup. The woman’s eyes appeared black as night. Her attire was a blend of BDSM and medieval. Around her neck was a spiked dog collar. Her breasts were cupped in a shiny, black, leather bra. Mini dog collars were clasped around the woman’s wrists. The rest of the look consisted of black, leather boots with three inch heels, a chainmail looking mini dress, and silky, black pantyhose.

“Hello,” Diane said to her satellite guest. “Thank you for agreeing to this interview. I just have a few questions.”

“Greetings Diane Stewart,” the woman replied. “I have requested this interview to clear up some facts about my organization. For weeks you have been running the same things over and over. I think it is time to give you, and the public more information.”

“Ok,” Diane responded. “My first question is obvious. What is your name?”

“I am called Nylon Queen. I am aware that this name has been used by a number of others in the past. But, I don’t care about that. It is the title I was given many years ago. As far as I’m concerned, I am the only and true Nylon Queen.”

“Fair enough,” Diane said, “my next question involves the use of the term cult. Do you like that word being used in association with The Sheer Collective?”

“I do not like it;” was Nylon Queen’s answer, “That term is so limited and stereotypical. My collective is much more than that. The Sheer Collective is a way of life. My followers have accepted the power and pleasure of nylon. They have allowed it to change their lives for the better.”

Diane shook her head. “With all due respect, that’s a bunch of crap.” Nylon can’t and won’t change a woman’s life. I think the term cult fits your collective perfectly. You are just as crazy as a mad man in Texas who claimed to be a divine figure. Viewers, you heard it here first, The Sheer Collective is a cult led by a crazy woman who claims that nylon will change your life.”

Nylon Queen shifted in her throne, a cold, vindictive stare came over her face. “All women will become part of my collective. All women will know the true power and pleasure of nylon. Diane Stewart, I’m glad you are wearing pantyhose today. It makes things easier. Feel my power through this broadcast, become nylon!”

Diane had heard enough. She quickly pressed the enter button to end the feed. “I’m sorry folks; in the future we will screen the crazy people before putting them on the air.” Once given the signal that the broadcast had went to a commercial break, the news anchor put down her notes down and took a moment to stretch. “That botch was nuts,” she said aloud to no one in particular, “Nylon power, what a load of shi….”

Diane’s words drifted off in mid-sentence as se grasped her white, nylon clad ankle. “My legs…. They feel so weird all of a sudden. They feel so hot and tingly. Oh my god! I am getting do turned on. The pleasure is like nothing I’ve felt before!”

At this point the flustered anchor had leaned back on her news desk stool. Her hot, pantyhose encased legs were rested up on a neighboring stool. “What the hell is happening to me?” When the production team and Tm tried to enter the sound stage to assist their friend; they found it to be mysteriously locked.

“Why is the damn door locked?” Tim yelled at his staff.

“I don’t know!” A crew member yelled back. “It was unlocked when she went in.”

Tim barked an order, “Call a maintenance guy up here to fix it! Something is wrong with Diane; we have to get in there!”

While Tim and the crew struggled with the locked door, Diane had stood and walking in front of the news desk. She was overwhelmed with pleasure. “I am getting so hot, have to take this blouse off.” Suddenly, Diane grabbed her head. “She’s in my head! Nylon Queen is in my head! She’s telling me to submit to the pleasure.”

With intense pleasure coursing through her body, and the voice of Nylon Queen inside her mind; Diane swayed back and forth. Her shirt was unbuttoned, the black bra in full view. Tim and the others were now trying to forcefully break into the sound stage. But, that wasn’t working either. Diane continued to squirm and moan from the pleasure; her eyes rolled into the back of her head and became glazed over. Then, all of a sudden the news woman grabbed the desk and shook her head. Her eyes were back to normal, and a look of determination was on her face.

“No!” She yelled, “I have to fight this thing! I can’t let her take me!” However, as quickly as she had snapped out of her trance like state, Diane’s eyes began to glaze over again. Her knees started to shake. She was clearly experiencing another surge of pleasure. “Have to fight,” she continued to mutter, “but, the waves of pleasure coursing through my hosed legs feel so damn good!” Diane, once again in a trance, allowed her shirt to slip off and fall to the floor.

“Nylon Queen is still in my head,” Diane said allowed is a soft, monotone voice. “Her voice continues to echo through my mind; telling me to submit and become part of the collective.” As the entranced beauty slid her skirt down, a look of concern came across her face. “What the hell? My pantyhose have fused with my skin. How is that possible?” Diane then twitched her head to the right, as if she was listing to someone. “I’m becoming one with the nylon,” she stated after a few seconds of silence, “One with my queen.”

Again, she briefly broke out of the trance. “No! I have to resist. I have to fight. Must not give in, must maintain control! I must….Must….” Diane’s voice drifted off. Her one last attempt to break free had failed. With both her shirt and skirt removed, the entranced anchor reached up and removed the tie from her hair. The slightly curled, dark blonde locks to feel to their natural place, just below the shoulder bones on her back.

Diane aggressively began to convulse as a final and intense wave of ecstasy emanated from her now permanently pantyhose sheathed legs. Ms. Stewart climaxed with moans of pleasure and desire that echoed through the entire building. Even Walter turned his head down in the garage to see what was going on.

Tim and the crew’s attempts to intervene had failed. Even after the maintained man arrived, the door would not open. A crew member had even tried to break the window that separated the sound stage and production room. That didn’t work either. Diane turned toward the front of the room. Her eyes had become vacant, and had a green glow to them. She pressed a key on the laptop, pulled a stool in front of the news desk, and sat down. Diane then leaned back, grasping her hosed legs just behind the knees. In that moment, Tim and the others realized that Diane had reconnected the satellite feed to Nylon Queen. As with the doors and windows to the sound stage, the crew was powerless to override this action.

With the image of the queen back on screen, Diane uttered her final words as a news anchor. “I will serve and obey. Long live The Sheer Collective.” A cloud of green mist surrounded the enslaved woman. When it cleared, she was gone. The feed to Satellite feed was still live. Nylon Queen was now sitting in a relaxed state, her black, nylon legs draped over one side of the throne. “I am Nylon Queen! You will all become part of my collective! All women will serve and obey me!”

Epilogue

After Diane Stewart vanished, Tim and the crew were able to enter the vacant sound stage. The police investigated, but found nothing. When attempts were made to play back the tape of the newscast, all that could be seen was static. “That’s strange,” Tim said, “when we were live, it was clear as a bell.” With playback unobtainable, police had to drop the case. Not even the mass amounts of reports that came in from live viewers of the interview would hold up in court. It was deemed that Diane used the whole thing as a stunt to gain publicity and that The Sheer Collective was a harmless group of nut jobs. They were wrong, very wrong.