The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Serenidad woke to find herself lying on a trolley. Her left arm itched, and she looked over to see an IV line running into it.

“How are you feeling, novicia?” the Doctor asked, walking over to inspect her patient. “Madre’s Draft of Truth is very potent, but messes up your body chemistry. The IV should be washing it out of you.“

“Thank you...” Serenidad was confused about what had just happened. She struggled to sit up.

The Doctor gave a ‘tch!’ and firmly pushed her back down. “You need to rest.” She retrieved a syringe from a tray and injected all its contents into a valve in the line. “This will help.”

She turned to a nun in a nurse’s apron, and switched to Castillian. ”Sor Dulzura, I need to get the room prepared. Please monitor the patient.” She swept out of the room.

The nurse nodded, and approached the confused Serenidad with a kind smile. She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around the girl’s arm, put a thermometer in her mouth, and clipped a peg on her finger. Serenidad cooperated, unsure of what was happening. By habit, she didn’t ask any questions—indeed, the thermometer was a remarkably effective gag.

The room suddenly became blurry—Serenidad just about retained the capacity to wonder what had been in that syringe, but her limbs had turned to rubber and it was suddenly very hard to form clear thoughts, let alone speak. Apparently this had been expected, as the nun removed the thermometer and waved a small flashlight in front of her eyes. She vaguely tried to follow it, but her failure earned her another smile, and a gentle stroking of her cheek.

Dextrous fingers tickled behind her neck, and her shift, now unfastened, slid off her, briefly exposing her body. A dark green cover, smelling strongly of antiseptic, replaced it. A cap of similar material was secured over her head, holding her short hair in place.

A small part of Nicola was screaming internally at Serenidad, telling her that something was very wrong, but Serenidad could only manage a vague smile at her nun. She dribbled a little, and the nun gently dabbed at her lips to clean her up.

The background noise had somehow got louder, and she was aware of footsteps in the nearby corridor, the creak and clank of doors opening and closing, and the hum of electrical equipment. All she could do, however, was to stare at the plain green ceiling as the sedative held her body flaccid.

The sound of another door opening, and accented Castillian. “We are ready for her.”

Helpless, Serenidad watched as her trolley was pushed down a short corridor and through an opened pair of doors, into a room lined with dark green tiling. Harsh, bright lights cast sharp shadows across the room.

Two figures in long green gowns and caps, also smelling of antiseptic, joined her nun. Strong arms came under her, and she was unceremoniously pulled from the trolley to a different, harder bed. Its plastic fabric felt cold to her bare skin. Above her, old-style operating theatre lights glared down.

Her nun took the trolley away, the double doors closing with a bang behind her. Despite her heavy sedation, Serenidad managed to swallow in fear.

Busy hands started to connect the various wires and tubes from her to equipment by the bed. She heard the “beep-beep” of a heart rate monitor start up.

“You’re wondering what’s happening.” The Doctor’s face came into view. Like the others, dressed all in dark green, long gloves covering her hands. With a practiced motion, she gently squeezed Serenidad’s mouth with one hand, and as her jaw reflexively opened, slid something tasting of plastic into her mouth and down her airway. Normally, Serenidad would have gagged, but the sedation was depressing her reflexes too effectively.

“Madre’s mind-washing is very effective,” the Doctor explained blandly, “but unfortunately not one hundred percent. Now and again, we have a novice who is resistant to it—like Nicola. You remember that name, don’t you, Serenidad?“

Dazed, Serenidad could only nod weakly.

“I used to run a female-only psychiatric ward,” the Doctor recalled, a far-away look in her eyes. “It was a very successful venture—oh, the fun you can have with the Italian bureaucracy!—but unfortunately, we had a number of patients who were very difficult to handle. Merely drugging them into oblivion seemed... inelegant.

“I found inspiration in combining the classical research done into the practice of lobotomy, with our modern much greater understanding of human brain structure. Some simple changes in the frontal lobe turned out to produce a subject who is far more compliant, and without initiative, their higher brain functions being replaced with more... fundamental instincts, let us say.”

She leaned down above Serenidad, took firm hold of her jaw again, and—frowning with concentration—used a pen to mark a number of points on both sides of the girl’s forehead.

“It’s a much more humane approach, and we have ensured that it results in a happier, more malleable patient. Unfortunately, here our facilities are a little more primitive than those I used to work with”—she gestured around the room, indicating the various equipment which indeed looked much more like 20th Century medicine than 21st—“but we’ve found them adequate for our purpose so far.”

“Sor Limpieza!” She gestured at one of the other figures, who approached wheeling a small trolley.

Breathing through the plastic tube, Serenidad felt, rather than saw, the cover be folded back from her sex, and warm foam rubbed into the fur covering her mound. Something sharp started to scrape at her skin, and she vaguely realized that she was being intimately shaved—for some reason, which currently escaped her.

“Increasing the female physiological sexual sensitivity—and response—is remarkably easy, with some simple surgical techniques,” the Doctor observed, watching the procedure. “It supplies the perfect motivation for the novices whom we convert.”

Serenidad felt warm liquid slosh over her mound, and a careful wiping of what now seemed to be smooth skin. Despite her predicament, it felt quite pleasant, and she would have sighed had the tube allowed it.

A sudden, sharp pain in her pee hole caused her eyes to open wide, and she gave a choked squeak. Her hands clutched reflexively, but the rest of her body remained immobile. A small tear escaped one eye as she felt the burning as the invader slid deeper within her. A final sharp spike, and then a strange sensation from deep inside her.

“You’re going to be all wrapped up around your middle for a while,” the Doctor pointed out. “We need you catheterized. That didn’t hurt, did it?” She didn’t appear particularly concerned with any answer.

She leaned over Serenidad again, pen in her hand, and made many more marks on and around the girl’s mound, lips, and even caused her to give another squeak as her clit was poked several times.

“And.... that should be everything. Sterilization please, Sor.” The Doctor moved away as the figure with her trolley started to paint cold, strong-smelling liquid over Serenidad’s middle.

“Can I tell you a secret, Serenidad?” The Doctor leaned over, right next to her ear. “Sometimes, I help one of the cuter novicias resist the mind washing. Just a few hints, here and there, just enough to help them retain memories and cause Madre to reject them. Then... they’re mine to play with.“

Serenidad’s heart rate was increasing, testified by the monitor, and the Doctor glanced over at it. She gave a wry smile.

“I do so enjoy these conversations, my dear, but all good things must come to an end.” She drew back, and beckoned another figure forward.

Serenidad recognized this nun, even with her face masked: she was in charge of distilling the sap of the herbs from the garden. A small scar ran from the corner of her right eye to disappear under her cap. She approached Serenidad, carrying a large translucent mask, and a determination apparent in her eyes.

With no real resistance from Serenidad, the mask was fastened tightly to her face, straps around the

back of her head carefully made taut. She could still breathe, but now the air tasted of plastic—and something else.

Fearful, despite the sedation, she could make out a low conversation between the Doctor and the other two women, but not what they were saying. The plastic mask obscured her vision, leaving her only a clear view of the pitiless surgical lights above her head. Her limbs trembled, and she tried—unsuccessfully, with the intruder in her mouth—to lick her dry lips.

There was a sudden poking at the edge of her sex, and she gave another squeak.

“I’m ready,” came the Doctor’s voice. “Put her under.”

The masked nun returned with a white pad, which she tucked into an enclosure in the front of the mask. She then took a small brown bottle from a tray and poured a clear liquid onto the pad, then carefully buttoned shut the enclosure.

The sweet-smelling fumes of ether hit Serenidad, and she gasped involuntarily. The nun was watching her carefully, eyes switching between Serenidad’s face and the monitor, and after a while retrieved the bottle and poured more liquid onto the pad. This stronger concentration caused Serenidad’s ears to start ringing almost immediately, and her eyes to start fluttering.

The nun said something in Castillian that her brain was completely unable to process, and she felt a new, sharp pain in her sex. She would have cried out, but the mask muffled any cries, and she just drew in more anesthetic.

Now her vision started to tunnel, seeing the masked face of her sedatrix as the only item in her vision. It was if she had cut herself loose from her body, and started to float up to the ceiling...

“Where are you going, Serenidad?” The Doctor’s low, amused voice was still audible. “Leaving me your body to do with what I wish...” A final flash of stars in her vision, and Serenidad was out cold.

The Doctor observed with satisfaction as her subject stopped twitching from the repeated insertions of the needle, and the muscle tone finally vanished.

“That’s perfect,” she observed to the impassive nun. “Keep her there.” She adjusted the overhead light. “First, let’s improve this novice’s sexual response.”

Amabilidad had picked up a new duty today. After a silent breakfast with the nuns and other novices in the refectory, she had been directed to the medical corner of the compound. There, she found the tall Doctor—a twinkle in her eye—consulting some charts. Another novice was already there, waiting silently.

“Welcome, novicias. You will be caring for a couple of my patients this morning. They both need cleaning, changing, monitoring, and general nursing. Amabilidad”—the girl reflexively came to attention—“follow Paciencia’s lead, she is experienced in this.” The Doctor turned away, dismissing them.

Paciencia headed for a cloakroom, and Amabilidad followed. The two women changed into pink scrubs, bound their hair and carefully fitted paper masks, with Amabilidad dutifully copying her colleague.

They entered a small room, white-painted, just big enough for the two old-style hospital beds which had been placed there. Both beds were occupied; the faces of the occupants, however, were obscured under bandages that covered from their noses up to their foreheads; their close-cropped hair at the top of their head was visible, but ears and eyes were buried under fabric. They lay passively. One had a nasal catheter connected to an oxygen cylinder, but the other did not.

Paciencia beckoned Amabilidad to stand alongside the first patient, then ran warm water from the room’s ancient sink into a ceramic bowl. She retrieved some disposable sponges from a cupboard, squirted some soap into the bowl and placed it on the table alongside the bed.

Amabilidad watched intently as Paciencia carefully folded back the sheet covering her patient, revealing her nude upper half, then tucked a towel under each side and set to work gently sponging the patient’s skin, careful to address every crease. After a few minutes, apparently confident that Amabilidad had the idea, she gestured at the second patient.

Amabilidad filled her own bowl and attended to the patient she’d been given. This was an older, plumper woman than Paciencia was treating, but the technique was the same. The woman appeared to be conscious, reacting when Amabilidad carefully lifted an arm to clean underneath, but didn’t attempt to speak despite her mouth being free.

The two novices next exposed their patients’ lower halves, seeing that their waist was similarly bandaged. A catheter emerged from the bandages; Paciencia took over from Amabilidad for the task of changing her patient’s draining bag, as it seemed to require dexterity and familiarity with the system.

Paciencia produced two small bottles of oil, and the novices massaged their patients from neck to toes before wiping off the excess oil. Finally, they brushed the teeth and gently cleaned around the nose, before bringing the covers back to their charges’ necks.

Paciencia mixed up some oatmeal, and carefully fed her patient. “Small spoons!” she admonished, as Amabilidad tried to emulate her. The verbal warning was disconcerting, and Amabilidad was extremely careful from then on to give only the smallest amounts on her spoon to her patient.

The Doctor swept in as they were finishing up. She inspected the patients as the two novices stood alongside, heads bowed nervously.

“Acceptable. Novicia Amabilidad, you are to continue this work for the next week.“

The days went by, and then the weeks. The hot Andalusian summer burned its way into the courtyard, and the sisters worked diligently to ensure their plants were sufficiently watered and—where necessary—shaded. The heat slowly crept underground, to the point where Amabilidad struggled to sleep for a few weeks in her airless room. Fortunately, a late summer thunderstorm broke the back of the heat, and provided enough water that the sisters were allowed full daily washes.

Amabilidad was still occasionally called to Penitencia, but now she was called weekly to spend time in Madre’s room. During her long, silent periods digging away in the gardens, she would remember her feelings there—Madre’s wonderful, intelligent eyes boring into her as ecstasy surged from her sex throughout her body. More than once, she felt herself add her sexual emissions to the sweat that soaked her underwear.

One role she was never given was the visit to town. Twice a week, the battered Mercedes van coughed into life, when two sisters took it out of the gates and down the dusty road to town. It returned full of the supplies that the compound couldn’t grow—meats, cleaning products, necessary foreign-grown vegetables and herbs—and raw materials like cloth and thread, for the handcrafted goods that they occasionally sold. She often helped offload the van, and sort the groceries from there, but she was never indicated to leave the compound. Strangely, it never occurred to her to ask.

It was in the first couple of weeks of the Andalusian otoño , when the initial cool winds flowed down the valley, when Amabilidad’s routine encountered a new facet. Her day’s routine was chalked up on the slate outside her room, but this morning when she looked at it, the afternoon slot was simply marked “B”, and in red chalk. She had seen that abbreviation a few times on others’ slates as she passed, but had no idea what it meant, where to go, or even which clothes to wear.

She approached the senior sister in the garden—it happened to be Sor Esperanza—and, hesitant in the unusual act of speaking, timidly asked what she was supposed to do.

“So you have been chosen, novicia?” Esperanza looked her up and down. “I am surprised, but you must have impressed Madre.” She indicated a corner of the compound that, as far as Amibilidad was aware, was mostly for storage. “There is a white door in the passageway under that tower. It is normally locked fast, but you will find it unlocked when your time comes. Descend the stairs, and follow guidance.“

“What should I wear, Sor Esperanza? My formal robes?“

Esperanza chuckled. “It does not really matter, novicia. But you must be clean; perform thorough abluciones immediately before your time.“

She indicated the nearby greenhouse. “Now, help me harvest the tomates.“

The pair worked in companiable silence in the still-warm greenhouse for the rest of the morning, carefully plucking the just-ripe fruit and packing them gently in containers. Like most of the institution’s work, it was mostly mindless, and the novicias were used to self-reflection while they carried it out. Amabilidad tried not to wonder about what the afternoon held, as speculation was a distraction, but she couldn’t fully keep her thoughts from wandering in that direction.

The lunch of chicken stew in the refectory was welcome, almost as much as the cold drinking water pulled from the wells, but Amabilidad had an eye on the room’s clock. Without gulping down her food, which would have implicitly insulted the sisters in the kitchen, she didn’t spend much time in reflection while eating. As soon as was decent, she cleared away her plate and cup, and headed for a washroom, picking up a fresh set of novice robes on the way.

Her sweaty gardening outfit discarded, she pulled a full bucket of lukewarm water, and set to washing. They were admonished to be efficient in cleaning, not to linger or to waste water, but something told her that this preparation should be more thorough. She shampooed and washed her short hair—recently trimmed back, following admonition from a sister—twice, and followed down her body with the same level of attention, careful to soap and then wash clear each crease.

Once dry, she slipped on the fresh robes. They felt coarse against her clean skin, but she accepted that as normal. With a careful adjustment of her novice veil, checked in the room’s single, small mirror, she felt ready.

The walk to the white door felt like many miles. She passed by a number of other sisters and novices, but each—like her—was focused on their own affairs. She tried to clear her mind of expectations. Madre had selected her, and Madre was always correct. She had prepared herself as well as possible, surely? Was she prepared enough for Madre?

The white door was where Sor Esperanza had indicated. She gave it a gentle push, and it swung inwards—open, as promised. She took a deep breath, and started down the dark staircase which it had revealed.

The bottom of the stairs led though an anonymous door into a small anteroom. A novice was sitting there, quietly, her brown eyes the only visible part behind her veil.

As Amabilidad entered, the novice rose to meet her. Wordless, she firmly pulled off Amabilidad’s veil, hanging it on a clothing hook next to some other hanging clothing. Amabilidad’s cloak came next, and she shivered as the cool room air touched her skin. But the novice was not done yet—Amabilidad’s bra and panties followed the other clothing, leaving her stark naked in the center of the room, and wondering what was going on.

The novice moved behind her, and a soft but firmly applied blindfold cut out all her vision. That was disconcerting enough, but then something else came over her head and started to tighten. A rubber ball was pushed into her mouth, and secured in place with a tight strap. Amabilidad was alarmed, but without vision or the ability to communicate she remained where she was, uncertain of what to do.

The sound of a door opening, and Amabilidad felt cool hands giving her back a firm push. Tentatively, she walked slowly forwards, hands in front of her to try to anticipate any obstacles.

The floor changed from cool slate to a warmer, linoleum-like material. Now Amabilidad could hear music playing in the background, and the occasional noise which she couldn’t place—creaks, squeaks, and electrical hums. She continued forwards, following the cues of the hands on her back.

Suddenly, there was a hand on her chest and she stopped.

She felt something fastening around one wrist, then the other—unexpectedly, her right wrist was pulled into the air, and fastened to something above her head. The same thing happened to her left hand, leaving her in a “I surrender!” position.

She trembled, uncertain of what might come next, but then both ankles were similarly cuffed, and her feet pulled out and fastened slightly wider than shoulder width. Anchored at all four points, she suddenly felt extremely vulnerable.

Footsteps headed away from her—was that the novice?—and a door closed. The background music seemed to get a little louder, though maybe that was just her suddenly hypersensitive hearing. There were more clicks, slaps and hums in the background, and even something which sounded like a whimper—was that from her? The gag precluded anything but the most primitive of noises.

She lost track of time, gently swaying in her stance as she unconsciously tried to keep blood circulating to her arms. It was a shock, then, when a firm hand clapped her left butt cheek with some speed—the shock made her squeak behind the gag before she really registered the follow-on sting.

Madre’s voice came, low, in her left ear. “Welcome to the Sisterhood, Amabilidad.“