The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

May 10th, 1998

The next few days slipped into a predictable rhythm.

Juli would come in during mealtimes, three times a day. She would offer Megan food, and would then prod and poke as if she were some kind of physician. However, her doe-eyed manner didn’t exactly support thoughts of competence and skill.

It also didn’t help that Juli’s examination methods were unorthodox. The bimbo-looking-woman never came in with a stethoscope. She never checked Megan’s pulse, breathing, nor did she check Megan’s eyes or ears. Instead, Juli would prod both of Megan’s breasts, which felt quite sore. She would wrap a measuring tape around Megan’s chest, waist, and hips as well. Honestly, Megan was surprised that the blonde woman could even read the numbers. As it was, Juli’s lips moved in forming the numbers, as though she were struggling to remember them.

A picture of Megan was always taken as well: one close-up of her face, and one full-body where Juli would ask her to stand up.

However, neither Juli’s examination, nor her appearance was the oddest part of the whole situation. What truly struck Megan was the realization that she never considered bolting. At least not until Juli was out of the room. After this first realization, she had planned, in intricate detail, how she would get past her dim-witted captor. All she had to do was wait by the door, allow Juli to look around in confusion, and slip past her. It was all so simple. Yet, every single time, she found herself surprised by Juli coming in, and her surprise didn’t “wear off” until Juli was once again leaving.

Eventually, the realization that her own mind was failing to help her escape, caused Megan to muse on Juli’s innocent, naive nature. She wondered if the two were connected. Juli had mentioned a “Master”, and, as terrifying a realization as it was to come to, Megan couldn’t help but wonder if that Master had the ability to influence her mind. If that was the case, he was well on his way to turning Megan into a slave.

Slaves were not that uncommon. In fact, like prostitutes, being a slave was simply one of the oldest “professions” throughout all of history.

It was a well-known fact that there were “Gifted” and “norms”. Those who were “Gifted” had powers of mental persuasion, intellect, athleticism, and attractiveness that norms simply couldn’t hope to compete with. The Gifteds had to register with the United Gifted’s Association, the UGA, but that had only been a recent development after and unknown Gifted had rose to power in Germany and started the second World War. Gifteds answered to the UGA and only the UGA, they were not otherwise bound by national or international law.

Megan had never once met a Gifted. Everything she had been taught had suggested that there were very few. To be the victim of a Gifted was rarer still. Whatever sort of enforcement the UGA practiced, it seemed to keep the vast majority of Gifteds in line.

On occassion, there would be a news story about a rogue Gifted who had done heinous things, but the UGA always seemed to catch these individuals. So there was no use in worrying about them.

Most norms, Megan included, simply did not worry about Gifteds in their day to day life. It was like getting struck by lightning, or being bitten by a shark. Sure, it was possible, but worrying about it wasn’t productive.

Now, of course, the only thing Megan could think about were the Gifted. It was clear to her that her captor had to be one. How else could he have exercised so much power and control over her mind? How else could Juli have become... the thing that she became? It seemed extraordinarily stupid, in retrospect, to not try and learn more about the Gifted.

A vague memory surfaced of the Treaty of Rome, the first time in history that the Gifted had been formally recognized by a governmental authority. The treaty had provided the first registry of Gifted. But, something had gone wrong somewhere... the Dark Ages. Megan remembered like a lightbulb giving vision to a windowless room. The Dark Ages following the collapse of the Roman Empire, had resulted in the loss of order among the Gifted.

In other, non-Western cultures, Gifted hadn’t truly been recognized in any formal sense. Emperors, legendary tribal leaders, and others had been confirmed as being Gifted by anthropological research, they’d existed right along, but no attempt to reign them in had been made.

The only reason Megan had remembered that was because it was an answer she had got wrong on a 11th-grade history exam. “Why did Gifted go unnoticed during the Dark Ages?” It was a tricky question in its wording. The obvious answer was that the records kept by Rome had become lost. However, that was an answer with Western-bias. To get complete credit, one had to mention the lack of formal recognition or registration of Gifted by the rest of the world. Megan had forgot to mention that. Partial credit.

At the time, Megan had grumbled about the teacher, Mr. Nowry, having a stick up his ass. However, now, as she tried to sort through what she knew of the Gifted, she chided her younger-self for not taking the topic of the Gifted more seriously in school.

For some reason, the terms “faux-Gifted”, “Black Market”, and “resistance” registered in her thoughts, but her thoughts on those terms ended there. Resistance seemed important, but Megan couldn’t remember anything about any sort of resistance in response to the Gifted. If such a thing existed, it was probably ancient history, dating back to the Roman Empire. Black Market and faux-Gifted were simply meaningless words floating in her memory pool. Everyone knew a Black Market was for illegal goods, but she didn’t know what that had to do with the Gifted. Faux-Gifted must have been pretend Gifted, but that didn’t make any sense. How could one “pretend” to be a Gifted?

Megan’s thoughts drifted between those elusive terms and Jake. When she wasn’t dozing off, she tried to keep herself awake by figuring out what the meaning of those terms could be. Perhaps knowing one of them was the key to figuring out her situation.

Sleep was not something that registered for Megan. Sometimes she would doze off into slumber, but, with no method to tell time, she was never really certain how much sleep she got. As much as possible, she tried to stay awake, Megan was terrified that the next time she woke up, she’d be just like Juli.

Nightmares of a dolled-up Megan, clueless and chipper, serving some faceless “owner” were what ensured that Megan never truly slept. She would bolt awake from such a nightmare, finding herself half-slumped into something between laying down and sitting with her back against the wall. Her hair would be stuck to her face, because she would wake up drenched in sweat.

In spite of everything, the routine continued, and seemed to wear away at the fear that kept Megan marshaled against her unknown tormentor. The paranoia was physically exhausting, and she found herself slipping into periods of time where she knew she hadn’t fallen asleep, but couldn’t remember what had happened. Megan would stir, only to realize that an empty tray with the remnants of a meal was resting beside her. Or she would stir and notice that Juli was taking her picture, before leaving.

It eventually occurred to Megan that she might be drugged. She resolved to go on a hunger strike. The realization allowed her a momentary reprieve from the stupor of routine. The next time Juli came in with food, Megan played through the motions, smiling, promising to eat her food, but then put the tray a corner of the room before returning to the cot.

Megan eyed the food suspiciously, as if it would give up its secrets beneath her glare. However, the food sat there harmlessly, inanimate, with no apparent secrets to give.

“Eat.” A deep voice resonated throughout the room.

Megan jumped, and began looking around wildly. The voice sounded as though it were right next to her, yet there was no one else there. She began to feel a distinct tinge of discomfort, feeling as though she should be doing something, though she had no idea what that was.

After several moments, the voice spoke again, “Eat.”

This time, Megan was certain it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. Someone, a male, was talking to her. He wasn’t in the room, his voice came out of the walls. There were no noticeable speakers, but it was the only rational conclusion. The discomfort became stronger, and she realized what it was: her body was telling her to eat—but not through hunger, her mind remained stubborn. She wasn’t hungry. Megan repeated the thought again and again.

“Very well,” the deep, male voice said after several moments. “Megan, sleep.”

Immediately the world began to spin around her and Megan felt the headiness of vertigo wash through her consciousness. She tried to place a hand on the wall to steady herself, but the world around her was fading to black so quickly. Only moments later she was passed out, half hanging off the bed. The voice began to speak again, but the words were lost to her memory.