The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Angie pulled open the kitchen drawer, and reached in to grab the ball of string. Jill got shivers just watching her take the string into her hands. She had a feeling of what was coming, and she hadn’t expected it so soon. But then, Angie always liked to keep her on her toes. Jill never knew when the next induction was coming, and sometimes Angie made her wait out terrible dry spells, just to build anticipation for when she finally gave her the joy of trance again. Other times she took Jillian completely by surprise and did it when she was least expecting it, like now.

Angie hadn’t seen that Jill was watching her, and she was about to call Jillian to attention, but before Angie spoke, Jillian had already put the knife down that she had been using to chop celery for their soup dinner and turned to face her.

Angie smiled at this, as if it were pleasing to her. “You are so my good girl, aren’t you, Jill?”

Jill gave her a soft smile of her own. “I can’t be anything else.”

Angie bounced the ball of string lightly in her hand. “You remember what this is, don’t you?”

Jill swallowed, and nodded. She only had hazy memories of it, but that was the game she and Angie liked to play— one of Jill’s favorite dynamics was the feeling of her thoughts being slightly out of place; having evidence that Angie had been in her mind, messing around. So Angie had programmed her full of commands and counter-commands, so Jill could get that feeling of her mind fighting itself, fighting Angie’s control, only to hopelessly fail. She could always remember that there was something she was forgetting, or that something existed, or had happened, or would happen, but never the details of it.

That was the way Jill liked it.

So as she looked at the string she felt that haze of blurry familiarity wash over her. If she focused on the ball long enough, she could almost see after-images of it on either side, past memories overlaying the current experience, but they only went so far. Then, there was a wall of blackness. Something forgotten. She could see where it was, could see the hole the missing memory left, but no matter how much she concentrated, she couldn’t get it back.

That was so hot.

“You remember it vaguely,” Angie observed, with a shake of her head. “But you can’t quite call up the specifics, can you?”

Jill shook her head no, mirroring Angie.

“That’s alright, Jill,” Angie said, her voice a sweet lulling sound. “Maybe I can jog your memory.”

Slowly, Angie took the loose end of the string, and quietly began unwinding it. It was that really soft kind of string, loose and without form. With precision, she continued to unwind it, and Jill lost herself in the motion. Around and around the ball, the string getting longer and longer in a pattern that could easily become endless and suck and drink days of her life away in the blink of an eye.

But then Angie put the ball of string back in the drawer, closing it so that she had something to brace against, without making the rest of the ball unravel unexpectedly.

“We keep the ball of string right there, because we don’t need it all the time,” she said. “We unwind it, use it, and then wind it back up again and tuck it away, forgotten, until we need it again.”

With one hand, Angie held a gathering of string. With the other, she took the end, and began weaving it through the fingers of her opposite hand, before bringing it back.

“It’s just like all that lovely programming I’ve tucked away in your head,” Angie continued, her eyes focused on the task. Jill looked down, getting pulled into this new motion. “Behind closets and under loose floorboards. You can live your whole life forgetting I’ve put it there, but it will always be there for me when I need to use it.”

The string was white, and Angie was still weaving it through her fingers. It was a precise motion, but at the same time it was meandering. As if the string just happened to be wandering through and round the trees that were Angie’s fingers on a typical walk through a forest.

She kept going, crossing over the first taut lines to make taut lines in the opposite direction. The collection of gathered string in her hand was becoming smaller and smaller, and Jill watched engrossed. She couldn’t wind it with her fingers anymore, because the way the string was arranged prevented that kind of independent motion, but she was working the rest of he string like a pro, getting it to move wherever she wanted with shifts and movements in her wrists, her elbows, her shoulders.

It looked to Jill like the string had a mind of its own, crossing over itself and continuing its wandering journey. It was a powerful illusion, and Jill could only stare, open mouthed at the unfolding image before her.

The last of the string slid into place and the pattern was complete. Angie tilted her hands down and out, so Jill could get a clear view of the pattern she had woven.

The string had come to rest in such a way that it formed many overlapping diamond shapes. The image was painfully familiar, overlaid with unlocked memories, and Jill swallowed.

“Isn’t it a pretty pattern, Jill?”

Jill nodded, silently, staring at the many diamonds resting against and through each other. Time had stopped for her. She tilted her head, wondering if she could get a better angle. The diamonds were making her head spin. Each time she made out the shape of one, there was another one behind it that drew her attention. But when her gaze followed to that one, there was one just beside it that would pull her glance. And then one partly inside of that one that led on to another and another.

There was no end, and no beginning. Just millions of diamonds, moving in and out of each other, as endless as an infinite ball of string coming unwound.

Angie eased her hands together, and the string went slack. The diamonds disappeared, and only loose hanging threads were visible between Angie’s fingers and her pressed-together palms.

Jill exhaled in something like relief. The world righted itself for a moment, and her head stopped spinning. She looked up at Angie, who met her eyes and gave her another smile.

She looked back down to her hands, then, and slowly, Angel pulled them apart, pulling all the strings taut and making the diamonds reappear.

The world slid off its axis again, and Jill’s eyes were lost in the maze of interconnecting diamonds, trying helplessly to find closure. There had to be an end somewhere— Angie had started the whole thing with the end of a string. That end couldn’t have ceased to exist, it had to be somewhere in the pattern.

But Jill couldn’t find it. She searched desperately for it, her eyes straining as they flitted from diamond to diamond, chasing something she wasn’t sure she would even be able to find. It felt important to find the end— it would right her world again, clear the foggy haze that thickened with every passing second that she stared into the pattern.

Then Angie brought her hands together again, disrupting Jill’s search. The feeling of relief was more intense this time, a warm flush in Jill’s body. She closed her eyes, and savoured it as it licked its way through her veins like circulating blood.

She opened her eyes again, still a little buzzed, and Angie was already pulling her hands apart again, making the strings taut. Diamonds forever, diamonds with no end—

And then her hands were together again, and the diamonds were disappeared. Then apart, they were back, they were endless.

Slowly, Angie shifted into a fluid motion, until it looked like breathing. Until it matched Jill’s own breathing, her own heartbeat. In and out, the diamonds coming in to existence and then disappearing into nothingness. Just like the pattern, it no longer had a begin or end, because Angie didn’t stop moving at either end of it, even for a second. The string, even more than it had before, seemed a living creature, moving of its own accord. Rippling in and out. Pulling tight and then slackening, and then pulling tight again.

With every pulse, every completion of the cycle of motion, the feeling of heat in Jill’s body grew. The intensity of emotion the display was causing in her was almost surprising, and yet unsurprising in its now remembered familiarity. When the string pulled taught, all of the straining, painful, pushing feelings rose in her, that desperation to find the pattern’s end. When the string fell slack, that blessed relief sang in her veins and grew ever more intense.

And one shifted into the other so quickly that Jill was a mess of emotion, the feelings and sensations becoming more vibrant with every breath. From pain to relief, from distress to comfort in a complex dance that drew her deeper into the feelings of pleasure and peace in her body, only ever briefly dispersed by the moments of straining.

The pleasure would win in the end, she realized. The moments of pain were temporary, fleeting. Powerless in the face of this force building inside of her. For now she remembered. The pain was born of resistance, and the peace, of obedience. And her mind was in that perfect dance Angie always lead her so expertly in, pulling between resistance and obedience, fighting itself. She could feel the straining, feel the part of her that wanted to win and come out on top, if only to prove a point.

And she realized that part had already lost, a long time ago. It would lose again, shortly. Because the pleasure of obedience was building in her to fever pitch, and it was impossible to hold back, because there was always more obedience to unwind. It could spin out forever and never stop. And when finally Jill stopped resisting, the knowledge that she had surrendered the struggle for the moment would be proof of her obedience, and it would only send her deeper. There was no end and no beginning. Her obedience was the breathing pattern in Angie’s hands.

Each time the string pulled taut now, Jill felt more and more detached from the pain and strain of resistance. She could feel it starting to melt away on its own, the buzz of pleasure lasting longer and longer with each cycle. It might have been a shift in the cycle itself. It almost look like Angie was pausing when the rope was slack, holding Jill in that feeling of pure relief and pleasure, pulling the string taut briefly, and then as quickly as possible making it slack.

It was a slower pattern of motion, with longer pauses in the slack, obedient state. Jill’s breathing slowed to accommodate it— she panted heavily, as if she had ran a great distance. The pleasure was burning so hot in her she felt like sweat was pouring off of her. She had to take a seat in the kitchen chair to keep herself upright, and even then, it was a struggle not to slip out of the chair and sprawl out on the floor.

Still she watched the motion of the string. It had slowed so dramatically now that the pace of her own thoughts had slowed to match it. It felt nearly impossible to form a thought, now. It would be like trying to wade through thick mud, trying to force your way forward in mud that was up to your hips. Thinking a thought now would be… resistance. And it felt so much better to obey and be thoughtless.

For a long while, Angie stood still in front of her, having stepped so close to her chair that her legs were touching Jill’s legs. She kept the rope slack the whole time, never pulling it taut once.

Jill stared. Jill breathed at a pace so slow it would have been understandable if a witness thought she wasn’t breathing at all. Her mind was beautifully, perfectly empty. She was obeying. The knowledge of her own obedience was all consuming, and the more she sat in silence, thoughtless, the more perfectly she obeyed, and the more perfectly she obeyed, the more the fire in her grew. The more pleasure she felt.

Slowly, the string began unwinding itself from around Angie’s fingers, but Jill only stared, slack-jawed. She was incapable of escaping the pleasure now. Incapable of disobeying. Even if Angie had bothered to pull the string taut one more time, it would have had no effect on her. She had reached the point of perfect stillness, and perfect pleasure. Nothing in the world could make her want to leave. Nothing in the world could make her want to stop obeying Angie.

The string was all the way free now, and Angie pulled the kitchen drawer open again, retrieving the ball of it. She began winding it around the ball again, and the overlay of her unwinding it only minutes before came in at the edges of Jill’s vision, so that Angie was both unwinding and winding the string in the same moment. And the moment was eternal.

“It will be right here when we need it again,” Angie breathed, softly, as she pushed the door shut with a quiet tap. “But we don’t need it anymore today. You obeyed perfectly. And you’re obeying me perfectly right now.”

The words of praise were almost too much to bear for Jill. She shuddered under the weight of them.

Angie extended her hand, and Jill took it. She let Angie lead her out of the kitchen, through the living room, and down the hall of their bungalow to the bedroom. The images blurred past her, nonsensical.

They reached the bed, and Jill climbed on into kneeling. Gently, Angie helped her out of her clothes, her eyes warm with affection.

“I love it so much when you’re like this,” she spoke tenderly. “When I can put your mind to rest, and you can leave all your worries and just… be.”

Jill, now naked on the bed, reached out to help Angie undress in turn. Then the two of them came together into a kiss, Jill falling back against the mattress.

Everything was perfect, and everything was eternally perfect. Her obedience was so total that she could obey without being given a command. She could anticipate every order, and carry it out first. And when she caught herself doing it, it intensified the pleasure, intensified the silence in her mind, and she obeyed even more perfectly than before.

Time was gone, only a distant memory. The eternal present was her and Angie together in the golden sunlight that filled the room, and the joy of perpetual surrender coursed through her body like a flowing river.