The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As Erica passed the circulation desk of her university library, she spotted a familiar sight: the fourth year, undergrad librarian student she’d been getting to know lately: Selina.

Selina happened to look up just as Erica was noticing her, and noticed her right back. Her face slid into her easy grin, and Erica abandoned her previous trajectory to library in favor of a Selina detour.

“Hi, Selina.” She said, simply. “How are you?”

The tall, raven-haired girl maintained her laidback smile. For a librarian to be, she was the complete opposite of every stereotype: she wore halter-tops to work, even in winter, beneath her layers of sweaters and winter coats, and she always wore skirts that were just slightly too short, always flirting with the college’s “decency” guidelines. She frequently wore a purple bandana, even indoors—she was wearing it right now.

Erica felt that Selina was unbearably cool—she herself was only a lowly 1st year student, after all, and she wasn’t studying anything as cool as Library Science. Or, anything as cool as Selina made Library Science seem, just by associating herself with it. She was a plain old engineering undergrad, like almost everyone from her graduating high school.

“I’m doing just fine,” Selina said, in her low, even voice. It was pleasant and rich, Erica always thought. The other girl reached into the pocket of her tan skirt, and retrieved a neatly folded sticky note, before sliding it across the circulation counter to Erica. “I found a book I thought you might like, up on the 10th floor. I wrote down the call-up number, so you should be able to find it pretty easily.”

Erica felt her cheeks heat up. A book recommendation from Selina? Could there be anything cooler than that? Even if it was on the 10th floor, which everyone knew was the deepest, most ignored and abandoned part of the stacks, there was no way Erica could pass this opportunity up.

“Thanks, Selina,” Erica replied, earnestly. “I’ll read it and let you know what I think, for sure!”

“I might see you later,” Selina said, still with that enigmatic smile. “I’ve got some shelving to do this evening up on the top few floors—maybe we’ll run into each other, and have a chat.”

The idea seemed nice to Erica, but as it was 5:00 pm, and she’d only really planned to come and study for a half-hour before supper, she doubted she’d be be around long enough for Selina to catch her. But, she did have to check out Selina’s recommendation first—so who knew?

“Yeah, maybe.” She conceded, with a shrug. “See you around, Selina. Thanks again!”

Selina just nodded at her, with a smile, and then turned away to help another student.

Erica resumed her previous path to the elevator, unfolding the sticky note as she went.

It was a series of numbers and decimals that would only make sense to her when she was on the 10th floor, she knew, but part of her had hoped there would be something else on the note. Something else hiding behind the numbers—but there wasn’t.

She looked up from the note again, and stepped into the elevator with several other students, who pressed various floors as the elevator shut behind them. Erica was the only one to press “10” and a few of the students gave her a curious look.

As the elevator climbed past floor after floor, it became emptier and emptier. Two people got out on the third, three people on the fourth, then one each got out on the 5 and 6th, leaving only one person in the elevator with Erica. The last student in the elevator got out on the 8th floor, which as far as Erica remembered, had a very specialized collection of books on international business and trade laws. She was alone, then.

Finally the elevator reached the 10th floor, and Erica felt a twist of nausea in her stomach. She didn’t know what to expect, never having been up there before. There was a ding as the elevator came to a stop, and a second ding as the doors slid open.

The first thing Erica saw was blackness—pitch black, no light. Cautiously, she stepped out of the elevator, the space between her eyes throbbing in warning, as if she was about to knock into something.

But when her foot touched the carpet, and left the elevator, the lights flicked on immediately. Yet there were not the harsh fluorescents of the other floors—they were softer, more golden, dimmer, but still bright enough to read.

There wasn’t even a sign naming the section she found herself in. She stepped forward, pausing at the first aisle to look down it, towards the wall, in hopes of spotting a window.

There was a window there, but there was a very heavy blind pulled down inside it, blocking the light from the outside world. She passed down the aisle to the window, to see if she could release the blind and let the light in. But when she reached it, she found the bottom of the blind was locked to a small handle on the wall next to it—there was no releasing this blind without a key. She turned, and looked down along the wall—all the windows were similarly blotted out. The blinds were heavy enough to make it look like night as soon as the lights went off.

Vaguely, Erica wondered if this was some kind of conservation thing—were the books in here old? So old they needed to be protected from the sunlight? But then, why weren’t they in a vault underground, somewhere?

Giving it up for a mystery, Erica looked back down at her sticky note, to read the numbers again: 112596.7853429

She began passing the aisles, reading the numbers printed on the sides of the bookshelves—11258, 112591, 112592, and so on. At last, as she was approaching the back edge of the floor, she found it: 112596, numbers 6500000—8000000.

It was a long aisle, but she passed down it, with her eyes peeled for the specific chain of numbers. 6572391, 6634908, 72301268 all slipped by her. Again, close to the end of the aisle (she assumed the higher numbers went back up the aisle in the opposite way) she found her prize: 7853429.

It was a nondescript book. If it was old, it didn’t look it. It was bound in black leather, but there was no title imprinted on it, nor author’s name. The only information was the clean white library sticker on the base of the spine of the book, which only showed the number written on the sticky-note from Selina: 112596.7853429.

She slid the book out from the shelf, and opened it, setting her bag down on the floor. She’d hoped there would be some clue of what the book was on the title page, but that too was blank. She flipped ahead—no table of contents, nothing. A few more blank pages, and then suddenly, there was text. But it wasn’t properly formatted, the way text should be. It was just a chunk of text with no paragraph breaks, and no chapter heading, title, or author name.

She flipped ahead again, but the rest of the book was the same. Pages of block text—there weren’t even page numbers on the pages. What kind of crazy book was this?

She had landed on a random page, and so hazarded reading a chunk of text, wondering if maybe that could somehow explain the strangeness of the book.

The ocean is deep, and blue. The surface is placid and calm. Underneath the water there are unseen stirrings. They whip the liquid into whirlpools that cannot be witnessed. The ocean is deep and blue.

Except there was no punctuation—Erica’s mind had automatically provided it for her on her first reading, so it really looked like this:

the ocean is deep and blue the surface is placid and calm underneath the water there are unseen stirrings they whip the liquid into whirlpools that cannot be witnessed the ocean is deep and blue the surface is placid and calm—

With a start, Erica realized the pages of block text were just the same 4 phrases repeated over and over again.

She flipped back to the first page of the book—the exact same text was there. She flipped to the last page of the book—the exact same text was there. It was a whole book, some 200 hundred pages, of the same 4 sentences printed over and over again, with no other words or ideas or explanations.

She wondered what it was about this book that could have made Selina possibly recommend it to her. There was no academic content. There was no entertainment value. It had to be a misprint of some kind—that was the only possible explanation. But why would Selina want her to waste her time reading a misprint?

She flipped to a page at random. The sentence pattern had clearly been cut off by the page break, because the first words on the page were unseen stirrings they whip the liquid instead of the regular the ocean is deep and blue. It was starting to bother her now— there had to be a point in the book where they started using proper words. There just had to be. She began reading in earnest.

But page after page was the same streaming, flowing words about the ocean and its hidden depths. Yet she found that now she was reading, she could not stop. There was something here to find, she was sure of it. There had to be. If she only read long enough, the book would have to reveal itself to her. She concentrated harder, but there was nothing to hold onto because the words just kept streaming on, becoming strangely hiccupped and unnaturally divided over each turn of the page.

She felt her eyes start to glaze over—yet she did not stop reading. She was barely processing the words—they were in her mind already, filling it, streaming past. She couldn’t focus on them now if she wanted too, but she absolutely had to keep reading, on and on, like this. Just like this.

There was a message behind the words, she was realizing. Something only she could see, something she hadn’t seen before. Something meant only for her—a gift. Hidden, invisible words that flashed at the edges of her peripheral vision every time her eyes shifted from one page to the next, but she couldn’t make them out. When she tried to stare harder at the page to make them reveal themselves to her, they wouldn’t come. But when she was reading the streaming words on one page, the angle was perfect for the hidden words on the other page to slip in through the blurred edges of her vision.

She realized that trying to focus on these hidden words was the problem—if she wanted them to reveal herself to her, it was very important that she do the opposite of focus. She had to let her eyes glaze over more, had to let her eyes slip over the words, unseeing, even more quickly. Had to let her mind become even more clouded, even hazier. She didn’t know how she knew this, but in that moment it seemed incredibly true, like a small voice from deep inside her was whispering it into her mind.

She let the words wash over her, even more intensely. Her sense of the surrounding room was completely gone. All she could see was the book, the nonsense words her brain couldn’t process anymore. Time had stopped, and she had forgotten everything about herself—who she was, why she was here. The only important thing was that she kept herself blank and receptive.

blank and receptive. They pulsed in invisible letters that she could suddenly read, at the edges of her vision, and the thrill of finally being able to see the words she had been chasing for so long filled her. It felt like a pulse of warm, wet pleasure in her lower back, like a kiss of pleasure on her moist pussy lips.

She poured herself deeper into the book, feeling the hazy cloud in her mind intensify, and other words came. good girl and horny lesbian slut and sexy mindless sex slave. She was beyond the point of being able to understand language, beyond the point of being able to think of words rationally, but she knew that these words were good words, because every time they poured into her brain, every time they crept in through the corners of her sight, she felt pulses of pleasure moving deep inside her in synchronization with her.

mindless slave and obey and just a hungry cunt begging to be filled by mistress flowed in next. The last one drew a moan from her—just a mindless cunt begging to be filled by mistress. When those good, good words flowed in, she felt her cunt pulse around emptiness, felt her inner walls shudder and tremble with the arousal it brought her.

She was just a mindless cunt. Her head was empty, she had no identity, she was no one. She was just a sexy, sexy dripping cunt on legs that needed to be filled and fucked over and over again, and forever and ever. She never needed to think again—she never needed to be a Someone again. She was an empty cunt—it was all she was, all she would ever be. It was all she wanted to be, because if she was a cunt, she knew it meant that she would be fucked. And now, more than anything in the world, she wanted to be fucked.

But she knew there was only one way for that to happen. “Please,” she whined out loud. “Need… fuck…” She couldn’t phrase it coherently, but somehow she knew that the coherence didn’t matter—only the intention. Cunts didn’t need to think. Cunts didn’t need to be coherent—cunts didn’t have brains. Just delicious, dripping holes that brought them orgasm after orgasm…

touch yourself pooled at the corners of her vision, and even as the words pulsed insistently in her periphery, one hand released the book and slid between her legs, which she found to be already naked. It didn’t surprise her. A cunt’s natural state was to be exposed and ready for fucking. It was right for the beauty of a cunt to present itself to the world for all to see. And the most important reason—that it be ready for fucking—was the one she was most grateful for. Her fingers delved between her inner lips, smearing her own lubrication back into her clit, and she moaned and keened at the feeling as she stared unseeing at the page of the book, which was now lying open on the floor in front of her.

There was no need to turn the pages anymore, she understood, suddenly. All those perfect, good words were hiding behind every page, behind all pages. She could receive every message she needed to hear by staring down at the same page forever.

She rolled on to her stomach, feeling the carpet chafe against her swollen nipples. Mindless, she began thrusting herself onto her own hand, moaning even harder when the chafing on her nipples intensified.

good cunts are there for fucking streamed in, and good cunts obey and good cunts can never resist pleasure. It was true, they never could. Cunts were so slavering, so greedy for orgasm that it only took a little pleasure to control them completely, and cunts were so desperate to be fucked that they could never resist their Mistress’ perfect control of them, because control meant they could be fucked for ever, could orgasm forever, and desperate begging cunts wanted that more than anything…

She was a mess of sweat, and moaning need. At some point, one of her hands had slipped up beneath her breast, and was pinching the nipple fiercely, deliberately dragging it against the carpet as her other hand stroked and pinched her clit and all the words in the book were telling her good cunt good cunt good cunt over and over and over again in a mindless, never ending stream that felt so good she never wanted it to stop. Her entire body was on fire with pleasure so intense there were tears in her eyes, and the book only egged her on further.

She felt a pressure behind her, and, dazed, she looked back over her shoulder.

It was a beautiful, raven-haired girl, already naked, and from the depths of her soul, one word seeped up: Mistress.

The word was almost enough to tip Cunt over into her orgasm, except for one thing: that good cunts only came when their Mistresses told them too. And she was a Good Cunt—the book had told her so.

The girl was saying words that her conscious mind couldn’t process, that streamed in at the edges just like the book’s words. You’re my good little lesbian slave and you’re a helpless little horny cunt for Mistress and it only intensified her pleasure more. The sound of Mistress’ voice was perfect, caressing and coiling around all of her pleasure centres.

Then, Mistress began fucking her, and it was so perfect Cunt thought she would cry. It was a beautiful, hard thrust, all of Mistress’ fingers slipping inside, and stroking gently and in cunt’s most hidden, secret pleasure places.

And then something wet touched her face. Mindlessly, cunt began licking and sucking feverishly at the beautiful cunt that was offering itself to her for her service. It was the most natural, beautiful feeling in the world, the words she couldn’t understand pouring in through her ears—good little pussylicker, licking pussy makes you so horny, licking Mistress’ pussy makes you desperate to obey, desperate to come—

And then the words stopped, because Mistress’s mouth was on her clit even as she kept pounding cunt with her hand, tickling and sensitive all of cunt’s most sensitive flesh, her lips suckling and pressing on cunt’s clit in synchronized time.

Her clit was released, and one blessed phrase was spoken—cum for Mistress.

cunt spasmed desperately and the ecstasy of release was unbearably hot, unbearably good—so intense every last trace of thought, or awareness was driven away and she knew she had become a perfectly mindless cunt, a perfect slave to her need for obedience, to her need to serve Mistress that the first orgasm quickly became a second.

Mistress released her, and cunt felt her eyes slip closed, the last traces of her consciousness drifting away.

Behind her closed eyes, on the insides of her eyelids, she saw the words of the book streaking past once more.