The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Phase 1: Replacing Her Mind

Morning

“This is a scam.”

“It is not a scam. I checked into it.” He slid the brochure back across the table. “Every person who goes to them swears by their methods.”

“What methods? And since when are you a psychiatrist?” She pushed the colorful trifold at him again, a tennis player expertly returning his best serve. “The last time I went to one of these spas, I sat at the pool for a week and drank mimosas. It cost four thousand dollars. Four thousand dollars, John! For that amount of money we could go to Switzerland, twice!”

“Erin, come on. I’m serious!” He picked up the brochure and waved it at her. “You have to trust me on this.”

She didn’t. “If you think it will do so much good, why don’t you go? You could stand to lose a few pounds. Be more mindful. Learn to… here, gimme that.” She tore the brochure from his hands, and flipped through its pages. “Learn to relax and focus your mind on any task. Harness the power of the human mind to change your life, body and soul! Woo!”

She let the brochure fall from her hand. It skimmed the surface of the table before floating, leaf-like, to the tile floor. “I am not going to spend a weekend at some crazy New Age cult seminar where they try to brainwash me into drinking their Kool Aid. No. Nope. No.”

He bit his lower lip, and stared into her sea-green eyes. “What if we made a deal?”

Afternoon

“Welcome to the Beckman Institute!”

John and Erin eyed each other with suspicion, as if expecting the other to finally declare that the joke had gone on for too long, and that this was the end of it. Neither made a sound, and within seconds, the impossibly cheerful woman with the oversized clipboard managed to wedge herself between them.

“I’m Connie,” she said, smiling and shaking their hands.

Connie had perfect teeth. John admired them as he made a passable attempt at smiling back. I wonder if they can fix Erin’s teeth, too? “I’m John. This is my wife, Er—”

“Erin.” She jostled him out of the way. “So, are there forms I need to sign? Can I check my bags? What’s the deal, here? We didn’t get much info from your website.”

Connie’s good mood seemed to be indestructible. She let Erin’s questions wash over her without complaint. “I’ll be happy to show you to your suite”—she let the word hang in the air, just for a moment—“and we can take care of the paperwork later. We’re really just here for you, Mrs. Aspen.”

“It’s Erin. You can call me Erin.”

“Of course!” Connie brushed past John and motioned Erin to follow her. “If you’ll follow me, Mrs. Aspen, we can get you started on your journey to being your best new you!”

John flinched, an instinctive trait he’d picked up after many years of living under the same roof as Erin. She wasn’t one for physical violence—not when she was sober, anyway—but her face and eyes could sting more than any pair of fists. He could feel that sting now, as she stood in front of him.

“The second I get back,” she said, giving him a chaste peck on the lips, “we’re packing our bags and driving to the airport.”

Smick. “Scout’s honor, Erin.”

“The whole time we’re there, I get to eat what I want, wear what I want, drink as much as I want, and do anything I want.”

“All that and more, darling.”

She picked her bags off the floor and hefted them into the air with a grunt. “Then I’ll see you in three days!”

John watched her as she impatiently trailed Connie through the set of double doors that led into… into… well, whatever it was he’d just emptied their joint bank account to pay for. There was no money left over for Switzerland. “Hell,” he muttered, crossing the empty lobby with car keys in hand, “there’s not even enough money left to buy a Swiss Army knife.” He pondered, for the first time since high school, whether he had enough gas in the car to make it all the way home.

“Mrs. Aspen? I’d like you to meet Miss Tilton. She’ll be your New You Guide for today.”

“Fine,” Erin sighed. She’d given up on ‘it’s just Erin’ after the tenth or twentieth time, unable to overcome Connie’s Stepfordian sunniness. Now she was just Mrs Aspen, the wife of Mr. Aspen, who was probably sitting at home enjoying himself while she was stuck with all of these crazy… “Oh, come on, really? Her?”

Her new ‘guide’ looked like a porn star. Big boobs, long legs, clothes tightly wrapped around every curve, the works. She wore thin wire frame glasses and had her light brown hair drawn up into a bun, like a sexy librarian ready to spank someone over a late return. She had a clipboard in her hand just like Connie, and she wielded it in much the same way.

“I’m so glad to meet you!” Sexy Librarian tucked her clipboard between arm and giant boob and gave Erin’s hand a vigorous workout. “So lovely to have you as our guest, Mrs. Aspen I hope you enjoyed your dinner!”

I was expecting a bimbo voice, Erin wanted to say. Instead, she mentally counted the hours until Switzerland. “I’m glad to meet you too, Miss Tilton. I guess I’m in your hands now?”

“You are.” She had pretty green eyes, and they quickly found their way over Erin’s body. “Let’s start with something fun. Maybe the focus test?”

Erin shrugged. “Um, okay?”

“That was Connie’s favorite. Did she tell you that she was a customer before she started working here? The focus test was fun, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Connie’s trademark smile finally vanished, replaced by a dreamy stare. “So pretty. I learned so much that weekend. I learned so much.”

The brunette nodded. “Off you go, Connie. You have other customers to attend to.”

“Attend. Yes. I have to attend.” She blinked and gently shook her head. The smile returned. “It was great to meet you, Erin! I’m off to attend to other customers now. Miss Tilton will take great care of you, though!”

“She’s right. I’m a professional,” the brunette added.

Yeah, but a professional what?

Erin did her best to smile. Only sixty eight hours and twenty five minutes until Zurich.

“This is just a test to see where we’re starting from, Mrs. Aspen.” The brunette offered her a chair, and Erin reluctantly took it. Both John and the brochure had mentioned tests, but she’d silently hoped that both of them would be wrong. The huge machine in front of her seemed to indicate otherwise.

“What is this?” The machine fully captured her attention. Whatever it was, it was old. Perhaps as old as she was, and certainly older than Miss Tilton. A padded leather-looking green frame surrounding an old computer monitor, two beige metal boxes at either side, and an ancient-looking line printer complete with a roll of green—and white-striped paper. “What does it do?”

Professor Boob Job gave the machine a hug. Oh good grief, she literally hugged the thing. “This is our focus machine, Mrs. Aspen. It’s a classic piece of computer technology that was invented in 1977. There are more high-tech versions, but I think you’ll appreciate the gentleness of this machine once you’ve tried it.”

“Gentleness?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about that, Mrs. Aspen! This is a focus test. You came here to learn how to focus, didn’t you? Here. Put your head on the headrest and look into the screen. See? There are little eye holes in it just for you!”

Eyeholes. I’ll put my fists in your little eyeholes, you bossy bimbo. Although annoyed, she swallowed her unhappiness and did as she was told. Thankfully, someone had made sure to clean the padding on the headrest. She opened her eyes and stared at the screen. There was a single dot at the center. After a moment, it zipped off into a corner of the screen and disappeared.

“This is dumb.” She pulled away from the headrest and looked up into the disappointed face of her erstwhile teacher. “What am I supposed to focus on? That dot? It’s moving too fast.”

Miss Tilton pressed down on Erin’s shoulders, gently but insistently pinning her in place. “I’m sorry. That was a hard one. Jim? Can you turn it back down to level one? Thanks.”

Jim, whoever and wherever he was, appeared to do exactly as he was told. The dot appeared in the center of the screen again, but this time, it remained there. Erin wrinkled her nose. This was a little too easy. Did they really think she was that much of a ditz? She—oh. The dot slid to the left, and she followed it. After a second, it blinked rapidly and reappeared in the center of the screen. The machine responded with a happy beeping sound, and Miss Tilton clapped her hands.

“Great! See? Now we’ll run through a few more before we turn up the difficulty.”

Erin’s nose crinkled again. She began to write her online review of the Beckman Institute in her head. If you like people who treat you like a four-year-old, this is the place for you! Oh, wait, the dot! This time the dot slid to the right. Her eyes followed. It reentered itself, then dashed off to the lower left corner. Move, blink, beep, clapping from Miss Tilton, reset. Up, then down, then left again. Blink, beep, clap, reset. Watch, blink, beep, clap. Watch. Follow. Blink.

“…so well, Mrs. Aspen. I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well. Just relax. Watch and relax.”

Erin blinked her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even closed her… up and to the left. Wait. Wait. Okay, blinking. Good. How long is this going to take? How long had they been sitting Slow to the right, back to the left. And back to the right. Wait. Blink. Good.

“The drugs we gave you are making you so sleepy, Erin,” said Miss Tilton, and Erin could only nod in response. It was getting hard to concentrate on both the bubbly brunette and the blinking display. Someone Jim? was making the dot do some crazy things, swinging it like a pendulum, making it trace lazy circles around the edges of the screen, making the screen itself go so dark that she could barely see the dot at all.

“So sleepy, Erin. Watch, and sleep.”

Miss Tilton was trying to trick her. Trying to make her back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Blink. Good. to make her close her eyes and fail the test. Trying to make her eyes so heavy… they really were so tired and heavy, but no stupid bimbo was going to ruin round and round, faster and faster. Watch. Blink. Good… her day with something so so, so sleepy. Sleep. Rest.

Her eyes drooped lower and lower, closing and slowly opening again, over and over. A tired, sleepy part of her tried to remind her of the need to stay awake, but she found that she could still watch the dot even with her eyes closed, and that tired voice soon faded away. She could watch, and she could sleep. It was her first day here and she’d already managed to outsmart the staff.

A dreamy smile spread across her face as she sank deeper and deeper into sleep.

Evening

“I can’t believe it! I feel like a brand new woman!”

John forced open one eye. Blue light from the television stabbed at it, tempting him to let it close so that he could go back to sleep again. It was late. Pitch-black room late.

“…and if you call in the next ten minutes, we will throw in—I kid you not, we are actually going to do this—we will throw in a FREE tub of nutri-face butter cream at no charge!”

He sighed. It wasn’t just pitch-black room late, it was infomercial late. He glared at the mostly-empty bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. “Why do you do this to me, buddy?” Fumbling for the cap, he picked up the offending bottle and retraced his steps to the liquor cabinet. “Every time Erin is out of the house, we party a little too hard.”

Colonel Stephenson, peering out from the label of his Quality Country Bourbon, didn’t dare to argue the point.

As he opened the cabinet door, he heard the doorbell ring.

“What is your name?”

“Mrs. Aspen.” Her voice was as dull as her eyes. She stood motionless in the center of the room, awaiting her next command. She would always wait for her next command.

“What is your purpose in life, Mrs. Aspen?”

“It’s…” She sighed, frustrated. She should know this by now. “It’s… I’m supposed to…”

“Look at the wall, Mrs. Aspen.”

She turned her head, confused. The voice, distorted as it was by the tiny speakers, still sounded familiar. “Miss… Miss Tilton? Why am I…”

“Look at the wall. Now. That is an order.”

It was an order, and she treated it like one, turning and waiting for something to happen. Colors appeared on the white surface, swirling and pulling apart like a kaleidoscope. At the center of it was John’s face. Smiling, wonderful, loving John.

“OBEY HIM,” the wall commanded.

She shuddered. Her hands fell to her sex and she eagerly stroked herself, licking her lips as she took in the image of her amazing, sexy, perfect husband. “I will obey him,” she agreed. Her fingers brushed against her clit, and her eyes rolled into her head. “I… uhnnnn… must… obey him.”

“Obey. Serve. Fuck.” The wall switched to a picture of her giving a blow job. It wasn’t John’s cock she was sucking in that picture, was it Jim’s?, but that didn’t matter much. If John offered her the chance to suck on his, she wouldn’t turn it down. She’d never turn it down. God, she wanted to suck him off. As soon as she got home. Before packing for Zurich. Another round on the plane, too, after everyone else drifted off to sleep. It feels so good to-

“Obey,” she panted. Her fingers were inside her now, wet and slick. “Serve.” God, it felt so good. It felt so right. Her hand moved faster. “Fuck…”

“When you come, your trance will deepen tenfold, and you will obey.”

“I will… nnnnnn… must…”

“Who are you?”

The girl, John decided right there and then, was even more beautiful than the gorgeous and perky receptionist from the Institute. She was tall, and perched confidently on heels that made her at least a few inches taller. She had no jacket, in spite of the cold, and her short dress left very little to the imagination. Then again, at that moment John found that he had a very active imagination.

She waited patiently and without complaint as he looked her over. “I’m Roxie,” she declared, placing her hand on the door frame and peering inside. “You must be, um, John? I’m here to… um… to…”

“Do I know you?” He looked her over again, hoping and failing to recognize her. She must be one of Erin’s friends, he guessed, although he knew all of them by heart, and she certainly wasn’t part of that annoying hen party.

She looked back at him, her blue eyes suddenly full of confusion. “Hey… what… what am I doing here? The last thing I remember, I was… where am I?”

“Listen,” he said, pulling the door open. “Come inside and have a seat. I’ve got a phone if you need it. Are you feeling okay?”

Her eyes closed. She stood like that for a good ten seconds, propped against the door frame, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Just a beautiful woman taking a quick nap in the middle of the night on a stranger’s front porch. As you do, John thought. The local cops were going to love this one.

Then, without warning, she returned to life. Her eyes flew open and she gasped in surprise. “Mr. Aspen! I’m terribly sorry for that. I’m fine, I really am. I’m perfectly fine. Please, may I come inside?”

His first thought was to say no, but it was already too late for that—she was halfway inside before she’d even finished her sentence. She made her way into the living room, swaying her ass and looking back over her shoulder to make sure that he was watching. He was. “Like I said, my name is Roxie. I’m your loaner wife.”

Those four words, put together, made about as much sense as bricks taste like candy or sharks are great pets. “You’re a loaner… what?”

“A loaner wife, silly!” Her blue eyes sparkled to match her voice. “Your name is Aspen, John. Your wife is Aspen, Erin, and you have selected the premium reprogramming package for her.” Her eyes drifted from left to right and then back again, reading an invisible teleprompter. “As part of this package, the Institute is happy to provide you with a loaner wife while your Aspen, Erin, is being processed. I am programed to fully attend to any needs you may have or desire, Master.” She crossed her arms, resting her hands on her shoulders. She pressed her chin against her right hand and fluttered her lovely blue eyes at him. “Is there anything I can do for you, Master?”

John was no stranger to porn, so his response came as a surprise even to him. “No. This is ridiculous.”

“As you wish, Master. I’ll find my own way to the bedroom. My clothes will be delivered tomorrow.”

That seemed even more ridiculous. “You just showed up at my house with nothing but the clothes on your back? How long are you here for, anyway?”

“When I hear my special phrase, I am required to head to the job site immediately,” she said, casually twirling her long red hair around her index finger. “The Institute takes care of the rest. But you’re the priority, Master. The customer is always right.”

“I’m not going to cheat on my wife, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“Yes, Master.”

He pointed to a dark hallway. “The spare bedroom is two doors down to the left. Bathroom is one door down to the right. The sink in there drips if you don’t pull the handles tight.”

She shook her head. “As your loaner wife, I am required to sleep in your bed. It is part of the contract you signed, Master. Page seventy, paragraph four. If you didn’t read the contract, I can recite it to you verbatim if you like. It was programmed into my mind for just this occasion.”

“No, I… fuck. Fine. My bedroom is this way. Follow me.”

She smiled. “Of course, Master.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you. I mean, I am, but… not…”

“Yes, Master.” She leaned against him, pressing her body against his. “Whatever you wish, Master.”

His hand cupped her round, firm ass, and she giggled.

“Are you feeling comfortable, Mrs. Aspen?”

“Very comfortable, Miss Tilton.” Erin felt amazing, if she could be honest about things, but it was not a slave’s duty to worry about honesty. The question posed was about comfort, and comfort only. She was at least that.

Then the goggles on her face switched on again, and she stopped thinking about comfort.

“Listen to the words that are now flowing through your mind, Mrs. Aspen. Listen to them, and remember them. You will obey them. You will become them.”

“Mmmmnnnnnuuhhh…” Sounds filled her mind. Words, phrases, commands, reaching into the deepest corners of her brain, sweeping out the old dusty bits of Erin Aspen that cluttered them, and scrubbing them clean. Programming her. She eagerly led the words around, throwing open doors and pointing out overlooked spots that could use their magical touch. Memories. Feelings. Opinions. Beliefs. Oh God, the beliefs. So cluttered and messy! The words swept them clean, like the cartoon bubbles in that old TV commercial. Soon she would be just as shiny and clean as a bathtub, ready to be refilled.

Ready to be reprogrammed.

It was the hottest, dirtiest, sexiest thought she’d ever had, and she screamed as the orgasm set her entire body on fire.

Miss Tilton scribbled something down and tapped her pen happily against her trusty clipboard. “Very good, Mrs. Aspen. Very, very good.”