The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Evening

Erin loved Zurich.

On nights like this—strolling down the Bahnhofstrasse, the wind gently pulling at her hair, her husband by her side—it felt like Zurich loved her just as much in return, and was determined to make every moment of her stay as magical as the last. She waited for a tram to pass, then tugged the sleeve of John’s coat as she led him across the street.

“Only two Michelin stars?” John shook his head and chuckled. “You’re letting me off easy tonight.”

She rubbed his arm with her hand, giggling as she did so, before reaching for one of his black leather gloves. She turned to face him. “Chef Bremerton makes heavenly desserts, dear.” She scrunched her face, green eyes twinkling under the streetlights. “I’ll share mine with you, I promise.”

His countenance crumpled, as it always did when he knew that he’d been beaten. “You can eat what you want, drink what you want, and do what you want,” he said, a slight sigh on the edge of his lips. “As I promised.”

There was a chill in the air, but Erin no longer felt it. She tightened her grip. “Isn’t it magical, John?” She swept her free arm in a wide arc as other pedestrians scurried out of the way. Erin was more than a few wine glasses into the evening by now. “This… it’s simply magical. I’m having the time of my life, and it’s all thanks to you. C’mon, let’s go inside where it’s warm.”

“It has been nice,” he conceded. “You’re having a wonderful time, aren’t you?”

“There’s the John I fell in love with,” she said, wrapping herself around him and exhaling, watching the little icy cloud drift away from her mouth on the breeze. He was steady as a rock. She liked that about him. She lowered her voice to a sexy growl. “Keep that up, and I’ve got another nice and cozy place I’ll let you explore tonight.”

“I love it when you’re drunk and dirty.”

“You love me always, admit it.”

“I’ll admit it, if you admit something to me first.”

She pushed away, just enough to allow a few inches between them. She looked into his eyes, trying and failing to figure out where this was coming from. “Okay,” she said. “What do you want me to admit? That you were right? That the spa wasn’t all that bad? That it was better than I thought it would be?”

“That’s part of it, sure.”

There was something about the tone of his voice that put Erin on guard. There was clearly something that he knew that she didn’t, and she was determined to suss it out of him right there and then. “What else? Come on, it’s cold out here and I’m hungry.” She gestured to the brightly-lit windows and the happy diners beyond them. “The tiramisu is—”

“You will remember that you had a wonderful time in Zurich, Mrs. Aspen,” he said. His eyes bored holes into her skull. “It was the most amazing time of your life. You are so, so grateful to John for making it happen.”

Erin tilted her head, like a dog, feeling more confused than ever. She felt dizzy. Her husband’s words pressed at her, putting her off-balance, threatening to send her topping backwards into the street. “I… I don’t…”

“What will you remember about your spa experience? About your vacation?” He stood over her, towering above her, two stories high. She wrapped her arms around her body and squeezed. “I must… I will… John, I… you…”

“Obey, Mrs. Aspen,” the John-Giant commanded. Its words sent out shock waves, causing the cobbled streets to buckle and erupt. “Obey.”

She expected the second obey to shatter her bones and scatter them among the cobblestones, but instead it lifted her to her feet. She found her balance—no, more than her balance. The word gave her purpose. “I had a wonderful time at the spa, John. And Switzerland was amazing. Everything about it was amazing. Whenever our friends ask about it, I’ll gush about it and you until I make you turn red with embarrassment.”

The John-Giant smiled. It held out one giant fist and, after an eternal second, snapped its giant fingers. Around them, buildings turned to dust, vaporized in an instant. Erin, too, had a vague sensation of being thrown into the air, her body sailing far out over Lake Zurich before being shattered into atoms.

By then, she was too busy cumming to notice.

“Very good, Mrs. Aspen. You may open your eyes now.”

Erin forced her eyelids open just enough to let the bright room lights deliver a painful jolt. She quickly closed them again, lesson learned. She was getting good at learning all sorts of lessons. The brilliant lamps would have no effect on her mouth, so she opened that instead. “Yes, Miss Tilton. I hear, and obey.”

“Open your eyes.”

Erin groaned, but she did as she was told. She groaned again as the lights resumed their assault on her retinas. “Yes, Miss Tilton.”

Her vision slowly cleared, shifting from the ow ow stabbing stab stab of the lights to the flawlessly beautiful woman in front of her. Sexy Miss Tilton held her trusty clipboard in her arms, cradling it like a rectangular baby, doting on it like a mother. Erin let out a breath she didn’t remember taking. I wish I were as beautiful as her. I wish I had that body. The things I could show my master! John would be so…

“Memory implantation appears successful.” Erin’s sexy teacher was all business today, and she registered her disappointment with a soft whimper.

“First things first, Mrs. Aspen.”

A dim memory tugged at Erin’s brain. One of Miss Tilton dressed like a Barbie doll, and speaking like one, a bubbly blonde with a head filled with nothing but air and lollipops. Certainly nothing like the no-nonsense scientist standing before her now. Had it been all an act?

“We will now test your slave persona,” said Miss Tilton, and suddenly it all made sense to Erin. There were many Miss Tiltons, just as there were many Erins, all tools in a rack, each awaiting their specific time and purpose. She smiled, proud of figuring it all out without needing to have Miss Tilton spell it out for her.

“I am a tool,” she grinned.

“Yes, you are. And what role do you serve at the moment, Slave Aspen?”

Back in college, Erin spent a week memorizing the Gettysburg Address for a class presentation. Then as now, the words she needed to know appeared in her mind as she spoke, only to vanish, no longer needed, a moment later. Then as now, too, came the warm feeling of pride, both in her ability to recall the words, and in the meaning of the words themselves. “Slave Aspen is a mindless, obedient sex toy. I am to put what I have learned here into practice, now and forever. My husband’s will is my command. It is my world. It is my everything.”

Her prize for finishing Lincoln’s address—flawlessly, of course—had been thirty points of extra class credit. Her reward now was much more pleasant and immediate. “When I am in this state, I serve only as an extension of my husband’s will.” She pressed her hand against her cunt and moaned, something she certainly hadn’t done for Professor Hackenberry. “All that he asks of me, I will perform flawlessly. There is no other option. Obedience is my only thought.”

She opened her eyes wide, no longer caring about the light, and sucked in as much of the room’s air as she could. “I need… I need to obey all of my commands.” She looked up at Sexy Librarian Tilton, suddenly feeling very small in the world. John Giant John Giant John Giant. “Can you… Miss Tilton? Can you find my husband? Can.. can you bring him? Here? To me?” She ground her hand against her crotch, trying and failing to smother the fire inside. “P-please? If y-you could just call him, and tell him that… that I…”

More jotted notes. The sharp click of a pen. “Tell him what, Slave Aspen?”

“Tell him that…” God, what should she tell him? How can… I was such an asshole, I didn’t know… I need to let him know that I’m better now… “Tell him that I need to obey his every command.” She slipped a dry finger into her sex, wincing a bit, grateful for the brief respite it bought her. “Tell him that Slave Aspen is waiting to obey his every command.”

“Mmmhmm.” Jot jot jot. “Who is John, Slave Aspen?”

“My hus—” she began, before a freight train of other words barreled past. “My master. John is my master. John is my world. John is my everything. John is the only thing.”

“Very good, Mrs. Aspen! That was a very good reaction. I’m so proud of you!”

“Thank you, but I really… I need…”

“Perfect wife, Mrs. Aspen. You are a perfect wife.”

That she was. Even as she heard the words, she felt herself become them. “Yes, Miss Tilton.”

“Tell me, what role do you serve at the moment?”

Morning

“I’m yours to command, Master.”

“I know, I know.” John rolled away from her, his hand fumbling in the dark for the phone he’d tossed onto the nightstand at some point in the far, distant past. His right hand brushed against something smooth and cool—his iPhone, maybe, or Erin’s vibrator. He took his chances, and was slightly relieved—and also slightly disappointed—when the object turned out to be the former.

He turned the phone over and poked at it. It was eight in the morning. Have we been fucking for seven straight hours?

A hand fell on his shoulder, urging him to roll onto his back. He relented, still holding the phone in his hand as Roxie spread herself across his chest. He thought, of all things, about buttered toast, with himself as the bread and the beautiful redhead as the soft, warm, and spreadable topping. The thought made him hungry, and he said so out loud.

“I am a perfect, obedient wife, Master,” said Roxie. She adjusted her body until she was covering as much of him as possible, lifting herself with her forearms until her considerable breasts were suspended over his face. “I’m able to prepare just about any meal, if you have the ingredients.”

In spite of himself, and in spite of his age, John felt himself getting hard again. His groin ached in ways it never had. “Wait… they can do that to you?” The thought didn’t kill his erection, but it at least kept it down a little, enough so that he could set aside the pressing, animalistic need to pound the shit out of Roxie the Loaner Wife for the umpteenth time. “Make you into some kind of master chef? Just by doing whatever they do to you?”

To my wife, his brain added, but he ignored that part.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” She relaxed her arms and came to rest against him, gently rising and falling with his chest. “I know how to cook everything, but I still have to practice it. Nothing is perfect on the first try, but it’s my duty to do the best I can every time.”

“Huh.” That made sense. Not that any of it made any actual sense, but… it made sense. “Is that… is that something they’ll teach Erin to do, too?”

“Yes, Master. If you ordered a Perfect Wife package, that’s part of it.”

He had. It was the first box he’d checked on their form. “So if I asked you, right now, to go make me Lobster Thermidor?”

She peeled herself from him, lingering long enough to give him another spectacular view of her swimsuit model body. “I will obey to the best of my ability, as always. Although…” She winked at him, placing her hands on her hips and arching her back as she stood at the foot of the bed, a page from a magazine come to life. “Do you have any lobster? I’m not allowed to leave the house. Page thirty, section two, paragraph two.”

“What?” He knew the answer—the damn contract before the word was fully out of his mouth. “Never mind. So, no Lobster Thermidor. How about steak and eggs?”

“Yes, Master.” There was a tinge of disappointment in her voice, a sort of are you fucking kidding me, you can have any wish and you want that?. It was enough to make him blush with guilt, like the boy who asked his all-powerful genie for a hamburger.

“Wait!” he blurted out. To his surprise, Roxie did exactly that, teetering on one leg in the middle of a half-turn, her other leg jutting out into space. Her head was turned to face him, her chin buried into the meat of her shoulders. She looked ridiculous, and fragile.

“I can’t figure this out,” he said, tapping his finger against his chin in a manner that his wife would have recognized as code for I can’t, but I’m trying. “Sometimes you don’t act like much of a slave at all, and then other times you’re doing exactly what I say.” He pointed to her as proof. “Literally what I say. Also, un… you know, unfreeze. Before you get hurt.”

“Thank you, Master,” she said as she untangled herself. “And I can’t explain it to you.” Her pretty eyes glazed over as she spoke. “Each client is able to request a specific set of design parameters. Your loaner wife’s traits may or may not be reflected in the actual product which you—Aspen, John, have ordered for your wife, Aspen, Erin.”

Then Roxie was Roxie again—if that was her name, which he suspected was nothing close to the truth. She smiled. “Thank you for unfreezing me, Master. Would you like me to make your breakfast now?”

He patted the bed. “That can wait, Roxie.”

“You don’t need to use my name, Master. I have no identity when I am on duty. Most men prefer Slave or Slut.”

“Most men… how many times have you done this, anyway?”

She shook her head, sending red hair flying everywhere. Strands caught the sunlight peeking in through the windows, making them glow. “I don’t remember, Master. I’m not allowed to remember. When I’m activated, I obey. I only remember what I need to, like the fact that most men like to call me Slave or Slut.” She climbed over him again, her cunt tantalizingly close to his erection. “Or Roxie, I guess. I’m sure I will remember that in the future, too.”

“What does your husband call you?”

The redhead said nothing. She cradled his head in her hands and kissed him passionately, breaking off now and then to nuzzle his lip or to explore the inside of his mouth with her tongue. She was just as hot, wet, and ready to fuck as she’d been when she arrived in the middle of the night.

“You’re not supposed to ask about my personal life,” she purred, “and I’m not allowed to remember any of it when I’m on the job. Page ten, Section one, Paragraph two.” She managed, in her raw lust, to make even those last six words sound impossibly hot. She nuzzled her face against his neck. Down below, she wrapped her delicate fingers around his cock. “I’m sure that my husband or wife calls me the sweetest things, Master. They must love me very much if they… mmmm… God, you’re rock hard, I love it… if they wanted to make me into what I am today. Perfect in every way. I’m sure I’m deeply in love with them.” She bit her own lip as he entered her, a broad smile on her perfect face. “Yesssss…. let me ride you, Master. Put your hands… that’s it… fuck, you’re good.”

“Were you…” He tried, and failed, to get one last question out before the beautiful redhead started to slide up and down his shaft. I’ll save it for later, he thought, before his brain ordered him to stop thinking altogether.

They stayed in bed until the Institute’s delivery men arrived with her clothes.

Afternoon

Erin loved Miami.

She loved everything about the place, from the restaurants, to the sweaty nightclubs, to the wide beaches, all of them filled with the rich, the firm, and the stacked. She adjusted her oversized shades and let herself fall back against the white sand, little granules ticking her back. She scrunched again, until her skin reached the cooler sand further down, still damp from the last tide. She smiled. Snug as a beach bug in a beach rug.

Something loomed above her, large enough to block out her sun. She frowned, caught between digging herself back out of her sandy little bed to confront the interloper and just waiting for them to go away and give her back her tanning sun. After a few moments, she chose the latter, and threw in a half-hearted “hey, you’re blocking my sun” for good measure.

“You’re looking good sunshine.” The voice floated above her. “Are you supposed to get sun on those tits?”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Tessie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my sun please?”

The shadow withdrew, and settled down into the sand beside her. A soft, warm hand soon landed on her taut stomach, lightly patting it. “I’ll allow it for today, Erin. But remember, you must always obey my commands above all else, understood?”

She smiled. The sun felt so good on her skin. “Yes, Tessie. Your will is my command.”

The hand crept down her body until it slipped beneath her bikini bottom. It found what they both wanted soon enough, and began idly sliding back and forth across her wet, eager lips. “Do you care if they see us, Erin? The people out there?”

The hand worked its magic. A heavy press here, a light tough there, a quick flick of the oh god yes there fingers now and then. She closed her eyes and arched her back, digging further into the beach. The way Tessie was playing her, she was going to bury herself soon enough. “I don’t… I don’t care. I want them to see us, Tessie. I want them to see me. I want them to see my new body.”

“Yes.” Tessie added a twirl to her repertoire. “And why is that?”

Behind Erin’s sunglasses, her eyes rolled into her head. “Be-because… because my body is the property of the Institute. It is both a sta-staaaaayyyy…statement and a billb-b-board. And besides, I’m really, really wet for you right now.”

“Good.”

From behind her closed eyes, Erin could make out the distinct scratch scratch scratch of pen on paper. It seemed oddly familiar, if even more oddly out of place on a sunny beach. She wondered if Tessie could hear it, too, and asked her if this was so.

“Listen and obey, Erin. When you hear your special phrase, you will become someone’s perfect lover. That might mean another man, or it might mean another woman. Do you understand?”

Flick press slide in out in out “Yessss… yes Misssss Tilton… I understand. When I h-hear my special phrase, I will no longer think. I will no longer be Erin Aspen. I will become a tool.”

“Open your eyes, Mrs. Aspen.”

Someone—Tessie, maybe—rudely snatched the sunglasses from her head, and she instinctively jammed her eyes shut in protest. It wasn’t long before the command burrowed into her head and found the nerves that controlled her eyelids. They flew open, and stayed that way.

She gasped. This wasn’t the beach at all. This wasn’t even Miami. This was…

“Am I still at the Institute? But I was so sure…” She looked around, examining each item from her ‘beach,’ marveling at how she’d been tricked into accepting it all. The cool sand was actually a fluffy blanket, her beloved sun a collection of lamps and spotlights, the beautiful people just crude cardboard cutouts. Even her bikini had been a lie. Erin was still wearing the white cotton panties she’d checked in with.

Tessie—Miss Tilton—was still real. Still very real. Erin eyed the woman’s generous chest with a hunger she normally reserved for male strippers on her birthday. Are those real? She realized, too late, that she’d said the quiet part out loud, and her hand clapped itself over her mouth. “Sorry, that was rude,” she mumbled through fingers.

“They’re real enough. They belong to the Institute, remember? Just like the rest of me. Just like the rest of you, Mrs. Aspen.”

“Oh, right.” She withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry. I forgot. My body is the property of the Institute. It is both a statement and a billboard. I want both men and women to desire it, when I am asked to serve them.”

“When will you serve them?”

“Whenever I hear my special phrase.”

“Very good, Mrs. Aspen. Very good.”

John let Roxie dress on her own, in private, rebuffing her offer to let him choose her outfit for the day. He found his way to the liquor cabinet instead, where he retrieved Colonel Stephenson for an early (but not too early—it was past noon, after all) double shot. Roxie found him there in short order, tumbler in hand, eyes staring out the window at the trees beyond.

“I’m ready, Master!” The den was set two steps below the rest of the house, and she gleefully hopped from one level to the other, her shoes landing on the polished wood with a solid clack. She giggled. “Ooh! That was… anyway, sorry to keep you waiting! What can I do for you?”

He turned, his face falling as she came into view. “Jeans and a t-shirt? Really?”

She shrugged. “You commanded me to choose my own clothes, Master. To be comfortable. These were the most comfortable clothes in the set. I can change again, if you like.”

“No, that’s fine.” Even in basic clothes, she still looked like a runway model, albeit a runway model shopping at the grocery store rather than one at a fashion show. The way her ass filled out her jeans gave him a few ideas. “Bend over for me, Roxie.”

“Okay.” She did, her long red hair spilling over her face like a curtain. “Would you like me to model for you, Master? I’ve been programmed with several routines. Most men prefer the stripper one, but…” She glanced down at her clothes. “But I don’t recommend that one right now, to be honest.”

“No, let’s…” He pondered his options, and not for the first time in his life, came up completely empty. “What can we do? We fucked, we ate, I can’t take you out of the house, right?”

She nodded.

“Then what do we do next? You’re the… whatever, display model, right? Show me what you can do.”

Roxie stood up again, brushing her hair from her face. Her eyes burned with desire, her smile a mixture of smirk and grin. “It’s been a long day already,” she said. “I would really like to have a shower, if you’ll allow it, Master.”

“That makes sense. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I should probably… oh. Oh.”

The redhead crossed her arms and, in a motion that managed to be both efficient and sexy at the same time, pulled her t-shirt over her head. She’d neglected to put on a bra. Her breasts, whether natural or man-made, were spectacular, and although John had seen plenty of them by this point, they were still mesmerizing enough to make him forget where he was, who he was. What they both were, at that moment.

“Please let me bathe you, Master,” she said, breaking the spell. “That’s something that I can do. It’s what I want to do right now, more than anything.”

“I’m not sure the shower’s big enough,” he heard himself say, incredibly, foolishly, as Roxie pulled him in the direction of the main hall.

“I’ll squish inside, Master. I can be very flexible.”

“Did they teach you that at the Institute, too?”

They reached the bathroom door. Roxie pushed John against it and lunged forward, wrapping her long arms around his upper body, her lips eagerly seeking out his own. He reached down and cupped her ass with both hands, eliciting a tiny squeal. He squeezed, and the squeals grew louder. The door behind them creaked under their combined weight.

“I’m already wet for you, Master,” she mewled. Her hands made quick work of his shirt buttons. “You can take me right here, if you want.”

He wanted that very much. But John also had another idea, a dusty and cobwebbed idea that had sat unused in the attic of his brain since his wedding day. He dragged it out now, his hopeful eyes looking deep into Roxie’s pale blue orbs. “Let’s get in the shower first,” he began. “And then… I’m going to do you in the ass.”

John was not a suicidal man, but it was a suicidal thing to say, at least around Erin. At least around the Erin that John had sent off to be turned into something like Roxie. And when the redhead broke into an impossibly large smile, he imagined his wife doing the same. Yes, Master. I’ll let you fuck me in the ass. I’ll let you do anything to me. Anything.

“I’m ready for you, Master.”

John was ready to explode. Without saying another word, he took Roxie by the wrist and led her into the bathroom.

“Miss Tilton?”

The response was immediate. “Yes, Mrs. Aspen?”

“Can I…” Erin was afraid to even ask the question, knowing how many hours were left, but the Institute was all about trying one’s best at everything. “Can I go home soon? I miss my husband. I need to thank him for everything he’s done to me.”

To me? Didn’t I mean for me? How silly of me!

Miss Tilton smiled, then shook her head. “As I told you before, Mrs. Aspen, your husband requested some adjustments to your body. You should know that this will take up almost all of the rest of your stay.”

“But…” A bit of Old Erin bubbled up to the surface. Although it wasn’t unexpected—Erin had been told many times that the old version of her had to remain in place, because John hadn’t ordered the Total Bimbo package—it was still embarrassing. She felt her cheeks redden as she struggled to finish Old Erin’s sentence. “But… the stay here is only three days? You can’t possibly… even teeth would take more than a few days…”

“They would, but luckily your husband didn’t ask for new teeth. And you’re going to be here for more than just a few days.” Miss Tilton held her notebook at arm’s length, flipped to a page somewhere in the middle. “I’m going to read out the list of adjustments, and for each one, I want you to tell me exactly how you feel about it. You’ll be perfectly honest about this, like a good obedient wife should. Okay?”

“Okay.”

What followed was a fairly short list that made up for in audacity what it lacked in length, a list made by a college frat boy raised on nothing but soft-core porn and a stack of Maxims. Some of the ‘work’ sounded downright impossible. Still, she found herself nodding amicably and saying “sure, that’s fine,” for each item, completely unconcerned about the impact they might have on her body, or her future health, or her future in general.

“Breast implants?”

“A boob job? There’s no time for that. And John’s not a chest guy, he’s more of—”

“Listen and obey, Mrs. Aspen. Tell me how you feel about them. About that being done to you.”

Erin thought back to the warm sands of her fake Miami trip, the pleasure of feeling so many appreciative eyes fall on her new body, her new tits proudly jutting up into the sunlight. It was an implanted memory, a manipulated one—she was still dimly aware of that, only uncaring—but the heat it created even now in her pussy was certainly genuine. “Sure, that’s fine,” she said. The same answer as always. It was apparently what John wanted. He was the customer, after all, not her. She needed to make sure that she helped him to get exactly what he wanted.

It’s what a good wife would do.

“Sure, that’s fine,” she said again.

And again.