The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We don’t need no education.

We don’t need no thought control.

Dianne Rutger was greeted by a familiar tune as she stepped over the threshold and into the small storefront. The bells hanging on the glass entrance door jingled as it swung shut behind her. The storefront was not what she expected for a New Age Healer’s parlor; it had a definite theme to it, something reminiscent of a classy Irish pub, featuring distinctly Celtic décor on the walls, such as one that seemed to feature an ancient calendar, and small statues depicting various pagan deities. The rug on the floor featured an annotated map of Stonehenge.

While the décor defied her expectations by depicting themes of the ancient British Isles, the music too defied expectations. Of course Pink Floyd was hard to pin down in the taxonomy of music, with some putting them firmly in the vague realm of “classic rock” or psychedelic while others putting them in as forefathers of the progressive rock movement. In either case, they were quite distant from the more ambient new age music usually played at such establishments, or the Irish music that the décor would have suggested.

Dianne would know. She had gone through her hippie phase in college, frequenting a few such establishments in her old college town. The brunette was 25 now, three years out of college, living on her own in a new town. She had made a pretty clean break from her fringe college lifestyle, but normalcy so far had not yielded too much in the way of happiness dividends, but instead a lot of stress from her paralegal job which led to this persistent knot-like feeling in her chest.

Her parents had already advised her to try a chamomile tea regimen, and she had, indeed, just been on the way to a tea shop to buy some when she remembered Beyond The Wall, the little New Age shop she had seen several times before in this neighborhood, but never before entered.

“Namaste,” Dianne jolted a little in shock. As if from nowhere, a woman had appeared, now standing in front of the curtain that shielded the back of the shop from public view. She was Caucasian and black-haired, distinctly older than Dianne while having no visible outward signs of age, likely a 30-something, with a smooth, pretty face sporting a warm smile. Her black hair was long and voluminous, flowing over her shoulders and down over her back. She wore a loose-fitting t-shirt that still did not hide the shape of her prodigious bosom, and had jeans a shade too tight for a fairly voluptuous figure.

“Oh dear,” the woman continued. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Your aura is already far too troubled.”

Dianne rolled her eyes inwardly. It was like being back in college again, but had it really been this silly?

“It’s always good to see a new face,” the woman continued. “Welcome to Beyond the Wall, I’m Morgan La Roche, proprietress and licensed physical therapist.”

“Dianne Rutger,” the girl greeted her in return, offering her hand. Morgan bowed instead, and Dianne mirrored her awkwardly. “I…” she began.

“Shh,” she silenced Dianne with a wave of her arm. “I think I know why you’re here. I can see the anxiety hovering over you like a storm cloud. Come on,” she added, motioning towards the back.

“You’re not seeing anyone right now?”

“No-one today, so we have all day to get to know each other,” she smiled kindly at the girl.

“Uhh, I actually just stopped in here on a whim. I was going to the drug store before my lunch hour is up.” She slid her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. “I could give you… twenty minutes?”

“That’s fine too, Dianne. We can go at whatever pace you’d like.”

Dianne shrugged. “Okay. Just keep an eye on the clock.”

Morgan whisked Dianne through the curtain and into the back room. It was adorned much like the front, knickknacks and curios of distinctly Celtic flavor, with an otherwise dark color-scheme presumably to mute the lighting and make it more relaxing. There was a massage table in the middle, and several different instruments of new age physical therapy on shelves on the walls. The media player from the front did not have an outlet here, so it was harder to hear the music.

“I have a minimalist treatment that should be perfect for a young go-getter like you,” Morgan said. “Are you comfortable taking your clothes off?”

“Not entirely,” Dianne replied, peering intently at the older woman, trying to get a measure of her.

“How about just your shirt, then? It’s much more effective if I’m touching you directly.”

Dianne nodded. She took a quick look at a full-length mirror on the wall as she slid her shirt up over her head. She was no bombshell cover girl, but she was pretty, with shoulder-length brown hair, a mild tan in her white skin, and a respectable B-cup bust, currently held in a no-frills black bra.

“There now,” Morgan said soothingly. “You’re already feeling more comfortable. I can see it.”

Dianne rolled her eyes inwardly again. “Okay, now what?”

“Just sit down,” Morgan replied, motioning for the massage table. Dianne sat, her legs almost reaching the floor as Morgan stepped around behind her. She put her hands on Dianne’s bare back, just above the line of her bra.

“Now close your eyes, and I just want you to tell me about something that’s troubling you.” Dianne shot her a quizzical look. “It doesn’t have to be anything too personal,” Morgan continued. “But it does have to be honest.”

“Okay,” Dianne said, shutting her eyes. “Uhh, well there are two buses I can take to work, the 85 and the 16.” Morgan began massaging her back. “The 16 is faster, but the 85 runs more frequently, and they leave from different streets near my house. Every day I have to get up on time and rush through my morning routine to get to the 16 on time or oh no, I’ll have to rush over to the other street and catch the 85, and even then I might still not make it to work on time!” As she ranted, she felt her anxiety growing, but then an odd feeling came over her. Morgan’s massage, kneading the flesh of her back up and down, seemed to be working in time with Dianne’s words, pushing on each verb that came out of Dianne’s mouth. And with each push, she felt a brief spike in her stress, but then a sharp decline, as if the massage were coaxing and shoving the stress right out of her body.

Dianne prattled on about some other minor annoyances of her daily life, feeling them fade away into the incense-laden room at the urging of Morgan’s skillful hands.

“It’s 12:45, Dianne,” Morgan advised her. “Time to get back to work. How do you feel?”

“Amazing,” Dianne said, opening her eyes and sliding down off of the massage table. “I forgot just how good this stuff is for you. What do I owe you?”

“$20 for the twenty minutes.”

“Worth it,” Dianne declared. She put her shirt back on and went out front with Morgan to process her credit card.

You lock the door,

And throw away the key,

There’s someone in my head, but it’s not me.

“Welcome back, dear.” Morgan had been sitting at the computer/register in the front of her shop, as if awaiting Dianne’s return the following day.

“You’re not busy, right?” Dianne asked.

“Not really,” Morgan said, a touch of wry sadness in her voice, there and gone for an instant, barely there for Dianne to notice.

“Well, I can give you half an hour today,” Dianne said, trying to sound encouraging. “Give me more of that treatment.”

“Excellent,” Morgan said, smiling warmly. “Come on back.”

And so a regular business relationship began, with Dianne dropping by every weekday during her lunch hour to retreat into the incense-laden twilight world of Beyond the Wall. For around thirty minutes each day, Dianne had a sympathetic ear to listen to her troubles, and a source of comfort who could seemingly make all of those troubles melt away with the caresses of her skilled hands.

Not much else changed in the day to day. Dianne never saw a single other customer at the shop, and began to harbor strong suspicions that she was not only Morgan’s only regular customer, but indeed her only customer period, though Dianne did realize she was attending in the middle of the business day, and that other clients were more likely to attend after normal business hours. Every day she would arrive, finding a slightly different fragrance of incense in the air, seeing Morgan in a different set of clothes, and hearing a slightly different song playing on the speakers. Pink Floyd featured heavily on Morgan’s playlist, though she also featured different artists, exclusively British and Irish, and mostly songs with a more somber tone, such as The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes,” or The Rolling Stones’ “Memory Motel.”

Dianne did not hear many of the tracks playing, as the songs were muffled in the back room, and she often seemed to lose track of sensory perceptions while Morgan massaged her, missing everything but her own voice and Morgan’s comforting touch. Morgan would occasionally reply as well, giving gentle words of encouragement and sympathy to the young woman.

The topics of Dianne’s grievances stayed light early on, ranging from annoyances with her ISP to gripes about parking on her street. As time passed, however, Dianne began to feel more at ease with Morgan, and began to delve deeper into more significant problems.

Hey you! Out there in the cold,

Getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me?

“I just feel kind of like a loser, you know?” Dianne lay with her face down, supported by the special cushion at the end of the massage table, eyes closed as Morgan’s hands ran up and down her back. Her bra was unclipped and lying open, though still covering her breasts up against the table. This gave Morgan a much wider area to work with, and now she ran her hands steadily up and down the younger woman’s back, excising her anxiety.

“What do you mean, Dianne?”

“I mean, I come here, I go to work, and then I go home and I’m alone. I spend most of my weekends on groceries, laundry, and other errands, and it’s like I’m too busy during the week. I knew it was going to be tough building a new social life in a new city, but this is impossible! How do people find friends when they work full-time? How do people find boyfriends!? You know I haven’t been on a date since college? Do you know how fucking sad that is?” She sniffled suddenly, feeling another anxiety spike as Morgan’s hands worked their magic.

But then the anxiety receded. “These things take time,” Morgan said sagely. “First you need to feel comfortable with yourself. Then you’ll feel comfortable with others and new relationships will be born. You are not comfortable in your own shoes right now,” she said, though as her hands moved, Dianne indeed felt more and more comfortable. “But you will be soon.”

“Thanks,” Dianne commented. “I…”

“Shh,” Morgan interrupted her. “I know it seems counterintuitive, but this treatment only works if you’re talking about bad things in your life. Go on, though. The healing will accelerate considerably after this.”

Come on now,

I hear you’re feeling down,

Well I can ease your pain,

Get you on your feet again.

Morgan’s diagnosis rang true, and over the next few days, Dianne began to feel much better about herself, achieving more at work and enjoying her evenings at home more than usual. This euphoria carried over into Saturday, seeing her wake up earlier than usual and tackle her weekly errands with new vigor, to the point that she went out to eat for lunch, and then found herself back in her office’s neighborhood. Beyond the Wall was open.

“Don’t you ever get a day off?” Dianne asked cheerily, smiling as the door swung shut behind her, causing the incense smoke to swirl in the brief breeze.

“I can’t really afford it,” Morgan replied. She smiled as she said it, but her tone betrayed her own troubles. “Anyway, what brings you here today?”

“I’m actually feeling great today,” Dianne said. “But… uh… I could always feel better. How about… two hours?”

“Are you sure you are still so troubled, dear?”

“I work in a law firm with eight partners,” Dianne said. “I don’t think I’ll ever run out of trouble,” though she smiled as she said it.

The two women withdrew into the back room, where Dianne spun a yarn of a dispute between two of the partners at the law firm and how she had been caught in the crossfire, making it much more difficult to do her job. It was strange to her, but she no longer felt particularly anxious about it, even though the dueling egos of the two partners meant that their dispute was not bound to end soon, and would likely impact her work for some time to come.

The lack of anxiety made the treatment feel amazing. Dianne kept her face downward in the massage table’s headrest, eyes closed as she rattled off her story about the dueling partners. The words came out mechanically, automatically, devoid of any thought on her part. Her mind was given over purely to her sense of touch, to Morgan’s warm hands sliding rhythmically up and down her back. It was strange that she should feel this way, there was nothing to her touch that suggested it was anything more than a mundane massage, and there never had been.

The lack of a rational explanation did not stop the amazing feeling seeping from Morgan’s fingers, through Dianne’s body and into her mind. The words continued to seep from Dianne’s lips like wine from a leaking casket, eventually running dry…

Hey you! Don’t let them bury the light,

Don’t give in, without a fight.

Dianne opened her eyes slowly as she heard the music, audible in the otherwise silent shop. Her whole body felt numb, but in a beautiful way, as if she were waking from a deep, restful sleep. She realized she was facing upward, and stirred.

“Good evening, sleepyhead,” she heard Morgan’s voice and turned, seeing the older woman poking her head through the curtain. “Feeling better?”

“Fantastic,” Dianne replied. “I fell asleep?” she then asked.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t bill you for the time you were out.”

“Mmm…” Dianne moaned, basking in the pleasant feeling of being half-awake. “That’s ni…” she inclined her head a little, when something quite distinctive caught her eye.

She was topless.

Dianne sat up, and the movement of her body gave her a sensation further down. Her eyes widened. “Wait, why am I naked?” she asked accusingly.

Morgan stepped into the room, embarrassment and concern on her face. “I knew you might react like this,” she said. “But I still didn’t want the opportunity to pass by.” She saw the shocked expression forming on the younger woman’s face and moved to correct herself. “For the treatment, dear, all for the treatment. A chance to work your entire body while you slept, I could exorcise so much negative energy hanging around in other parts of your body.”

“You could’ve asked!” Dianne shouted back.

“You were so soundly asleep, you looked so happy. I just wanted to make you happier. That’s all I want for you.”

Dianne considered it for a moment, thinking as she awkwardly tried to hide her breasts and her genitals with her hands.

“Don’t you trust me, Dianne?”

Now Dianne frowned. Her brain and her heart were at cross purposes, her heart telling her that Morgan’s motives were pure, her brain screaming that the appeal to trust in situations like this was textbook practice for sex offenders. She could not decide, certainly not in the space of a moment.

“I see I’ve made a mistake,” Morgan sighed. “Go ahead and go for today.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Dianne said, glaring at her. Were it not for the urgings of her heart, she would assault Morgan with one of the knickknacks and then call the police right then and there. As it was, Morgan’s suggestion was best. It was time to leave. Morgan retreated through the curtain and Dianne stood and dressed herself. She then stormed through the curtain and towards the front door.

Me and you,

God only knows it’s not what we would choose to do.

“Please come again,” Morgan said sadly as Dianne thrust the door open. “Your aura has improved so much since you arrived. It’s almost clean.”

Dianne turned back to look at her, for just a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

Dianne did not return on the next day, but she was true to her word. Having already cleared out her weekly chores the day before, she spent her Sunday in deep research mode. It was odd for her to do research on her off time, since legal research was what was consuming the bulk of her life at the time, but she needed to be sure.

“Yelp!” came first, the review website for businesses large and small. Beyond the Wall showed up, with a good-not-great rating of 3.5/5 stars, and praises and complaints that matched other new age stores and massage parlors in the city.

She searched for more on Morgan La Roche specifically, but few hits came up. This was not unduly troubling, as some people were savvier and liked to keep their digital profiles away from prying eyes. She had access to some databases via the law firm to look into court records as well, and did not see her involved in anything other than a small-claims dispute with a building contractor over $400 from a few years ago. There was nothing that pointed towards any criminal tendencies or any particular possibility that she would suddenly start taking advantage of a client.

With her rational fears quieted, her subconscious was free to make its stand. Her dreams Sunday night were vague, filled with a myriad of touches and feelings from her many sessions with Morgan. The sensations were joyous, but somewhat restrained, as if they were a mere sample of what could be. What was it Morgan had said? It’s almost clean? If she felt this good now, if she felt this good since her breakthrough regarding her social life, how could she feel if she went back? What would become of her when her aura was completely cleaned, when Morgan had finished the treatment in its entirety?

The memories of the dream, and the question it had posed, consumed her throughout her Monday morning. All morning as she worked, Dianne felt her anxiety return. This was not her old anxiety, based on her work and her life, but a sense of urgency, a need to go see Morgan again that was physically manifesting itself in the form of the old familiar knot in her stomach. She went through her work mechanically, utterly unable to focus on it as her body filled with a thrill of excitement.

Her lunch hour arrived, but she did not immediately depart. Instead she went to the firm’s chief receptionist, informing him to tell the partners that she was not feeling well and was going to go home for the rest of the day. Freed from the bonds of her lunch hour, she left for Beyond the Wall.

Money, it’s a gas,

Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.

Dianne did not bother to notice the out-of-place song playing when she crossed the threshold into the dim store. The more upbeat song reflected Dianne’s mood in any case: something deep down inside her told her that this was going to be a life-altering experience. All of her fears, all of her suspicions about Morgan were forgotten utterly against the possibilities of what was to come.

“Namaste.” Morgan stepped through the curtain and bowed, a sheepish look on her face. “Welcome to Beyond the Wall.”

“It’s alright, Morgan,” Dianne said. “You were right. I was just… well, you know how it looked.”

“Yes, I know. I just thought…”

“Well, you were right. I feel great! I want to… finish, if that’s okay with you?”

“It’ll take longer than your lunch hour,” Morgan warned.

“I called off for the rest of the day,” Dianne replied. “You have all the time you need.”

“Great.” Morgan suddenly stepped forward, catching Dianne in a warm embrace. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

“Glad to be back,” Dianne said.

They stepped through into the back room again. “So should I…?” Dianne began, waving her hand up and down the length of her body.

“If you please,” Morgan said. “I need to work on the rest of your body to finish up. You’re so close…” she said, taking a step back and apparently gazing at Dianne’s aura. “Just a bit more.”

Dianne stripped down willingly this time, unashamed at her nakedness. It didn’t feel wrong to get naked in front of her, a fellow woman who was not a family member. Being so vulnerable in front of Morgan felt… natural.

“So… should I be talking about anything?”

“Not anymore, dear,” Morgan said as Dianne climbed onto the massage table. “Actually lay on your back,” she corrected as Dianne tried to position herself face-down. “The corruption is no longer in your mind, but in your body. Words will do nothing to coax it out.”

Dianne turned over, lying face-up and closing her eyes as Morgan went to work. Her warm hands went all over Dianne’s body: not hungrily, not invasively, but soothingly. She touched Dianne in places that had not been touched in years, but not for a cheap sexual thrill, but for something much deeper. Indeed, despite the inclusion of her erogenous zones in the massage, Dianne felt herself growing more and more relaxed, headed back to that glorious state of blissful blankness. Down, down she went, eyes closing, senses dulling, all except her sense of touch.

Dianne was just on the threshold, lingering between the twilight world of the shop’s backroom and the even dimmer world of unconsciousness when she heard something. A familiar song was audible, but it didn’t come from the speakers out front. Morgan was humming something as she worked. It was such a subtle thing, Dianne barely noticed, until Morgan began to softly sing.

Hush now, baby, baby, don’t you cry,

Morgan drew closer to Dianne’s face, her massage working now at the younger woman’s neck and shoulders.

Mama’s gonna make all of your nightmares come true.

Suddenly her anxiety spiked anew, but why? What did she have to fear now? She was so close, so close to the edge, to the threshold of a new life. What was there to be afraid of anymore?

Mama’s gonna put all of her fears into you.

That’s right. Dianne had nothing to be afraid of, but Morgan did. Dianne was tired, so tired. She just wanted to rest, to slide into the forgetfulness of sleep so that she could be born anew. But what would happen when she was? She would leave, to use Morgan’s gifts to take on her life, to succeed and be happy and never need Morgan again. She would leave Morgan all alone.

She couldn’t do that! Dianne tried to stir, to speak words of comfort to the woman who had given her so much. Her body was too numb for her to do anything, though. She could do nothing for her, as if…

As if she were a child with its mother.

Mama’s gonna keep you right here under her wing.

Morgan’s figure changed. She grew larger. Or was Dianne getting smaller? She noticed nothing other than Morgan’s voluptuous body, suddenly naked in the dim light. There were no surroundings; the curios were gone, the shop was gone. Morgan grew in stature, and great black wings sprouted from her shoulders, dark as her raven hair which seemed to grow longer. Morgan was larger than her now, a stature to match her greater wisdom and power, to match her role in their relationship. Hers was not a frightful or intimidating size, however; she was there to provide comfort and protection.

She won’t let you fly but she might let you sing.

Morgan reached out and brushed Dianne’s cheek tenderly as the younger woman’s eyelids continued to droop. She felt a wetness on her forehead, the touch of smooth lips and a loving kiss.

Mama’s gonna keep baby cozy and warm.

Two large arms wrapped around Dianne’s docile body, picking her up and wrapping her into a tender embrace, cradling her against Morgan’s large, naked bosom. Dianne stirred a little now, cuddling up against her soft breasts. Indeed Morgan was now large enough that Dianne felt as though she were a small child in her arms, though Dianne felt no change to her body.

Morgan continued to hum as her wings spread wide, and suddenly they were gone. So close was Dianne to slumbering in the woman’s (could she still be called that?) embrace that she caught only the barest glimpses of where they now flew, a strange place unlike any she had ever seen before, a wild mountainscape beyond civilization, beyond the ken of mankind.

Already in that dreamlike state between sleeping and wakefulness, Dianne caught only glimpses as Morgan bore her gently through the air, over the mysterious mountains, down into the forests that covered the lower slopes. At the crown of a tall tree, there was a nest of cunningly-woven straw. A clutch of large eggs were cradled in the nest.

Morgan landed, laying Dianne down on the soft straw in between two of the eggs. Each was as large as Dianne herself. Morgan continued to hum softly as she sat herself down on the edge of the nest, looking down lovingly at Dianne as the younger woman shut her eyes at last, embracing the dream she had fallen into. Morgan’s otherworldly beauty was on full display, her pale white skin, soft face, long black hair that now hung even longer, flowing over her face and back, her matching raven wings, like a fallen angel. Further down, she had large breasts, voluptuous hips, and a patch of black hair above her womanhood, which glistened with anticipation of what was to come.

Oooh babe, oooh babe, oooh babe, Morgan sang again, softly. She leaned over and grabbed Dianne, who stirred a little in her sleep, pleased at Morgan’s touch. She picked up the grown woman, now as small to her as a babe in arms and drew her, feet first, towards her womanhood, which was now soaked in natural lubricant.

Dianne went inside, sliding back up a canal much like the one she had emerged from some 25 years before. The canal of a woman who loved her deeply, unconditionally, but whose love was not bound by the meager lifespan given to womankind. Dianne dreamed of love and warmth and comfort as she slid inside, taken in gently up, up, into the fae woman’s womb. There a white corona formed around Dianne, slowly drawing in towards her body, curling her into a fetal position as her very own egg began to form, the walls to shut her away from her old human life for all time.

Of course mama’s gonna help build the wall,

Morgan rubbed one hand gently over her swollen stomach, in slow circles as she sang to her newest child within, and settled herself protectively over the others of her clutch. Already she was beginning to forget the name of Dianne Rutger, and soon she would forget the name of Morgan La Roche as well, reverting to her simple life until the time came to claim another.

The music, however, the music would linger on.

Mother do you think they’ll like this song?