The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Unknown Object

Chapter XVII

For what seemed like an eternity, mother and son just looked at each other, trapped in an awkward silence. Tim crouched down on the floor, in front of the used condom that had fallen out of the tipped-over trash can. Mom sat up on the bed, staring at him, her face flushed with embarrassment and confusion.

Tim’s mind was in turmoil, conflicting thoughts and feelings rising and crashing against each other like a maelstrom that threatened to drag him down into the depths of despair.

How could this happen?

Did my suggestions not work the way they should have?

Did Mom fuck Dad last night?

Those distressing thoughts ran through his head, over and over again. Below the surface, however, other, more distressing questions arose that stoked the more malignant, selfish emotions roiling inside him.

How fucking dare she?

Doesn’t Mom realize she’s mine now?

Who does Dad think he is, having his way with Mom?

Panic and dread also magnified his anxieties…

Why did they use a condom?

Does that mean Mom could get pregnant?

Why didn’t I think of that?

Holy shit, what will I do if I get Mom pregnant?

Confusion. Jealousy. Anger. Rage. Fear. And then, like a dam breaking, the maelstrom of feelings crashed forth, culminating in a sense of humiliation that led to a wave of nausea.

Had Tim been thinking rationally, he would have seen the flaws in the commands he had given his mother. He would have understood that none of his suggestions had diminished his mother’s feelings for his father—instead, they had only created an internal conflict that she had tried to resolve as best she could by reaffirming her relationship to the man she had been married to for almost twenty-five years. How could he possibly be jealous of a husband and wife engaging in love-making, one of the most primal, basic acts in a marriage?

Of course, had Tim been driven by anything other than his libido, he never would have corrupted and defiled his mother in the first place, never would have had manipulated her into engaging in acts which would have normally been anathema to her strong moral fiber. But his teenage lust, his desire for sex, had overwhelmed his reason and whatever sense of ethics his parents had managed to instill in him.

The damage Tim had done up to this point was relatively confined. His mother and sister had borne the brunt of it, but Eddie had also been victimized by him. Had Tim coolly analyzed the situation, removed his own twisted emotions from the equation, he would have realized that his mother’s love for his father was strong enough that it had managed to survive his warped commands. He would have seen that his sister’s boyfriend was a decent person, that he should be happy that she had found someone who genuinely cared for her. What’s more, the mind control gun which had distorted the minds of those around him could still be used to restore the status quo.

Remove the memories and emotions he’d artificially implanted into his mother and sister.

Restore his mother’s happy home life.

Restore his sister’s first love.

Restore Eddie’s feelings for Heather.

But inside Tim’s heart were the feelings that many unpopular, awkward teenage boys have. The desire for love, the need to be wanted and desired. And those were accompanied by negative emotions.




Those negative emotions had taken root in Tim’s heart. They had blossomed in that fertile earth, nurtured by the heady feelings of power bestowed on Tim due to his possession of the mind control gun.

No one and nothing was out of reach now, or so he’d thought. The used condom on the floor mocked that notion. It seemed to be mocking him.

You thought Mom was yours? Think again.

You think Heather is yours? Just wait.

Tim’s vision became hazy with tears, and he could taste bile in the back of his throat.


He snapped out of his reverie as he realized his mother was speaking to him, had been addressing him for almost a minute now.

“Tim, you have to…you have to understand…I love you, of course, but you’re my son and your father is my husband, and husbands…husbands and wives sometimes do these things together, and it…it doesn’t mean I care about you any less, but…,” Mom rambled embarrassedly.

Tim looked up at her, grim-faced, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I…look, what you and I have been doing…and what your father and I do…it’s…how can I say this? They’re separate things, you see…th-they’re not…how can I say this…,” she kept speaking, stream-of-consciousness, trying to hide her embarrassment while hoping some of what she was saying was providing her son some comfort.

Tim stood up, trembling slightly.

Shut up, he wanted to say. Just shut the fuck up.

Instead, he went to the door.

“Wh-where are you going, Tim?” Mom said, in a panicky voice.

Without a word, Tim headed downstairs to pick up the mind control gun.

I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make you mine, and only mine, once and for all.

* * *

The track and field coach had seemed exasperated when Heather begged off of practice due to what she claimed was cramps, but she’d anticipated that. Luckily, Samantha, the team captain, backed her up (probably because she felt sorry for her because of the whole Eddie debacle, more than anything else). In addition, the coach was an old man, and he’d learned better than to argue when it came to ‘women’s issues,’ maybe out of fear that he’d be fired for discrimination or something.

At any rate, after Coach made her promise to practice twice as hard during the next training session, Heather was given permission to leave right after the final bell rang.

Heather waved to her friends as they headed away from her and towards track and field practice. She walked slowly, looking at her smartphone, and waited until she was out of sight of the school before she put it in her shirt pocket and started running.

As she sped towards her house, her mind raced almost as quickly as her feet. She thought about how to bring up yesterday’s events, and what that meant for the two of them, to her brother. How would he react? How would they hide it from the people around them? She felt her heart race at the thought of seeing Tim. She’d never have thought she’d be so eager to see her brother again.

She slowed down to take a breath at a stop sign, looked both ways for incoming traffic, and then crossed the street, now just a couple of blocks away from her house.

Would Tim still be asleep when she got home? She wondered how he’d explained his condition to Mom, and how he’d managed to get her permission to skip school.

If he’s been sleeping all this time, his stamina must be pretty low, Heather thought. Maybe he and I should start jogging together in the mornings. She blushed a bit at the thought of the two of them working out together. A week ago, her sibling would have barely warranted a second thought. Now, due to the way Tim had altered her consciousness, he was all she could think of. Heather, of course, had no inkling of this.

She saw her house in the distance, and pushed forward, running a bit harder. To her surprise, both her parents’ cars were in the driveway. She knew Dad was on a business trip, but had assumed that her mother would be at one of her yoga appointments, or at the gym, or spending the day with her friends, Aunt Lily, shopping…Mom always kept herself busy during the day.

With their mother home, Heather and Tim would have to lock themselves in his bedroom and, if her brother could keep his hands to himself (given his behavior this morning, that might be a lot to ask), talk things out with Mom being none the wiser.

Heather trotted up to the front door, took her keys out of her backpack, and let herself in.

* * *

“You don’t love Dad, Mom,” Tim repeated.

Mom’s body twitched spasmodically. She had rejected his suggestions yet again.

Tim sat in a chair facing Mom. He was still naked, but held the mind control gun in his right hand.

He breathed deeply, trying to calm his frustration. None of what he had said had worked so far. Oh, it had started easily enough. He’d found out that Mom wasn’t on the pill because it screwed up her hormones, that that’s why Dad had worn a condom. Found out that she hadn’t made Tim wear a condom so as not to make him feel overly self-conscious, so that the act of lovemaking would feel more natural. That had explained that (though it hadn’t eased his pregnancy worries—how stupid had he been? With Heather, too!).

Things had suddenly gotten tougher when he decided to remove his mother’s feelings of affection towards his father. Mom was rejecting all of his suggestions, no matter how he phrased them. He’d thought her mind had become more pliable, but he supposed having her reject a relationship that had lasted a quarter of a century was perhaps a bridge too far.

But there had to be a way. There had to be. Otherwise, how had Dr. Müller managed to enslave all those women?

There was that word again. Enslave. That’s not what he wanted to do to Mom. He just wanted her to love him and be only with him and do everything he said. That was all (or so he told himself).

It should be doable. After all, he had managed this was same woman who’d been trying to make him choose between fixing his phone and his air conditioner. And from that, he’d managed to get her to sleep with him. If he’d managed to make her cross that moral line, a line which had doubtlessly been ingrained in her from childhood, then he should be able to get her to cross another one.

He looked at his mother’s nude body as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her pendulous breasts. Her tight stomach. Her flaring hips. Toned legs. Small feet. The thought of his father touching that body made him sick.

Mom was his.

He tried to think, how to approach this problem a different way. He took a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand.

He still had plenty of time. His sister wouldn’t be home for hours, still.

He sighed, and decided to try again.

“Okay, Mom, now listen…”

* * *

Heather gasped when she saw the scene in the kitchen, the housekeys falling from her hands and onto the floor.

What the hell happened here?

The table and the floor were a sticky mess of food (were those mashed-up strawberries?) and unidentifiable fluids. A sickly-sweet smell hung in the air. Scattered across the floor were pieces of clothing, including what she recognized as the nightgown Mom had been wearing that morning.

Were all these things on the table and floor signs of a struggle? Had Mom been assaulted? And where was Tim? Maybe he’d also been attacked.

Heather shivered with fear as a strong sense of dread overtook her. Something terrible must have happened here, she was sure of it.

She slowly stepped backwards, her hands, no, her whole body, trembling. Wild scenarios started popping into her head. Maybe the police would have to search the kitchen as a crime scene or something, she thought. She’d better not disturb anything.

Heather walked to the living room, and was just pulling out her phone to call the police when she heard a loud thud from upstairs.

Oh fuck, someone’s still here!

She thought of her mother, probably scared for her life. Who knew what had been done to her? Could that be the sound of a struggle, Mom against an assailant? If it was, Heather didn’t have time to call the cops.

Heather steeled her nerves, put her phone back in her breast pocket, and looked around the living room for a weapon. At the far end of the room, she laid her eyes on it. One of her old track and field trophies. Long and heavy, she could swing it at whoever the trespasser was, as long as there was just one of them. As long as he wasn’t armed. As long as she could catch him by surprise.

She owed it to Mom to try. And Tim, if…

If they were still alive.

Blinking back tears, tightly grasping the trophy by its base, Heather tiptoed upstairs.

* * *

A vexed Tim kicked over the chair he’d been sitting in out of sheer irritation. It landed on the carpeted floor with a loud thud.

He’d rephrased the command dozens of times, but no matter what he said, Mom’s reaction was the same. Her body went into throes of convulsions before calming down. No indication of assent, no indication that the commands had, in any way, gotten through to her.

Tim paced back and forth in front of his mother, still sitting, empty-eyed, at the foot of the bed.

“I don’t understand this, I don’t understand this at all,” he began to rant to himself.

His mother looked on, impassively, into the distance. He turned to her, and began to vent his frustrations.

“Why is this such a dealbreaker to you, after everything else? After everything we’ve done? Everything I’ve commanded you to do?”

Not being directly addressed, his mother sat like a doll, a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Tim sighed, laid the mind control on the nightstand and righted the chair, sat back down again.

“Okay, Mom, let’s go through each of the commands I’ve given you so far one more time…maybe that way I can figure out what the trigger was that worked the first time I controlled you, and get it to work again this time.”

Had Tim not been so exasperated, and so focused on talking to himself, he might have noticed the light, very light footsteps of Heather walking up the stairs.

And if he had, just a moment later, bothered to look towards the door, which was slightly ajar, he might have seen his sister’s face, her expression one of abject horror.

* * *

Heather had been very quiet as she’d gone up the stairs. Her hands trembled slightly as they gripped the trophy. If she could catch the intruder by surprise, she figured, she could brain him over the head with it and any fight would be over before it even had a chance to start.

If she wasn’t careful, though, whatever had happened to Mom would happen to her too. Those nightmarish scenarios which had sprung into her mind earlier now re-appeared, except this time it was her in the place of Mom. She gulped.

She heard the voice as an unintelligible mumble before she recognized it. It was an angry voice, filled with resentment. It was only when she got closer to her parents’ bedroom that she recognized who it was.


“…everything else? …everything…done…commanded…to do?”

Was he arguing with the intruder? Bad idea, Tim. Whoever that guy is, whatever he’s done to Mom, he’ll do to you too, she thought.

She noticed a tiny light coming from the doorway. Good, the bedroom door’s not locked.

As long as Tim was keeping the intruder distracted, she could go in, smash him over the head, and rescue Tim (and hopefully Mom too).

What she saw when she peeked into the room, though, made her stomach drop.

There was no intruder, none that she saw.

Instead, through the crack in the doorway, she saw her brother and her mother, sitting and facing each other.

They were both naked.

Why the fuck are they naked? she thought. She’d seen her brother naked the other day for the first time, his slightly pudgy stomach, his hairy crotch, the long thing between his legs. Heather had become intimately familiar with that body yesterday.

She’d never seen her mother naked, and tried to avert her eyes from her breasts and crotch, the same way she’d do her best to avoid looking at her track teammates when they were in a locker room, keeping herself at eye level. What instantly caught her attention, though, was her mother’s posture.

Her arms lay awkwardly at her sides. Her head was slightly turned to the side. There was a bit of drool coming from the side of her mouth. And her eyes…they looked glazed.

Mom looked…drugged.

Something was wrong here. Very wrong. Wrong and…and sick.

She listened to her brother, who was still ranting.

And as she did, things slowly became clear.

And the nightmare she’d felt she was in when she walked into the kitchen door just a few minutes ago suddenly became so much worse than she could ever have imagined.

Tim kept giving their mother commands.

Ordering her to stop being in love with Dad. To be with him instead. And she soon realized what that meant. It meant—sexually.

Tim wanted to have sex with their mother. But whatever he had done to her, however he’d drugged her, hypnotized her, mesmerized her, it wasn’t working.

Through her disgust, Heather felt so proud of her Mom. Unconsciously, she was resisting his commands.

It was then that the thought came to her.

Had Tim done the same thing to her?

Panicked, she thought back to the previous day. Had he given her something? A drink, or a piece of food? Had he…had he done something to her?

No, Tim wouldn’t do that. Tim loved her. He was her brother. She was sure of that. She trusted him. She trusted him more than anyone else in the world. Or did she?

Maybe that was something he’d hypnotized her into believing, too. How had she felt about him before yesterday? When had those feelings started?

If he was doing this to their mother, what’s to say that he hadn’t done it to her?

She began to hyperventilate. And as she did so, in a panic, wanting to make sure Tim wouldn’t hear her ragged breathing, she covered her mouth with her hands.

And as she did, she fumbled and dropped the trophy.

* * *

Tim heard a ‘clunk’ from outside the door. Someone spying on him! Without thinking, he rushed to open it.

Standing there, trembling, was Heather. She was covering her mouth with her hands, breathing raggedly. Her eyes were filled with tears.

The first thing Tim felt was anger. Hadn’t he told her to go to practice today? Why was she here?

Then, that was quickly followed by panic. How much had she heard? What was she going to do?

“Shit!” He looked at the nightstand, where he’d left the mind control gun. I need to get Heather under control, and quick! he thought to himself. He turned his eyes away from her for just a second, and then, out of the corner of his eyes, saw Heather pick something up, run towards him, screaming.


It hit him, glanced the side of his head, and he could feel it, could feel the side of his head become numb, and warm liquid running down its side.

If he’d been hit straight on, he’d have been knocked out, for sure, As it was, he couldn’t see out of one eye. Had she knocked his fucking eye out?

He touched his hand to his face. His forehead was wet, warm. There was a deep cut just above his forehead where the trophy had hit, and the flowing blood was in his right eye, impairing his vision.

But what he saw was that the object he’d been hit with (it glinted against the light—a trophy?) had fallen to the floor when his sister had hit him, and she was looking at him, wide-eyed, frozen, horrified.

Tim leapt towards her, planning on catching her, dragging her back to the bedroom if he had to, using the mind control gun on her.

But Heather was too fast for him. When she saw he hadn’t been knocked down, she stepped back and took off, full-speed down the hallway.

Tim followed as fast as he could, but he was woozy, having trouble seeing well, and kept tripping on the hallway carpet.

Heather was already in the living room by the time Tim was halfway down the stairs.

“Stop!” he screamed. “Trust me, Heather, I can explain!”

Trust me, he remembered. The magic words. He’d made sure to instill those into her when he’d given her the suggestions. Absolute trust.

Heather slowed down, stood at the entryway and stared at him, incredulous. Tim ran down to the foot of the stairs. Had it worked?

Heather blinked back the tears in her eyes. Then she shook her head, as if coming out of a daze, and ran out the front door.

Tim ran after her, only to see his sister speeding away. There was no way he could catch her. Besides, even if he’d been a decent runner, he was naked. He closed the door quickly, hoped no one had seen him, locked it behind him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tim thought. What am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?

As far as he knew, his sister could be running to the police station right now.

And then, it would be over. He’d be under arrest. It would be all over the news, the mind control gun, the fact that he’d committed incest.

His life would be over.

Tim felt a little woozy. He stumbled over to the living room, sat down on the sofa. His head hurt.

Okay, Tim. Think. Just think for a minute. Even if she goes to the police station with this crazy story, would anyone believe her? Would she be dismissed as a crank, a troubled child? Even if that’s the case, they’d probably send over a police officer to question me and Mom.

He tried to remember the commands he’d given Heather. Obviously, she was confused by what she’d seen, but at least they were still partially in effect. She’d frozen when he’d told her to trust him. What about the command to never reveal the fact that they’d slept together? Of course, that didn’t apply to what she’d seen him do with Mom, but…

It was hard to think.

His head was pounding from where Heather had hit him. Blood was still trickling down the side of his face. He must look a terrible sight.

Tim closed his eyes.

I just need to rest for a second, and then I’ll go upstairs, get dressed, and…and…

As he tried to gather his thoughts, Tim drifted off into unconsciousness.