The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My family’s gone off the deep end and I wonder if maybe I was the one thing keeping the wheels on for the Davis household.

Did leaving them behind to go to college somehow wreck my family?

If so, how could I have known, really?

As it stands, Dad has moved out…

Oddly enough, that’s the sanest change—that’s the one I can understand with what’s going on with mom and my younger sister Addy.

My first sign of trouble with mom was when she texted asking if I had any bikini pictures of myself. When it arrived, I wondered if mom had some sort of vacation planned and she was pulling together images to clue us all in. That seemed like a “mom” thing to do. A scrapbooking, montage-y sort of thing. At least, that made sense for the mom I left behind, not whatever she’s become since. As it turns out, she just wanted to be able to gawk at my body. Shudder. She’s somehow realized, like twenty years into marriage to my dad, that she’s a lesbian. Not a frilly, girly lesbian either. An angry one. A domineering one. A masculine one.

Addy sent me pictures of mom v2, because honestly, I couldn’t believe it myself from the texts and emails from my sister. I needed visual proof to bring it all home. I even had Addy FaceTime me with her and mom. The looks my mother gave my sister were not looks a mother should ever give her daughter. They were hungry looks. Her hair was cropped short, a style I never pictured on my mother, and her style was truck driver chic, but without the “chic.”

Then, after a few days of radio silence, my sister got weird, too. Simple requests to catch up on all things mom got overreactive responses like “Don’t tell me what to do.” I’d mark that down as rebellion—we’re teenagers after all—but then commands and demands started flooding in. My sister, my sweet little sister, somehow became domineering with a need to control everything, including me. When I didn’t meet her demands, she cut off communication with a message of “When you’re ready to submit, let me know.”

What.

The.

Fuck?

This all started around the time that mom sent out that online quiz.

I ask my roommate, Heather, to watch me take it, just to make sure there’s no hypnosis or other sort of malicious underpinnings. She has the good idea to record it on her phone, just in case. I’m a little afraid, after the random changes that have impacted my family, but if she catches it on video, we can track down the website owner for restitution.

“You ready?” I ask Heather.

She nods and gives me a thumbs up.

“You know it’s totally cool if you say something in the video…”

“Oh,” she says. “Right. I’m ready, walk me through what you’re seeing.”

“Okay, first it says—“

“Reads.”

“What?” I ask.

“It reads… because you’re reading it… unless there’s audio I’m not hearing.”

“What?” I ask again.

“We’re documenting so we have to be one hundred percent accurate.”

I roll my eyes and wonder if involving Heather was a good idea. Oh well, she’s free help. Guess you get what you pay for.

“Okay.. it reads Welcome to WeaverFeed Quiz Your True Self.”

Heather gives me another thumbs up.

I put on a snooty, formal voice to continue reading the preamble, “We’ve compiled all forty-two female archetypes and can identify you accurately based on your answers to ten simple questions, as well as the amount of time it takes you to choose. If you’re a male and have reached this page in error, please click this link to take the male version of this quiz. Thank you.”

“What now?” Heather asks.

“Now I have to pick options in ten questions. I’m going Red Square, Mountain, Salad, A Glass of Wine, Lingerie—“

“Oooh,” Heather chimes in.

“I’m guessing it’s how I sleep. You should feel glad I didn’t choose nude, unless you want me to sleep in the nude…”

Apparently, she doesn’t, because Heather says, “Moving on…”

“Moving on… to Whipped Cream, Strawberries…”

Heather provides audio commentary on my choices, adding, “Sounds like dessert.”

“Candlelit Dinner…”

Heather’s eyes “Sounds like a date.”

I rapid fire through the last two questions, hoping to shush the peanut gallery. “A Necklace and a Heart.”

“Aw, that sounds nice…” Heather’s eyes say she’s picturing Prince Charming treating her to all of these things.

“Now it’s saying calculating. And… apparently, I’m twenty-two percent Girl Next Door.”

“You’re totally a Girl Next Door type.”

“Right? So far, surprisingly accurate. But… apparently, I’m also forty-two percent Manic Pixie Dreamgirl. Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“If you’re into manic pixies, I guess…”

“But my true self is…”

“Buddala buddala buddala…”

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

“A drum roll.”

“That didn’t sound like a drum roll.”

“Well, what do you expect, I have to hold the phone up to record you so one of my hands is preoccupied.”

“Omigod!” I say, reading a bit before I read it aloud.

“What?”

“Listen. My true self is…The hetaera.”

“I’m going to have to Google that.”

“You and me both. But… it describes it as—You’ve spent your life learning the skills of seduction and the purposeful application of sexual technique. You believe that the proper execution of physicality is the highest calling a person can dream of and to use this in the service of others is a divine duty. You are sometimes the other woman, but you use this position to influence.”

Heather starts to laugh.

“Now it says—excuse me, reads—When you find this quiz to be surprisingly accurate, pass it along to all of your friends.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to have to take this quiz. It’s so, so accurate. Okay, so, Jocelyn…” Heather says, sneaking closer with her camera.

“Yes?”

Her phone is inches from my face, making me feel silly as she asks, “You feel any different?”

I do a little self assessment. I don’t feel different. “No. Do I look different?”

Heather squints at me. “Nope.”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but I guess I can rule out this website for having anything to do with the strange happenings surrounding my mom and sister.

Heather looms over me. I look up with my “what” face and she says, “Can I borrow your laptop? I want to take the quiz. I want to see what I am.”

“Don’t you have your own? Or you could pull it up on your phone, even.”

“But you have the site up already… and since it’s so incredibly accurate you have to share it with all of your friends… and I’m like your bestie so…”

I stand to vacate the desk chair and Heather replaces me, clicking away.

Together, we learn that apparently she’s equal parts Ditz and Brat at thirty percent, but her real self is The Exhibitionist, so I get a better laugh at her than she had at me.

I make her read the whole thing aloud to me, slowly, though I was reading everything else over her shoulder. “The Exhibitionist. Your body is a temple and everyone is invited. Your one true joy is found in the gaze of others on your skin. Your approach to clothes is ‘as minimal as you can get away with.’ You’ve got it, you flaunt it, and you get warm just thinking about someone, anyone, seeing you. The more eyes, the merrier.”

After washing up for the night, as we get into our respective beds, I call over to her, “Try not to flash your goods at me, exhibitionist.”

She calls back, “Try not to seduce me, hetaera.”

I pause, chuckle a little, then reply, “Works for me.”

I drift off to sleep as a little thought tickles the back of my brain—if I was going to seduce my roommate, how would I do it?

I wake up to Heather’s rustling. I blink open my eyes. She’s walking around the dorm room in her panties and a bra. Despite sleepy eyes, I can clearly see her nipples through the lace.

“Hi.” I say, making sure she knows I’m there.

“Hi.” She says back, clearly aware that I’m in the room.

“What are you wearing?”

“I was hot.”

“And..?”

She strikes a pose, twisting her body to show off her curves and says, “I’m still hot.”

I get up, walk over to her, and gently run a hand across her face. “That you are.”

I can tell she wants more attention, but I have to get about starting my day.

I spend extra time in the shower, making sure I’m smooth all over. I don’t know how I got to be so… unkempt… but that’s easily remedied. I have to always look my best.

I have to physically move Heather from the closet mirror so I can access my wardrobe for the day—a slinky little black number and some strappy heels. It’s a bit formal for classes, I know, but it sends the right message—I am not your typical college sophomore. I am worthy of so much more than that. I forego underwear because I don’t want stray lines taking anything away from the dress’s lovely simplicity on my body.

I feel the glances of every boy I pass, and some girls for that matter, on the way to the lecture hall.

Normally, I sit in the back, but I felt like the front row would provide me a better glimpse of the board and our professor. The professor is a bit of a silver fox, older, but still with some appeal. About midway through his lecture, he notices my legs. They give him a brief pause. The pause is longer when I give him a peek at where they meet. He likes what he sees and I know that with just a little extra persuasion, I will absolutely ace this class. And I know how to be absolutely persuasive. I visit him immediately after during office hours and I can read him like a book. I finger his pages and quite thoroughly guarantee my A+.

French class presents the modest challenge of a reasonably young female professor. Her gender doesn’t give me pause at all from plying her with my trade. I catch her alone after class. Some judicious practice of my tongue… to her ear… at least just the ear at first and I’m just happy that there’s no class in that room immediately after. When I leave her, utterly satisfied, she’s putty in my hands, ready to sign whatever grade I want—ready to sign her house over to me, if I want.

Immediately after, at the Student Union, it just takes merely a simple touch and a delicate whisper and some Freshman buys me lunch.

A girl could get used to that kind of treatment.

I know I will.

I get back to my dorm room and open the door to find Heather standing there naked, save for some sneakers. “I was thinking about going streaking. That’s like a college right of passage, right?” She bounces up and down excitedly, sending her breasts bouncing and her eyes fluttering in delight, seeing me see her. “You wanna come?”

She seems so young to me now, like a child pursuing childish delights.

I shake my head “no” and watch her, unfazed, excitedly bound down the hall, looking for people to look at her and jiggling extra hard when they do.

I actually have bigger fish to fry, little girl.

I have entire worlds to gain entry to, many doors to open, and I’m walking around in the perfect key to do so. With a body like mine, with everything I know of the intimate arts, I can have whoever and whatever I want. My kind was meant to be with royalty.

…give me a couple months and I’ll work my way there.