The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Without a Thought

by Amber

She is sitting in a seat on the subway train. Her purse rests on her lap, her arms crossed over it. She sits upright, her spine straight, her legs directly in front of her. She breathes in and out, and blinks, but makes no other movement and says nothing.

No one in the crowded car pays any attention. Some may notice her long enough to recognize that she is attractive, or they may wonder why she is one of the few in the car not reading or playing with a phone, but they are too distracted, too wrapped up in their own worlds, to give her any further thought. They never even notice how even and regular her breathing is, or how her blinks are always exactly twelve seconds apart. Her blank, expressionless face is not unlike any number of others on the car. Her glazed, empty eyes match many others who are drifting off amidst the background din and the rhythmic hum of the moving train. No one even thinks to engage her in conversation. No one really thinks about her at all.

She stares directly ahead, unmoving, and thinks nothing.

* * *

A pretty young woman, her straight brown hair long and unbound, leans back in a comfortable chair at the front desk of a half-empty office, waving to several co-workers as they leave for the day. She wears a casual-but-professional white tunic blouse over grey leggings, with short, smart heels. She glances at the clock.

Her phone rings. She looks at the number and smiles broadly, and answers.

“Hey, sexy.”

“Yeah, almost done for the day. I’ll probably be leaving as soon as I hang up.”

“Oh… probably about an hour and a half, if there’s no backup on the bus lines. So don’t worry, I’ll be home and back with you soon.” She laughs.

“No, really quiet. I think almost everyone else has already left. They always do that before a long weekend, you know how it is.”

“Oh, really?” A devious grin crosses her face. Her voice lowers to a huskier register. “Like what, exactly?”

She blinks, and her eyes widen. Her smile fades, and her face relaxes. She straightens in her chair, sitting perfectly upright. The hand not holding the phone folds into her lap. She sits perfectly still, save for her chest rising and falling with each even breath. Every few seconds she blinks, evenly spaced. Her face is expressionless. She says nothing.

A few minutes later, she hangs up the phone, her movements precise. Her now-free hand joins the other in her lap, her entire body now perfectly symmetrical in the chair. After a few moments, she moves to shut down her computer. She stands. There is no one around to notice the somewhat stiff way she does so. Then, with a blank face that never wavers, with no unnecessary movement, she picks up her purse, slides it onto her shoulder, and walks away.

There is a sway in her walk, attractive enough to overshadow the perfect evenness of her gait, the crispness of her movement, the distant stare in her half-glazed eyes. She leaves the office, encountering no one she knows.

On the street she blends seamlessly into the crowds. The city people wear many expressions—harried, hurried, tired, annoyed, unthinking. No one would notice one more with no visible expression or emotion. There is no shortage of others like her on the streets—detached, distracted, barely even noticing where they are, thinking only of where they need to go. So she draws no attention, no one giving a second thought to the young woman staring straight ahead with lifeless eyes, no one noticing how perfectly regular her movements are.

She approaches the entrance to the subway station. Her movements still smooth and precise, she places her right hand on the escalator railing and stands still as she begins to descend. Her position shifts slightly, pushing her left hip out just enough for her left hand to rest on it. It is an attractive pose, even as she continues to stare straight ahead, her eyes still blank and unseeing. She shows no reaction to the noisy tumult around her, as people go about their daily lives. None of them even notice her.

The escalator reaches the lower level and she resumes her swaying gait. Still no one pays her any attention. Possibly, someone may have noticed how she reaches into her purse, withdraws her access card, places it against the gate, strides through, and replaces it without her walk varying for even a split second—every movement exact and precise. But no one notices. She moves through the crowd unseen and unseeing.

A train is waiting as she approaches the tracks. She pauses, briefly, as several others board ahead of her, and then she steps aboard as well. She pauses again, and her head smoothly rotates to the left, then the right. Then she turns slightly and walks toward an empty seat beside a window. Again her every action is precise as she sits down. She bends her knees at perfect ninety-degree angles, crosses her arms over the purse in her lap, and sits perfectly upright, her glazed eyes staring forward. Her chest rises and falls, evenly, with every measured breath she takes. Every twelve seconds, she blinks. She makes no other movement.

She shows no reaction as the train starts, and stops again. Another passenger sits in the seat next to her, not looking at her or even seeming to notice her. She shows no sign of noticing.

Across her placid, empty mind, a thought drifts slowly, a few simple words taking shape.

I am... beautiful... I am... loved... I am... obedient... I am... owned...

A short pulse of arousal bursts from between her legs, shattering the simple thought and leaving her mind empty once again. A slight twitch and a short hitch in her breathing are the only outwardly visible signs of the event. The passenger beside her does not even notice.

A few stops later, the passenger stands and leaves the train. She shows no reaction. Another passenger, newly arrived on the train, takes his place. He sees her, his eyes sliding up and down her body, an uncomfortably pleased look on his face.

She makes no move. She does not turn her head toward him. She does not acknowledge his presence.

A few moments later, he shrugs, pulls out his smartphone, and starts playing a game. He is quickly engrossed, forgetting entirely about the silent woman beside him.

She stares forward. She thinks nothing.

The train passes through several more stops, filling with more passengers almost to bursting. Everyone is too wrapped up in trying to find a space to sit or stand, to find a small respite from the body heat stifling the cabin, to pay any attention to anyone around her. Even if they did, no one would notice the perspiration glistening on her skin. Everyone else is feeling the same way as the effects of the heat quickly exhaust them.

She stares forward. Her mind is blank.

The cabin starts to empty, people exiting in waves at each stop. Each time a rush of cool outside air flows through the train, those that remain breathing sighs of relief as they feel it. Her breathing deepens slightly, as once again a thought slowly takes form in the emptiness of her mind.

I... ... will... ... obey...

Again the thought scatters away into nothingness, as another bloom of arousal pulses through her body. Her skin is slightly more flushed now—but it could just as easily be written off as the lingering heat in the air, if anyone even cared to think about it. They do not think about her at all.

She does not think about them. She does not think about anything at all.

At last the train pulls into its final stop. Everyone off, says the muffled electronic voice. Those that remain filter their way to the exits. After most are gone, she is one of the few left. She stands. Her movements are impeccably smooth. Not a single muscle flex is wasted.

She walks to the door and exits. Her hips are swaying again, a bit more than they were before she boarded the train. No one takes note, of course. The few others who were on the train as long as she was have long since forgotten. Those still lingering are so focused on simply making their way back home after a long day that they do not even bother to look at her. They do not see the slight heel-to-toe strut in her walk, or that she is holding her body in a way that enhances her bust. Their minds are concentrated on other things.

Her mind is concentrated on nothing. She makes her way out into the open air of the station entrance. Several buses are waiting at different stops, their electronic displays cutting the fading evening light with bright pronouncements of their destinations in different suburban areas. She walks to one, and boards it.

With a single motion of her arm she lifts her access card in the direction of the driver, who barely even bothers to acknowledge it with a small wave of his index finger. No eye contact is made as she reverses the motion, lowering her arm, and with one more smooth movement returns it to her purse. She moves to the back of the bus and sits in an empty seat. Her body assumes precisely the same pose and posture as when she sat on the train. No one notices, of course. None of the people already on this bus, or still currently boarding, were even on her train. She is just another passenger to them.

To her, they do not even exist. Nothing exists in her mind but a single thought of a single word.


The flash of primal need is stronger this time, and her body actually makes a tiny convulsion. No one is sitting close enough to her to notice, and if they were, they would simply write it off as the little shudder a body makes when a random chill passes through it. Nothing to worry about. No need to even give it another thought.

She does not give it another thought. She has no thoughts to give.

The bus begins moving. It is only about half full, and the passengers on it mostly engrossed in their own little worlds: phones, books, magazines, dozing off. Beyond the noise of the bus engine, there is only silence in the air.

There is only silence in her mind.

The bus leaves the city and begins passing through various suburban neighborhoods. Occasionally it stops, and a few passengers get off. No more get on; this bus is only for people going home after a long day at work. The exiting passengers generally do not bother to look at each other, or at those remaining. Of course, they do not look at her. She is unremarkable and not worth noticing. Nor does she notice them.

As the bus continues to empty, stop by stop, the sun sets and leaves only an orange glow across the horizon. Late evening, approaching quickly as it often does this late in the autumn, slowly steals more and more of the daylight that still remains. The bus is in the outer suburbs by now. Only a few remain.

The last stop approaches. The bus shudders to a halt for the last time tonight—for the passengers at least. The driver halfheartedly reminds those who remain that they have to get off now. He too is ready to go home. Everyone stands. She takes a few seconds longer than the others, and her movement is, of course, unnaturally precise. No one sees this, of course. She is in the back of the bus by herself now. She follows the others, slightly behind, her walk smooth and gently sensual.

Her heels click softly on the pavement. The rhythm is perfectly regular, just like every other movement she makes. Her posture pushes her bust out a little further now, her strut a little more pronounced. It does not seem to matter; there is no one looking at her, and in the low light that remains they would likely not see much anyway.

She walks a few blocks, entering a small housing development. As her even steps carry her toward a house set well back from the roads, words begin to float across her empty mind. Only a few words, a few simple thoughts, but even this is like a torrent after the long expanses of emptiness in which she has been existing.

My owner calls me... I will go to my owner... I will do as my owner commands...

She stops. Only for a moment, to allow a shudder to pass through her body at the intense flash of pleasure the thoughts bring. Then she resumes her steady, sexy gait, as if nothing has happened. The single thought continues to animate her. Nothing else exists in her mind.

She steps up to the door and stops. In a single smooth movement, a hand enters her purse and withdraws a key. A second movement inserts it into the lock and turns it. A third opens the knob. She enters.

The house is mostly dark. She does not notice. The single thought is intense now, strong and sharp-edged, a command that fills her entire existence. Do as my owner commands.

She leaves her purse by the door and moves into the living room of the house. She goes to a corner and stands still for a moment.

The command flashes through her mind. She lifts her tunic blouse over her head and drops it onto the floor in the corner. She is staring at the wall, her eyes seeing nothing, her entire existence bound to the command in her mind.

The command flashes again. She steps out of her shoes. Again. She slides her leggings off her legs and they join the tunic in the corner.

Again. A single motion unclasps her bra and it too falls to the floor. Again, and her underwear follows.

She is naked. Her pale skin reflects what little light remains. She walks to the centre of the room. She assumes an alluring pose: head tilted upward, her breasts thrust forward, her arms held at just a slight angle out from her sides, slightly on the balls of her feet to accentuate her pale, smooth legs.

Her eyes stare blindly towards the ceiling. They are no longer blinking. She sees nothing.

A single last word of command floats through her mind.


Her mind empties entirely. What little awareness of her surroundings has remained until now is no more. She has no thoughts, no mind, no senses, no awareness at all. Floating in an empty void, she has no awareness of time or even of herself. No spark of life is visible in her eyes. It is not even clear if she is breathing. She seems as lifeless as a statue. She is certainly as mindless as a statue.

Eyelids close over her empty eyes. Her movement ceases.

In the room, there is only silence. For her, there is nothingness.

* * *










There was a touch. There was contact. Physical. Concrete. Certain.


She existed.


Yes. She. A word. A description. Proof of existence. She is a “she”.

She is.

But what is she?

A finger. The touch was to a finger. That was the word. She does not know what the word means, but it describes the entirety of her existence. She is a finger.

No. More touches.

A hand. She is a hand. Five fingers and a palm, each touched softly in turn. She is a hand.

Move? No, she does not understand what that word means. She knows what a hand is, and she is a hand.

Do? What does a hand do? The question makes no sense. The word makes no sense. A hand is. She is. She is a hand.

Touch. Again. Soft. Gentle. On something else. An arm. There is an arm attached to the hand. Or is the hand attached to the arm?

Somewhere, in her thoughts (thoughts? What are thoughts? These. These are thoughts.) there is a picture. She knows what a hand and arm looks like. She knows what she looks like. What she is.

More touches. To her arm. To her. No.

Soft touches on an arm, but not her arm. Something else.

How can she feel something that is not her? It must also be her. Two arms. She is two arms. Does the second arm also have a hand? Yes. That hand is touched too. And its fingers.

She is two arms? She must be. She has felt both of them. Are they connected to each other? No. Separate.

She is two different things? In two places at once? Is that possible?

No. There is more touching. Faster now. Still soft and gentle, but faster. New things. New parts of her. New words. Chest. Abdomen. Stomach. Waist. Back. Shoulders. Collarbone.

Images appear with the words. The touches are long sweeps now, drawn across her, and she feels how the pieces connect. She sees them in her thoughts. What she is.

Two touches at once. On her waist. She knows what a waist is now. The touches circle all around her waist. It is narrow. Narrower than the rest of her body.

Body? Yes. The word means all of her, all of the parts. They are all part of her body. That is what she is.

No. There is still more to her body. More sweeping touches. Below her waist, below her stomach. More arms? No. Like arms, but larger. Wider. Longer.

Legs. They are legs. Those are part of her body too. Two of them. Do legs have hands too? No. They have feet. Touches on her feet. They are very sensitive. The touches feel different. Softer still. Is something different touching her there, on her feet? On her toes, those parts of her feet that she feels those unusually soft and light touches on?

The touches have stopped. She can see a picture in her mind. (Mind. Yes. The part of her where her thoughts are.) What she looks like. What she is.

Something is wrong. There is something missing from this picture. She does not understand why she knows, but something is missing. She is not complete.

Touches. Oh. On her chest. Soft. Oh. Feelings. Intense. Oh.

There are two new parts on her chest. Rounded. Oh. Very soft. Very sensitive. Oh. Oh.

These are different feelings. Very intense. Her thoughts are unsteady. Oh. Very intense.

She wants more. More touches like that.

But they stop.

She feels cold. Almost empty. She wants the touches to come back.

They do. But in a different place. Higher. A new place. A new part. Her neck. Soft too. But not quite as intense.

There is something more to her. Something beyond her neck.

The touches come all at once, and images and words with them. Head. Ears. Face. Nose. Mouth. Lips. (Those are very soft and sensitive too.) Eyelids.

Eyelids? Yes. They cover eyes. She has eyes, but they are closed. Covered. They must not be touched. Too delicate.

She wants more. She needs more. More touches. On the soft places. On the lips. On those so very sensitive round places on her chest. Breasts. That is the word for them.

There is still a void on her body. There should be something between her legs. She knows this. Something must be there. It is not. Not yet. She cannot know what it is unless she is touched there.

She has a new thought now. Something more than merely understanding of her existence. Desire. Feelings. Emotions.


The thought is intense, even more than the coldness she feels now that she is no longer being touched. Please.

Touch me.

A fleeting touch. Two. One on each breast. Soft. So sensitive. So powerful. Then the touches are gone. She feels even colder now. She is desperate.


Touch me.

Make me whole.

The touch. Oh. In the place between her legs.




More touches. Firmer. Longer. Oh.

Touches. Inside her. Oh.

Her thoughts explode. Only feelings remain.








Like this. Forever. Paradise.



* * *

She awakens. She is in bed. She is naked.

Her eyes adjust to the faint pre-dawn light. Someone is beside her in the bed. Also naked.

A woman.

Her owner.

Her lover.

She takes a deep breath. The scent of sex fills the air. It is heavenly. She sighs rapturously and smiles at her lover. Who smiles back.

“Well?” Her lover asks her, her voice full of tenderness.

“Oh,” she sighs. The word seems to explain everything. “That was... amazing.”

“I hoped you would say that.” Her lover kisses her.

“I can barely remember...” She takes another deep breath, taking in the musky feminine scent. It makes her body quiver. “How... how exactly did I get here?”

“Hmm.” A mysterious laugh. “What’s the last thing you remember, clearly?”

“I was... at work? We were on the phone. You called me.”


“You said something about having some very naughty plans for the weekend.”

“Mhm. I did say that.”

“Then you said... something. Then....”


“I don’t know. Things... happened...”

“Oh, they certainly did.”

“Like... being awakened. Brought to life. Like I was a statue, carved from lifeless stone, slowly brought to life by the touch of the goddess that created me. To love her... and serve her...”

“Mmm. Yes.” Her lover leans over and kisses her breast. Her heart flutters. “I like being your goddess.”

“Did you come to get me, or did I really come all the way home in a trance?”

“Oh, that was all you, all the way. You came.”

“Oh... did I ever.” They laugh together.

“Was that a nice enough surprise?”

“Nice?” She kisses her lover, while reaching down and touching her there, at the same time. The little squeak of surprise makes the kiss even sweeter. “Magnificent.”

“Good. I was hoping for that.”

“You can own me for the rest of my life, if it feels like that.”

“Oh, no.”


“I mean...” Her lover trails off for a moment. “I do love to own you, and command you. And I know you love it.”

“Of course I do. I love to serve my goddess.”

“But we are equals. You’re my goddess too. We’re together in everything.”

“Yes. And there’s no more perfect way to be, and no one else I’d rather be with.”

“Oh yes. For me too. But it also means...”

Her eyebrows arch with curiosity. “Oh? What, exactly?”

Her lover’s voice is thick with mystery. “Think back. Look in the back of your mind. Look for the words.”

She thinks, hard. Words appear in her mind. “Come with me, together, into dark’s embrace...?”

Her lover gasps, and tenses. “Ooh... oh...”

She looks on, fascinated.

Her lover is aroused. Almost instantly. Intensely so. She can see it. She can smell it. And she knows that if she felt the sheets between her lover’s legs, she would feel it too.

Her lover speaks. Her voice is soft, distant, monotone. “I... I... will... I... will... obey...”

She gave herself a trigger. And implanted it into my thoughts.

So it’s my turn now.

Oh, you devious angel.

This promised to be a truly perfect weekend.