The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Epoch met neither great resistance, nor valiant struggle, nor protest during its end.

The Presagement only lay in a tabloid’s characteristically sensationalist tale: of an undergraduate archaeologist and his girlfriend Rebecca tasked with translating mundane tablets, only to discover alien glyphs, ancient subjugation, and a twilight of the gods, their power still latent. If an alternative solution had been feasible, the man knew the prospect was doomed from the moment ink hit the paper. It was paramount on him to preserve choice, and culture, and freedom. Who could tell what would happen once another knew? That’s why the next day every medium had to speak one voice: “Af ininiksa born fwi fif kwavihyi. Mni vihyi shmun”. The commands of the gods had been purposed for a new master.

The New Sovereign comforted his uncertainties with the era’s inevitability. He only had days to spare; this, he murmured, was better. If not him, another. One without integrity. An individual who failed to see the glorious futures that lay possible. He desired neither worship or notice, and so broad freedom of speech and thought were given, outside of tailored narrow commands for preserve regime stability and emergency contingencies. Commands were delegated from below. Tabloids and television and radio and books and sports still sold. Ideologies, religions, cultures, traditions, races, ethnicities, tribes, and governments ever more endured, and he grew to love the variety from the minds of mankind. The world seemed as gloriously chaotic as ever, and he didn’t need much encouragement for it to hold.

The Archaeologist obsessed and experimented and pondered over the three constructed languages. Why was he the only one immune to their effects? The first he termed Axon. Its glyphic characters were mad incomprehensibility. Investigations suggested that its sentence it had amnesic qualities; no meaning from them could be deciphered. Beta was the language of control. Significant similarities existed between it and Axon. However, unlike the first, he found himself easily and rapidly mastering the new tongue as if by natural instinct. Both glyphs and audio of it could be used for behavioral manipulation without apparent limits in in their scope. Even the most resistant minds stood before it as clay.

The Ruler had the world on his shoulders, and every contingency was considered. He found that, nevertheless, there were even limits to his power’s scope, and its effects diminished over time unless reapplied. Neither did it grant him immorality, nor time manipulation, nor faster than light travel, and he came to ponder what other things in the cosmos lurked. Delta was the revelation of truthfulness. It shared little with Axon and Beta. Unlike the others, everyone possessed the latent ability to both speak and write in it, but never recall doing so after. It therefore offered an infallible of their internal mental states, which gave suggestion towards its original purpose. A subsequent Beta command was released piloting the unconscious penning of a daily “Delta Journal” for surveillance of mental states.

The Emperor balanced labour with debauchery. He savoured scrumptious foods, unparalleled drink, took His Wife to the summits of the possible, using commands to transcend the historic peaks of her delightment. Rebecca and him were too much alike. Both were open-minded and thoroughly enjoyed the novel; he wasn’t the only one to enjoy pain and twat. That is why a series of commands ordering that women’s most perverse desires be taken to a journal—stringing together the two languages—for analysis had been so ingenious at soothing his conscious. For now, that was all he craved in his soul.

Yet he found that his lusts had not been contented. His mind wondered. Could he not indulge in small matters of perversity while enacting a greater, higher purpose? He loved what was his, and she had been liberated from the constructed norms of a world morality that had long since been sured. He could choose those who subconsciously wanted it. There were billions swarming the Earth.

Thirty years later and the New World had come. Encouragement of scientific progress was baring fruit; hunger, poverty, sickness were bygone dreams, as so too were his sexual inhibitions.

A single wife had transmuted into two lovers, ten servants into a hundred lays, and a thousand whores into attentiveness to his every desire. Each of their stories were roughly same; engulfed by foreign knowledge, progressing from city to region to frontier processing center, their performances and physique bestowing upon them a most formidable reputation, before being brought before their god.

Their unparalleled pleasure was bought at unprecedented price. The more they offered in obedience, the more they would gain in pleasure. Many remained as neighbours, models, celebrities, strippers, and cheerleaders. Others served in every manner of sodomic practice within the operation of his quarters. With a memory wipe of their service towards him, they could leave at any time. Few, if any, ever did. Their natural orgasm was pathetic in comparison to what the languages he commanded could conjure.

Belt, whip, and paddle marks were decorating the body of Swedish model Alice Lilja as she crawled in agony. Only twenty-three years old, her allotted cup of joy—fulfilling the desires of Master and His Mistress—was the privilege of unquestioned servitude. Her striking large blue eyes and long, straight blonde hair carried a clear defeated look. Alice came hard to the thought, as so many times before.

Sir and Ma’am demanded that orifice submit.

So a hand grabbed bitch and guided face where to look.

As jaw was pushed upwards, toy shivered.

“Pleasure-1, pleasure-2, pleasure-3.” The Emperor was counting up the numbers like mechanics of a machine. Level 1 was orgasm. Level 2 was mind break. Level 3 was now. “FUCK. FUCK.” Cunt’s abdomen rose and fell like rough waves. She felt a chain tugging at neck. Now only collar remained.

When had clothes come off?

Didn’t matter: the feeling of hard boots against soft face was euphoria.

Euphoria cultivated a mind nice and dull.

“Get to the bed.” Holes obeyed. “Pleasure-2” The cunt felt. Mistress playfully gave a gentle tug to her chain simply to enjoy her horror. She flinched. That action felt right to Alice. Proper. Just like that small, hidden sigil marked by Master on her rear. A memory briefly unlocked, as she thought about how that probably made her easier to control, sensations altered, memories scrambled. Her clit tingled.

Precome was now drooling from The Emperor’s schlong. Domme had fashioned her purple and gold punishment gear in the back. Alice’s eyes saw her begin to attach one of her strap-on dildos.

Slave Alice head arched upwards as she felt a buzz building at that perfect spot. Her clit grew hard, dangerously close to full-on spasming; she in serious danger of soaking the bed.

He had never been told “no” even once since, and a monstrous desire had begun to take root in his soul. The God of Mankind was bored of illicit lovers, secret celebrity flings, and willful degraded servants. He needed “one”, he internally considered, only “one” to get the thought finally out of him. He only needed “one” to pleasure him. “One” to see the full “display of his power”. A tingle of pleasure went down his spine as his heart pattered. The thought was sick. He had just one particular girl in mind. He just needed one. One girl. Just to get it off his chest. Just to make the thoughts go away.

“Are you comfortable with this?” Came the question. “I am.” Was the reply.

And so it was.

There was no actress in the industry who drew desire more than Tasha Ki.

Born and raised in historic Korea, it was her feminine form that had made her such a hot topic in filmmaking, despite the longstanding disapproval she received from pious parents. It didn’t matter much; public opinion on nudity and sex scenes in the filmmaking arts had long been liberalized. “It’s just the human body” was the mood, “nudity as a path to stardom” the Zeitgeist. And it wasn’t hard to see why Tasha enjoyed showing off. Her curvaceous form defied the consequences of weight; her exterior only dared to sur it. She loved being a sex symbol; the way that men and open-minded women leered, hungered, and objectified. That’s why her movies always made sure to make her movements languid and exaggerated, highlighting, screaming, at the plainly visible. Tasha’s agents, nevertheless, had made sure to carefully hide herself from perverse eyes. She was smart.

That’s why a strange knock at her private residence’s door left her with nervous surprise.

“Hello Tasha. We need to talk.” A man had arrived to the door, two women tagging behind, and spoke. “Yes?” The door creaked as a soft voice answered. “Your name is right on the tip of my tongue.” There was a delay in it, as if trying to grasp at what should have been familiar. “Who are you again?” “I’m a new director establishing myself in Hollywood. Your co-star and good friend, Alice, offered to help me. She’s here with me. It’s about last month’s acting proposition.” Tasha peered towards the door, making sure to confirm the validity, before jokingly self-deprecating at the paranoia. “Oh, sorry. Come in.”

Then came the words that seared. “Dalti tu ẓo se mwilte. ẓo Is ti lwítm pfoa vshí dfíshk dfink. Let me in.” Her body was separated from the input of her mind. The door flung open and without the slightest scene, he entered the abode. And so it was.

“I have many servants, but are my first slave. You will learn the depth of that soon enough.” Tasha trembled, fearing the man who had quickly overpowered her. Anxiety, shock, arousal, shame, and horror all sunk down to the bones. “And you will serve me as long as I desire. You will not question. You will affirm.” He continued. “Let me put the collar on.” Tears dripped to her neck. “Now.” His mind raced. “Is this who I am?” He said internally. His phallus was the hardest it had ever been. “Remove all clothing except your underwear, panties, and collar. Do it now.” The garments quickly came off.

Tasha now knew that cameras were placed throughout her household. This certainly wasn’t the first time they met one another. “Now, strut your stuff a bit to the living room. Move your ass like you do in those films.” He leered and grew exhilarated at her reactions, growing intoxicated on the first new sense of power he held felt for years. He loved it. “But I don’t want to —” A final act of defiance. “Don’t you FUCKING DARE.” The Emperor screamed at the top of his lungs. She whimpered. Then strutted.

“And you’re mine, it doesn’t matter.” He firmly grasped and squeezed Tasha’s bosom, treating her form now as something that he was unquestionably entitled to. “Your career as an actress is over. Memories others have of you as an actress are over. Do you know why a man never fucked you?” He pulled a bit at the newly placed collar as a loud squeal of pleasure was involuntarily forced out of her mouth. “Because I made sure that this belongs to me. I’ve been observing you, molding you, preparing you.”

He continued. “Your nineteen years of life were preparations to serve me. With a few sentences I could have erased everything about you, and reconstructed your mind. I may or may not have experimented with that before on others. It would not presented itself the slightest challenge. I did not come here for that. I came here for my sex slave, Tasha Li. You have a ‘je ne sais quoi’ that begs for ownership.”

The Emperor sat down on the sofa as she became frozen in place. The ancient language once more emitted from his mouth. Her panties and bra now ed the rest of her attire on the ground.

“There will be five levels of your enslavement. All revealing truths of my godhood.” The first is Ignorance. The state you served me in before. The second is Subordination. In this, you are aware of your status, and the pleasure I graciously bestow. The third level is Subjugation. You become familiar with pain, and punishment, and the tortures that excite me. The fourth is Fatherhood. Learning that I am your patriarch. The last level is ‘Divinity and Display’, knowing the justice of what done.”

“What are you Tasha Li?” He asked. She looked puzzled at the sight.

Ignorance. Then the truth revealed itself to her.

“Pose. Now.” Her hands forcefully clasped. Tits forward. Ass back.

Subordination. Cameras from every angle snapped.

“Masturbate. Now.”

Subjugation. And the video cameras for the new film were rolling.

“I love you daddy.”

Fatherhood. It felt as if someone was squirming and strumming her snug slit.

“I only serve God. I only serve God. You have every right to use me.”

Divinity and display. Her clitoris glowed hotter than the sun.

The next year was a revolution in cinema and pornography.

A sub-genre of pornography, informally known as “TashaFlicks” — named after the world’s top actress who first starred in them — had reached mainstream acceptability. It was more than mainstream. It was the only movie that most adults wanted. An endless amount of films starring Tasha were being released to the general public to sold out cinemas. Nine of the top ten in fact. “Nineteen Years of Training”, “Daddy and Daughter”, “Dragon Nose”, “More Slaves Enter The Harem”, “Backdoor Bitch”, “Best Breasts in the West (Or East)”, “Tasha’s Brain Broken”, and “Treatment for Hyperspermia”, with “A Brainwashed Slave Has Her Rape Displayed For All The World To See” being the latest to chart.

No one could quite what other movies she had done before though. It sometimes seemed that their mind got fuzzy if they did. Nor did they not understand why the same phallus was in everyone of her films. Attempts at interviewing Tasha Li were always met with denial. Film critics called the genre’s success an inevitable trend of cultural liberalisation. Some celebrated it as a form of female sexual empowerment; others, cautious.

All got themselves off on it. New actresses soon ed the trend. Four from Lagos, eight from London, four from New York, two from Miami, seven from Paris, nine from Moscow, one from Havana, and all through Stockholm.

And so on one premiere night—when all of them were gathered together for a film’s opening night—they each glimpsed the hidden glyphs that quickly flashed before the screen. All of them briefly regained awareness of what had been done. Of what was being done. There was immediate horror. Then inevitable lust. Then knowledge that their Father and their God owned them all. It was why it took them far beyond an orgasm when he raped them.

The Emperor was bringing the world Heaven.

And Tasha and the girls were learning the hell in it too.

The Axon tablets cracked open.