The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Richard, or rather, non-Richard, walked away from the solicitors. Using the deed poll to change his name was the first step in reinventing himself. Now, the creation of a believable academic persona for Professor Clifford Mayfield would take up his days. All of this because of that bitch, he would get his revenge on Marguerite Duchamp, and it would be served hot rather than cold. Active as ever, he looked for a pharmaceutical that was suitable for the poisoned , something that would shame her; just as he had been shamed.

Reading articles on Flibanserin, he selected it as a candidate; it was targeted at premenopausal women with low sex drive. Checking online confirmed that Marguerite was thirty-nine and premenstrual, and he was sure she was frigid. How else could she have rejected him so blatantly? All he now had to do was to alter the pharma to do his bidding and turn the ‘queen of cool’ into a nymphomaniac carrier of his time bomb for all society.

Giggling madly, he spoke to himself.

“The world may not have been ready for Dr Richard Conway. But wait until they meet Professor Clifford Mayfield!”

Now all he had to do was find a way of getting Marguerite Duchamp onto his treatment. This would take some planning, but hell, it would be fun. Mother would approve.

Breakfast was much more reserved than the previous evening had been. Partly due undoubtedly to the amount of wine consumed, there was a slight embarrassment that hung around the table.

Marguerite was the first to break it.

“So did you sleep well?”

Realising what she had said, Marguerite blushed deeply.

“Fine...” replied Sharon. “I hope we didn’t disturb you?” A faint smile crossed her lips.

“Oh no, not me. Once I drop off, I’m zoned out completely!”

Marguerite stood and fussed around in the kitchen, not achieving much. She turned and gave a swift wave.

“I’m off early. I have a lot on my plate today. Bye!”

“Bye!” said Sharon. “Missing you already!”

As her mum closed the door, Katie turned to Sharon.

“What was all that about?”

“Well...”

Sharon explained in graphic detail what she had seen last night. The only thing she left out was Marguerite moaning her name and her own reaction to it.

Katie sat there open-mouthed for a while.

“Did you have to tell me? Sharon, this is my mum we are talking about!”

“I thought it would give you a laugh, us turning her on like that!”

“It’s not a laughing matter. She’s been celibate for years since Dad died! She probably needs a wank now and again. Without an audience!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean any harm. I’m off to the shop myself now. Do you want a lift?”

“No, I’ve got a free day. I’ll just slob around here today, thanks anyway, love!”

Sharon placed a kiss on Katie’s cheek before leaving. As soon as Sharon left, Katie went upstairs and pulled down the loft ladder. Clambering up, she reached for the light switch; the fluorescent light flashed once, twice and then flooded the attic with off-white illumination. Pushing aside the old toys, she waded across to the far side of the loft. Carefully, she sorted through the haphazard boxes until she found the pile of photo albums. Looking at the dates on the spine, Katie selected one.

Flicking through the pages, she found Marguerite’s university days. Nothing of interest on the first few pages. Then suddenly there it was—revealed! Beach shots of Mum and the girl in typical poses. Bringing the album up to the light, she squinted at the faded images; at first glance, nothing stood out. However, the blonde’s hands had a habit of being in clearly suggestive positions. Mum’s breasts were being cupped, or the girl’s fingers resting on Mum’s mound.

Reading Mum’s scrawl was faded and difficult to decipher. Rubbing some grime from the page, she revealed the girl’s name. It was Sherrie with an ‘ie’ just like her name Katie. Then it occurred to her that Sherrie was short for Sharon.

Kattie slumped back onto her heels; tears ran freely down her pained face.

“Greyford Surgery, how can I help you?”

“Good morning, is Dr Clemance available?”

“He is currently with a patient; can I assist you?”

“I am Professor Clifford Mayfield; I have been reading about his clinical trials for premenstrual women. It sounds fascinating — a method of preventing the serious side effects of the menopause. I am working in a related area; I think our work would have a good deal of synergy. Tell me if he’s attending the clinicians conference on the subject area?”

“Let me check his diary; one second. Now, would that be the one in Oxford on the 25th?”

“Yes, he is attending, Professor”.

“Excellent, please let him know I would like to run a funding proposal past him. I have his email, so I will drop him a line beforehand. Thank you for your help!”

Clifford sat back in his chair and whistled tunelessly. He continued working on his fake academic record. He smiled as the AI program finished the details of his unblemished career. So successful had Mayfield been that he was a benefactor to several promising academics. Knowing how difficult it was to raise funding, no matter how convincing the case, Clemance would most likely rip his arm off. The funding was, of course, as imaginary as Professor Clifford Mayfield was himself.

He closed his browser, shutting down the page for Greyford Surgery. It was only one patient there that interested him. It had taken some time to find her, greasing some hands in the NHS. However, it was time and money well spent. Laughing to himself, the warped man began working on the PowerPoint for the meeting. Mother would be pleased.

Oxford, imagine him amongst the dreaming spires!

As the autumnal weather rolled in, Marguerite found her spirits dip. Now, this was not unusual, but even the light therapy was less effective than before. Added to that, night sweats and a general feeling of insecurity worried her. At least things at home had fallen into a comfortable routine, although Katie seemed more distant. Her libido was falling away to zero. That, coupled with the earplugs, stopped any unwanted fantasies completely.

While Marguerite was deep in thought, Katie breezed in.

“Oh, hi love, no Sharon tonight?”

“No, she’s gone down to see her parents, won’t be back for a couple of days!”

“Is that why you have been quiet these last few days!”

“No, I’ve had something on my mind for some time now...”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Going back to the first time Sharon slept here. She saw you masturbating in the bathroom...”

Marguerite fell quiet, her eyes turned misty.

“Well, if she did, I can only apologise...”

“Mum why? It’s not like you not to shut even lock the door when you go to the loo. Did you mean her to see?”

“No, I just went in there for a quick pee. I felt sexy for the first time since Dad died. I just got over excited and...”

“Sharon thought it was a reaction to us, err—being active”.

“No! Not really”. Marguerite’s voice faded.

“Not really... Mum, what does that mean?”

Slowly, the normally confident woman crumpled before her shocked daughter. Marguerite was gone; she whimpered as she collapsed down into Katie’s lap, sobbing deeply.

“The lesbian phase went soon after she stormed out on me! I met your dad, and I buried it away. I don’t want it back!”.

“Was that woman Sherrie?”

“What do you know about Sherrie!”

“Never mind that, you need to see a medic. This is just not you, Mum, really, it’s not. You need help!”

Lying sprawled out in her mansion, Madam Sherrie luxuriated in her sauna. At her feet, Kimmy attended to her unneeded pedicure. The attention to her body, with the help of some plastic surgery, kept the years at bay. People often mistook her for being in her early thirties before they met her adult twins. The tippy-tap of stilettos announces her daughter’s arrival. Sweeping her foot firmly into Kimmy’s face, she pushed the girl backwards onto the hard marble floor.

“Enough, Sharon has arrived. Go do something useful!”

Kimmy looked up at her mistress pleadingly.

“No! You may not play with yourself. If you are good, I may let you lick my feet again tomorrow. Now leave!”

Sharon stood at the foot of her mother’s recliner; her eyes fixed on the swollen folds of damp flesh nestled between the open thighs. The vision was tempting and deliberately displayed.

“Mother, mistress!” Sharon bowed her head.

“Stop ogling me and just report Sharon!”

“Things are progressing well. Following Marguerite’s initial excitement at our overheard marathon sex session, she has become increasingly confused and, lately, depressed”. Sharon paused. “As for Katie. Slow but sure, when we are alone, she is subservient. She now realises I only respond to her when I am addressed as mistress!”

“Excellent, you may approach!”

Sharon licked her lips before sliding between her mistress’s legs. Joyfully, her tongue burrowed, searching for the addictive nectar. Madam Sherrie Conway relaxed, opening her legs wider, shuddering at the delicate cunnilingus Sharon was so practiced at.

“Enjoy! This is something your idiot twin brother will never experience, as much as he quests for it. Richard is just a man after all!”

Sherrie was in control, and that was all that mattered. The thought took her to her first climax of the day, sighing deeply knowing many more were to follow.