The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Swinging her Range Rover around the latest curve in the country road, Sharon mulled over the last couple of days. Sherrie had spoilt her with a morning full of luscious love making, adding a package of advice on how to manage Katie as a thrall. Her suggestions were always timed to synchronise with her daughter’s most intense orgasms, and in that way implanted them firmly in Sharon’s psyche. The most entertaining idea to Sharon was using all of Katie’s orifices. As Katie was shifted from lover to thrall, her consent and opinions would be gradually ignored. Stretching Katie’s holes to accommodate a fist, or a giant dildo made the daughter-thrall’s mouth water.

The memories flooded in; Sharon knew the way the process worked only too well! It had been her experience of growing up. Understanding that Mother’s wants and desires were her priority, nothing else. She had rebelled for a while; her friends had mums that simply loved their children. Her attitude changed when her mother introduced tickle games. They would play these for ages; her mum said the magic words ‘I love you button!’ at the end of each session; at last Sharon felt wanted. The games went on for years, and Sharon felt closer to her mum. The games were always silly and innocent; as the years rolled by, the sessions became longer and ended with a long cuddle.

That changed in nature during her eighteenth summer; there was a party held for the twins. Sharon and Richard were introduced to alcohol for the first time; true to his type, Richard overindulged, threw up and crashed to his bedroom in the early evening. Mother was in an excellent mood and played cards with Sharon. As always, it was a childish game of Cheat; forfeits were used each time one of them picked up cards. Mother was a practiced cheat, so it was Sharon that ended up losing most of her clothing.

Once her daughter was down to just her panties, Sherrie tickled Sharon, but now the gloves were off. This game became very adult with Sherrie targeting only erogenous zones. Naturally, Sharron retaliated, and soon both were becoming more adventurous. Sherrie slipped her fingers under Sharon’s wet panties and grazed the tip of her forefinger over an erect nub. Sharon’s body went tense, and she stared straight into her mum’s eyes with innocent surprise.

“What was that!”

“Oh, do you like that, love?”

“It sends shivers through me, what are you doing to me, Mother?”

“I’m making you an adult, perhaps one day a mistress teaching this to your girlfriends! Now, if I do this, you will like it even more!”

Sherrie’s thumb slid deep into her daughter’s slit. Then, she slowly massaged her thumb pad along Sharon’s labia with a practiced ease; it went unerringly under the fleshy hood and rotated gently over her daughter’s pulsing clit. The action pushed Sharon over the edge, and Sherrie’s cupped hand caught the ejaculate then smeared it across Sharon’s heaving breasts.

“Now you are an adult, our games will change, love. Do you want that?”

“Oh, yes, please. Teach me, Sherrie!”

“Although you are an adult, you may not call me by my name. I am Mistress or, even better, Mother Mistress. Understood?”

“Yes, Mother Mistress! Please do it to me again!”

Sharon was abruptly brought back into the real world, swinging the steering wheel hard left to avoid the oncoming lorry. Reluctantly, she pulled her slimy fingers out of her vulva, licking them carefully before placing her left hand back onto the steering wheel.

It was time to concentrate, not reminisce.

It was the day after the conference, and Clifford was nursing a humongous headache. As was his habit, he had over celebrated following his discussions with Clemence.

It had been easy, just like tempting a keen child with a sweetie. The doctor had been overwhelmed by the promises made by the fake professor. Graham imagined that the faux funding offer from a renowned scientist would secure his own clinical reputation. A deal was struck easily; only one point had been tricky; Graham was perturbed that Mayfield would be so hands-off. He was surprised that the medication would be sent out by post to the patients and that Clifford wanted no publicity at all until the three-month trial was completed. In the end, Clemence complied as the funding depended on following the professor’s whims.

The printer hummed in the background, producing the Mayfield Clinic post labels. By hand, Clifford was applying the trial labels to each of the 50 bottles. A duplicate accompanying letter describing any side effects and the pharmaceutical details would be included in the envelopes. Later he would send a ‘starter payment’ of £1000 to Graham to reassure him that full funding would be available shortly. It merely needed to be rubberstamped by the imaginary board.

In a few days, one envelope would drop onto Marguerite’s doormat; and the process would begin. Clifford wore Richard’s most self-satisfied grin with pleasure.