The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Forward

My name is Kate Pendleton.

Names are funny things. We take them for granted. Of course we do, right? Who is grateful for names? You’d have to be pretty far down the gratitude ladder to get to that point.

And yet, our names define so much . Who are you? You’re your name, first and last. You say that name to all sorts of people every day. Sometimes, those people judge you based on that name. To them, you’re a Kate, you’re a Pendleton, you used to be Kate Thomas. Your name can affect your life. Your future. Even your past.

But names are also flexible. You can change them. Sometimes they change you. You wake up one morning as a Thomas and you go to bed that night as a Pendleton. It’s just letters on paper, but it’s also so much more than that. You’re leaving your past behind, and you’re gaining a future. Kate Thomas? You must be mistaken, I’m not her, I’m Kate Pendleton. Different. Newer. Better.

And then, sometimes, there are people who try to take your name away from you. They strip you of that identity and replace it with slave or agent or just you, girl, come here and fuck me. They judge you, too. To them, you’re just an object reflecting your name. You’re a slave, you’re an agent, you’re compelled to go over there and fuck him. If that happens to you, there’s no telling whether you’ll ever get your own name back. Or any name, for that matter.

That was me, once upon a time. I was nameless. In the span of a few years, I was destroyed, stripped, reduced to rubble, and somehow—somehow! I managed to rebuild it all. I had a lot of help, and a lot of luck. And now I have a name again.

My name. My very own.

I know it feels dumb, but try it. Say your own name. Look into a mirror, stare into your own eyes, at your own face, and say it.

That’s you.

No matter what happens to you, no matter what you might go through, hold on to that name. It has more power than you can possibly imagine.

Trust me.

Chapter One

Freeport, 2019

Kate was glad she’d worn the scarf.

Autumn in Freeport was always a gamble. There were days where the sun baked the pavement with August ferocity, and days where the winter hats and gloves came out of the hall closet months ahead of schedule. The current week was more of the latter than the former, and Kate’s knit scarf—from under the bed, not from the closet—was now protecting her exposed skin from the chilly winds that slid down the Valley this time of year. She complimented the scarf with a smart winter coat and white leather gloves, the padded kind with faux-fur liners. The wind stung her face as she crossed Third Street, but only her face, and that was more than satisfying enough for her.

Toasty.

Images of grilled cheese sandwiches and other toasted things immediately came to mind. Her stomach grumbled. So did her phone, which came to life at that same moment, the buzzing and vibrating encouraging her empty stomach to do more of the same. Frowning, she fished through her purse in search of the phone and, perhaps, a leftover protein bar. She found one, but not the other.

James was in a very good mood. “Hey, hun!”

No matter the time, no matter the place, no matter how old she was or how old she’d ever be, his voice still made her heart skip a beat. She smiled, ignoring the cold wind pressing against her teeth.

“Hey yourself,” she beamed. “Aren’t you supposed to be in meetings all day?”

“I escaped,” said James. “I dug a tiny tunnel with my ID badge and a spoon and I crawled away. If anyone asks you, I’m in Bermuda.”

“Bermuda sounds nice on a day like today.”

“You’re not kidding. That wind is something else! Are you still downtown? Mind if I you?”

Kate considered the options. She could bail on her errands and head back home, or she could spend a nice evening with her husband in one of the city’s fancier restaurants. She was dressed well enough for Mann’s Steakhouse. Romanesque, even. “Tell you what,” she decided. “I still have to get to the bank and the post office. Give me an hour to get stuff done and I’ll meet you at the Marriott.”

A pause. “Romanesque again, huh?”

“You like their scallops.”

“And I love you. Scallops it is! Do you need anything from the house?”

“Just you. Love you, James. I can’t wait to hear all about Bermuda!”

“Sounds good! I’ll start working on my tan.”

“Sounds good.” It was a thing they’d recently started saying to one another. More pizza? Sounds good! Sex in front of the fireplace? Sounds good! “Hey, James, you know what?”

“You love me? You’re getting the lasagna tonight? You’re moving to to become a professional mime?”

“One of those,” she chuckled into the phone. “But only one. See you in an hour!”

She slipped her phone back into her purse and turned away from the wind, resuming the journey down Third Street. The credit union was only two blocks north, the post office three beyond that. Kate was thinking of how she might the remaining time before she had to meet up with James when she heard someone calling her name.

But not quite her name.

“Oh my God, I’m really sorry to bother you, but you’re Kate, right? Kate Thomas?”

She pondered the question.

Haverly Medical Offices

Therapist: Stroud, Herbert

Patient: Kate P

Age: 31

Sex: F

Patient is a 31-year-old female, married, no children. No close relatives. Currently works part-time from home. Patient recently recovered from severe memory loss, and experienced a lengthy period of physical and mental trauma.

As always, these notes are strictly confidential.

March 11

“I think you’ve made excellent progress so far, Kate. Most of my patients haven’t been through half of what you experienced, and they’ve been in therapy for far longer. I may have to pick your brain to learn your secrets.”

“Secrets? I wish I could say it was something like ‘eat right, exercise every day, put your faith in a higher power,’ but I’ve got nothing.”

“You don’t do any of those things?”

“Not really. Not consistently enough for any of them to matter.”

“So what would your guess be, then?”

“That’s assuming that I really am doing better, doesn’t it?”

“You can trust me on that. What’s your guess?”

“? Friends? Husband? Stability? I’m lucky that I have all four of those things. They keep me grounded. The people in my life went through what I went through, so I don’t have to feel weird or alone when I’m with them. And…”

“Yes?”

“And what I went through… I try to put those years away, like socks in a drawer.”

Freeport

“Sorry to bother you, but you’re Kate, right? Kate Thomas?”

Kate fought the urge to just keep walking, every step taking her further away from the person behind her trying to drag her back into a past she wasn’t keen to revisit. Just ignore her, her brain recommended. It was sage advice. If she kept on walking, the woman behind her would eventually give up and go away, probably for good.

But like in the old joke, there were two wolves inside Kate. One wanted to keep walking, the way one did when ignoring a street preacher or a pestering tout. The other very much wanted to see who this woman was, and what she knew about Kate Thomas. What she could tell Kate about Kate Thomas.

That wolf won. She turned around.

March 18

“When you think back to those moments, Kate, what comes to mind? What emotions do you feel most strongly?”

“Emotions like… anger? Or shame?”

“Or confusion, or acceptance. There’s no wrong way to feel about them, but there are healthy ways. And not-so-healthy ways.”

“I’m not sure if there is a way to feel about them. They’re ghosts. All of those memories are silhouettes. They’re real and not real at the same time.”

“How so?”

April 2015

“Make way for margs!”

The crowd parted like a tiny Red Sea, allowing Kate to slip from bar to booth without spilling a drop. She held both glasses aloft like a victorious boxer, a smile on her young face. She placed one on the table and gave it a little shove towards its new owner. “Extra blue for the lady, original for me.” She slid, less gracefully than hoped, into the booth across from Kelly and hoisted her glass again. “TGIF!”

“TGIF!” Their drinks crashed together. The cantina was rough and tough and had long ago given up on dainty, fragile, actual margarita glasses. Everything at Sid’s Somewhere South came in bombproof tumblers that could be slammed, smashed, and otherwise abused by even the drunkest frat boy. Kate and Kelly were on their first margs, but it was their second bar of the night, and their glasses hit the table in a way that would have broken standard stemware.

Kate watched the greenish liquid slosh back and forth. Too much mix, not enough booze. She shrugged. She needed to last all night, anyway. No need to start fast.

“So are you going to apply for Pete’s job?” Kelly leaned forward, strands of her long dark hair dangling perilously close to her glass. “I heard that Alan wants it. Please don’t make me work under Alan. Please!”

“Alan’s got no chance. I told Lexi to apply for it.”

Kelly pushed her long dark hair behind her shoulders. “Kate, you could be president of this company if you stay here long enough. Start climbing the corporate ladder! Do you want to be in s payable for the rest of your life?”

Kate did not. When she’d seen the internal job posting, a part of her lit up with joy, and she imagined putting virtual feet on that virtual first rung. She was already doing half of Pete’s job, and if she could ace the interview-

You will not make any decisions without prior approval.

-it was really more Lexi’s job than anyone else’s. That made more sense. There would be other opportunities for Kate, future ones, at future times. She didn’t need to move up just yet.

She was about to tell Kelly the same thing when she felt her phone buzz.

“How do I describe it, Doc? It’s like… hmph. Okay. Imagine that you’re driving down the street. It’s a perfectly normal day. Perfectly run of the mill. You have to turn left onto Fourth Street. Suddenly you look up at the signs and somehow you’re ing Ninth Street.

Kate freed her phone from her jeans and answered without looking. “Yello?”

“Are you tired of the Weltschmerz?”

Her eyes widened. “I…”

It was like she could feel the neurons in her head being pulled apart and jammed together again to make a new network, as if her brain was a kaleidoscope and someone had just turned the knob. The process was so disorienting that Kate had actually vomited herself out of trance the first time they’d tested the Weltschmerz trigger on her.

So, naturally, they used it again. And again and again, until she responded the way she was responding now—a few moments of confusion, like the coyote running off the cliff and straight ahead through the air, unbound by gravity.

Then the neurons finished rearranging themselves, and she plummeted to earth.

“Yes,” she said. She immediately forgot both the question and its answer.

“Are you still at the bar with Kelly Espinoza?”

The answer was obvious, but Kate’s programming made no allowances for common sense. She looked up from her phone and into Kelly’s bemused, patient eyes.

“Yes.”

Kelly was making faces at her, trying to get her to crack a smile. Instead, Kate frowned, at least inwardly. She was supposed to ensure that she was alone when she was ready for instruction, but the Voice had skipped that part, leaving her open and receptive in full view of Kelly and everyone else.

I am ready for instruction. Kate knew enough not to say it out loud. She curled her lips just enough that Kelly ed it as a smirk, which was enough to put the brunette at ease. It wasn’t quite as good as being alone in her own apartment, blank-faced and half-dressed as the Voice issued orders, but it was close enough.

She was programmed for this type of situation, of course, a fact she just ed at this very moment. She opened her mouth to speak, and instead of I am ready for instruction she said “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say that.”

“Very good, Kate. Protocol Two. Now listen, and obey.”

Another cog turned in her head. Her smirk broadened into a friendly smile, and life flowed back into her sparking green eyes. She raised her hand, index finger out. One sec, she mouthed to Kelly.

She cradled the phone against her shoulder. “I’m listening.”

Not only did you miss your turn, you don’t even ing Fourth. You don’t even what you were doing when you ed Fourth. You must have been driving, but you were on autopilot the whole time. One second you’re at First and planning a left turn and then next you’re on Ninth having to make a u-turn. And the middle section’s a complete blank… but you don’t think anything of it.

The instructions slid into her head easily, fitting themselves into their usual places. Little commandos, dropping in from the sky and seizing all of the key positions inside Kate’s mind. Like commandos, they were quick, efficient, and ruthless.

“I have to go,” she said, in a voice that was almost but not quite her own. Had they not been sitting in a noisy bar, Kelly might have picked up on the flat inflection, or the slight glaze in Kate’s eyes. But she didn’t, or couldn’t, and instead reacted with surprise as Kate pushed aside her drink and gathered her purse.

“What do you mean, you have to go? We just got here!”

“Something’s come up. I have to go.” She slipped her purse over her shoulder and lifted her butt from the bench seat, scooting to her right until she was at the edge of the table. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

Kelly mirrored her, still protesting, tumbler glass of blue margarita still in her hand. “Kate, what is it? Was it something I said? It’s totally okay if you don’t want to go for Pete’s job, I was just—”

If Kelly gets upset, you will do the following…

Another cog, another mental click. She turned awkwardly in the bench, heels pointed in one direction, head in the other, towards Kelly. “The trees are tallest in the spring.”

The brunette froze. “A—and shortest in the fall.”

Kate’s next words were measured and mechanical, read from an invisible script that scrolled behind her empty green eyes. “You will sit at the table until Lexi arrives. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is out of the ordinary. You will that I had to leave suddenly. It will not concern you. I will call you later and explain. You will accept my explanation as the absolute, reassuring truth.”

“I will sit at the table until Lexi arrives,” said the brunette as she melted into the booth. She set her drink on the table and let her hand fall loosely into her lap.“Nothing is wrong. Nothing is out of the ordinary. You will call me later and explain.”

“We will both only the standard events.”

“Yes. Only the standard events.”

The crowd parted again for Kate as she walked out of the bar.

“You missed the turn. How could you do that? What were you just doing just now? You were driving. Of course you were driving! What else would you have been doing, right? Perfectly normal driving and then you just somehow missed your turn, no biggie, life goes on. You’ve already forgotten the last time you missed the turn onto Fourth, and you’ll forget this missed turn before the day is over.

That’s what being brainwashed is like.”

“But that didn’t happen every time. You said that there were times where they had to actively erase and replace your memories. Even back then, you were fighting them.”

“I wish that were true. But ‘the standard events’ was just code for ‘make up something on the spot that seems believable, then believe it. Make sure everyone else believes it.’ That worked well enough to cover for most of what I was doing. But when I went away on an assignment, they usually had a more detailed cover story ready for me. That’s what those sessions were for.”

“To give you a whole new set of memories?”

“Memories, and more! Decker especially! He was… he was incredibly thorough. If my cover story was that I was in Miami, he wouldn’t just give me memories of being in Miami. He’d make me lie in a tanning bed for a few hours so that I’d be slightly sunburned when I got back home to Freeport. If I was coming home from New York City, he’d hand me a souvenir he’d bought off of Amazon and convince me I’d gotten it from a gift shop in Manhattan. It was easy enough. I was so deep and mind-fucked that anything and everything he said became fact the moment I heard it.

It got to the point where… okay, I would always come home with a keychain, with the city name printed on it, I guess because those are ubiquitous and Decker could get them for any place I was supposed to be? So after a while, my husband starts making fun of me, asking me why I’d collect keychains of all things—I didn’t collect them when we got married, so why’d I start? And I … I just very ionately defending keychains, and going on about how they were the perfect knick-knack because they took up so little space in a carryon and how colorful they were… and I believed every single word of it!”

“Because it felt true.”

“Because to me, it was true! That’s how powerful mind control can be. They can take something that simple and completely rewire your brain around it.”

“Do you still collect them? The keychains?”

“I really wish I could say no.”

“But…”

“We have an entire drawer full of them. At least Decker got me hooked on something cheap.”

Freeport

“I knew it was you,” the woman said, in a tone filled with confidence. “Oh my God! It’s been years! What are the odds, right? Just running into you like this? How are you?

Kate studied her. She had a pretty face, bushy eyebrows perched atop lively hazel-brown eyes that were, in turn, busy looking her up and down. She was dressed somewhere between business casual and formal, a light blue sweater just visible beneath a slim and stylish brown leather coat. Her body was soft and curvy, with just enough gym-chiseling to make a noticeable difference. Her hair floated in the stiff afternoon wind. She was smiling at Kate, who reluctantly returned the gesture.

“Ha! Be honest. Do you me? C’mon, you do, right?”

Under normal circumstances, Kate would not have ed the cute brunette. More than eight years separated them from the last time they’d crossed paths, and as pretty as the woman was, she wasn’t that pretty. But Kate’s brain worked differently now.

“Michelle DiMera,” she blurted out. “Of course I you!”

She would never it why.