The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The small travel shop, with windows dusty from this afternoon’s squall, and optimistic signs promising “Holiday of a lifetime!”—was unsurprisingly quiet when Ophir, face hidden behind large sunglasses and a baseball cap, opened the door.

“Can I help you?” The young lady behind the counter put down her book, and turned her best smile on her guest.

“I hope so,” said Ophir, tentatively, folding away her sunglasses. “I felt that I had to come here—to this address, to this shop, as soon as I could. Do you have any idea why?”

The lady’s eyes narrowed. “Whom do you worship?”

“Goddess Asherah!” The words came out of the dark depths of Ophir’s mind, bying any conscious thought. She reflexively covered her mouth after she heard the words come out, startled by her own outburst.

The lady’s face changed into a predatory smile, and she reached under the counter. “Look at my eyes.” She slipped a black veil over her face, seating it so her eyes were just visible, and drilled her gaze into Ophir.

Ophir stood, paralyzed, like a mouse in front of a cobra about to strike.

“Come with me.” The tone excluded any possibility of argument, and, as if in a dream, Ophir followed her to the back of the shop.

In a small kitchen, the lady reached into a fridge to retrieve a covered cup. She removed the top, and ed it to Ophir. “Drink.”

Ophir obediently gulped down the cold, sweet-tasting drink. The lady’s eyes ed satisfaction.

“You wish to visit Goddess Asherah? Your wish is to be granted.”

She took Ophir’s purse, and searched through the girl’s clothing, removing her phone and tucking it into a metallic wallet. Then, she guided her guest into the garage at the back of the shop, and into the back seat of a slightly dented elderly Mercedes-Benz.

“Have some peace...” She pulled a burka over Ophir’s head, leaving her a hazy view of the world through a loose mesh of fibers, then fastened a seatbelt over the burka. “We have a long drive ahead.”

Ophir sat, ive, in the back seat. Slowly, the drug in the cold drink activated inside her, and started to pull her down into Dreamland. She didn’t the car starting, or navigating the Beirut traffic. All she could think about were those eyes, in a haze of red...

She was kneeling on a hard surface, something covering her eyes. She sensed people around her, but dared not move.

“Is the supplicant prepared?” A regal voice came from above her.

Her blindfold was slipped off. Cautiously, she raised her head—then, seeing the base of Goddess Asherah’s throne, and the Goddess’s shimmering black and silver shoes, quickly ducked back down.

“Yes, Goddess Asherah,” she managed to squeak, walking a tightrope between fear and anticipation.

“You are, hmm?” Ophir felt a small round object under her chin; it pushed her head back up, forcing her to look into the Goddess’s eyes. The round object was the end of the Goddess’s rod, and she trembled at the memory of it slamming into her butt.

“Kiss My feet, supplicant.” The rod dropped from her chin, allowing her to bend her head to the silver and black shoes. She repeatedly kissed the sides, toes, and even the tall heels, but dared not approach the Goddess’s skin.

“Very good,” said an amused voice. “Look at Me, supplicant.”

Ophir peered back up at the Goddess, who appeared to be impossibly high on her throne.

“What do you offer to Me?” the Goddess asked, archly, leaning back onto her throne. “What could you possibly give to Me that I would value?”

Ashamed at her own impertinence, Ophir cast around for an answer. The silence lengthened, and she thought she heard snickers from the black-clad shapes around her.

Inspiration struck, and she raised her head back to face the Goddess. “I offer myself, Goddess Asherah.“

A pause, and then the Goddess laughed. It was not a cruel laugh, more of an expression that approached iration.

“You do, do you?” She traced the ball of her rod across Ophir’s chest, making the girl shiver. “This offering... I accept.” She slowly licked her lips. “Do you understand what your offering means? Soon, very soon, you will.”

She turned to the black figures. “Take her to the Question.”

The blindfold was returned, and Ophir felt hands pull her away from the Goddess. She acquiesced to their guidance—how could she not?—and was walked out of the throne room, along a corridor, then through another door. Her clothing was efficiently removed, then her wrists were secured above her head, and her legs pulled apart for her feet to be similar fixed in place.

I’ve been here before, she thought.

“You haven’t, My dear.” The Goddess’s voice came from behind her.

Ophir started to respond, but her words faltered. The Goddess must have noticed her internal conflict, because Ophir felt warm, strong arms around her body, the Goddess’s paralyzingly attractive scent in her nose, and the rubber-and-metal catsuit pres against her back and butt.

“I have questions for you, supplicant,” the Goddess murmured in her ear.

Ophir’s lips trembled, but she managed to respond. “I’ll tell You anything, Goddess Asherah.” How could she respond otherwise?

The Goddess made an approving noise, and moved away from her. Ophir relaxed, which made the impact of the rod across her butt much worse. Her scream seemed to echo in the room for a long time.

“You will tell Me everything, supplicant,” the Goddess growled, her voice moving around Ophir.

“Everything! Anything! Please...” The next impact was a flat hand across her left butt cheek. “I don’t understand!” This came out as a plaintive wail. “Please, please let me tell You!”

Unseen by Ophir, the Goddess peeled off her black velvet gloves, handing them off to her entourage. Her right hand was re-covered with a disposable vinyl glove; her left by a silver and black rubber glove with metallic discs at the finger tips, and in the palm.

“Feel Me, supplicant,” she whispered into Ophir’s ear, her left hand teasing the girl’s left nipple. Then, she touched her left thumb to the sensor in her palm.

Ophir squealed in shock as the electric current ran through her. The Goddess laughed, and delivered a longer jolt.

“You feel Me now, don’t you?” Ophir nodded frantically, afraid to leave her nipple in control, but terrified of pulling it away.

“Do you feel Me... here?” Her other hand, daubed with lube, edged into the girl’s warm slit.

“Mmmh!” Ophir didn’t trust herself to speak.

“You now know that you will tell Me... everything,” the Goddess whispered. “As I do to you... whatever I will.“

She paused, letting her fingers work Ophir, and smiling as the whines of suppressed ecstasy escaped the girl’s lips. Then, removing the blindfold, she leaned in to Ophir’s ear. “Tell Me about your commanders.”

Relieved, Ophir babbled about her command hierarchy; her eyes occasionally darting downwards to see if she was going to be punished for holding anything back. Goddess Asherah’s purrs of satisfaction in her ear were reassuring, and she started to relax.

“Tell Me about Miranda. Tell Me... everything about her.“

Ophir reflexively paused, which was the excuse the Goddess used to squeeze Ophir’s left breast in her hand, and deliver a sustained shock through it.

Ophir gave a scream that was part animal. As she regained control, tears leaking from her eyes, she tried to regain control of her trembling lips, and push information through them. Her vision was focused on the Goddess’s glove that caressed her now-tender breasts, but which could clearly give her a shock to , if her own outcomes differed from the Goddess’s recollections.

She stumbled her way through a description of Miranda, and her role in the organization, with the Goddess nodding approvingly, and her right hand working slowly around Ophir’s sex—the combination of fear, arousal, and the lingering tingle of electricity keeping her on edge, repeatedly shooting surreptitious looks at the Goddess to try to see if she was meeting expectations. As she ran out of information, the Goddess made soothing noises, and nuzzled the back of her neck.

“You know why I do this with you, don’t you?” she whispered.

Ophir started to shake her head—then froze, terrified that she would be giving the wrong response.

The Goddess laughed, removing her hand from Ophir’s slit, and tasting the tip of her gloved finger. “Mmm-hmmm... You see, My darling, this isn’t about you giving Me information; rather, it’s about Me taking information from you.” She moved behind Ophir. “Up three inches, please.“

Ophir wondered for a moment what the Goddess meant, then there was a whine of machinery, and she felt herself pulled upwards. The strong padded cuffs around her wrists and ankles tightened, and her body became taut. She gave a small gasp in reflex. Now, she could feel something cold and metal circling her left ankle, just above the cuff.

“Tell Me about your other missions. You want to tell Me, don’t you?”

Ophir whimpered as the electric glove wandered around the stubble on her mound, terrified that at any point she would experience another shock. It took her a moment to realize that the other hand was spreading her butt cheeks, and starting to push a finger into her starfish. Her teeth started to chatter.

“I... I was in Cairo, with a different team...” The electric glove pressed into her and gave her a tiny shock, more of a tickle, but the anticipation was enough to push an actual scream out of her.

“Yes, and what were you doing?” murmured the Goddess in her ear. A second finger pushed in, and started to spread her open...

The next half hour had Ophir spill all the information she had, paralyzed with fear at her manipulation by the Goddess. The electric glove had eventually worked its way along her slit, and then into her butt, and the Goddess had laughed as she delivered long, tingling shocks into the most sensitive parts of Ophir’s taut body while the girl wriggled and screamed in a delirious mix of pain and guilty pleasure, dancing like a fish on a hook. A greyness started to descend on her vision as she panted, sucking in air. She was sure that, had she not been so secured, she would have keeled over.

The Goddess stretched Herself before Ophir, taking Her time doing so, and allowing Ophir to see how the catsuit hugged her perfect figure. After She let out a sigh of satisfaction, She stepped back to face the still-dizzy Ophir. Her gloves had been replaced by the original velvet, and She held the top of Her left index finger just in front of Ophir’s lips.

The girl started to move her head forward to kiss the fingertip—then froze, eyes flicking back to the Goddess’s, terrified that she might be committing a sin to be punished.

The Goddess smiled, and gave the tiniest of nods—Ophir bent her head, and kissed the finger tip with all the devotion she could muster, while her body tingled in fear.

“My piano,” the Goddess murmured. “So enjoyable to play My music on you.”

She eased herself forward until Her body pressed up against Ophir. The girl could feel the rough surface of the silvered decorations on the Goddess’s suit against her bare skin, and the Goddess’s heat warming her.

“A final question for you, supplicant,” the Goddess whispered. “How did your time in the Black Chamber make you feel?”

Ophir’s lips trembled, and she squeezed them together as she tried to shepherd the storm of feelings and thoughts in her fevered mind. Somehow, she sensed that the Goddess was smiling behind her.

“I... I... I didn’t want to like it... it felt humiliating...”

“Mmm-hmmm...?” The Goddess’s hand started to edge back between Ophir’s butt cheeks, the velvet tickling her.

“...but I couldn’t help myself.”

“You couldn’t help yourself do... what?” the Goddess purred, nipping gently at Ophir’s earlobe.

“Like it, Goddess Asherah,” squeaked Ophir, in a pitch she never knew her voice could reach.

The Goddess laughed, and there was a whir of machinery. Ophir felt herself be lowered to the ground, sighing in relief from the strain on her arms. Several black-veiled figures surrounded her, releasing her restraints, and she let her arms fall by her side with a small moan.

The Goddess stood back, apparently scrutinizing Her sacrifice from top to toe. There was a silence, which lasted long enough that Ophir thought she could hear the thrumming of her heart.

“Take her to My throne room,” the Goddess instructed. “Prepare her for the ritual.”

The figures closed back on Ophir, and there was a sting in her neck as a carefully placed needle found its way into her vein. As if in a dream, she felt herself gently but irresistibly carried out of the room...

The Goddess sauntered into Her throne room, viewing with approval the activity around the naked body on Her sacrificial sling. She walked around the poles, careful to keep out of the way of Her busy acolytes, to where Her sacrifice’s neck was being secured in a collar.

“Is this how you it?” She asked, archly.

Ophir’s eyelids trembled, and the Goddess noted it with satisfaction. The sensitivity serum was taking effect.

“This time, you know what is coming.” The Goddess paused. “No; you only understand what We could do with you last time. Now, We have learned, and can do so much more.“

A dead-eyed acolyte applied the chest electrodes, and eased a nasal catheter into place across the face of the shaking girl.

“Look at yourself in the mirror,” the Goddess suggested. “Watch, as We take you places that you could never imagine.”

She nodded to the patiently waiting priestesses, who selected their implements, and advanced on the sacrifice.

The Goddess slowly ascended to Her throne, hearing behind Her the first squeals from the ritual, and took Her time settling into the seat. She looked down with approval at the sacrifice, having the full and dutiful attentions of Her priestesses.

“Deeper than you could ever conceive,” she murmured, as Ophir frantically begged to be allowed to climax, the silent priestesses skillfully holding her back. “Feel your mind changing...”

Eventually, at a silent cue, the priestesses withdrew their attentions, gathered their implements, and left. The Goddess was left looking down at Her trembling sacrifice, smiling.

Ophir’s teeth were chattering, and her limbs shaking in their restraints; not through cold but from the hormones sloshing around her system. Even her vision was blurred, so it was understandable that she didn’t see the figure in white next to her until it spoke.

“You must be thirsty,” said a soft voice. Ophir felt a small cup gently press on her lips, and obediently sipped the sweet, cold water from it, a small amount at a time, until it was removed. With her vision returning, she looked up to see a figure in a white chador, a pretty oval face smiling at her.

“Do you me?” it asked, sweetly.

A name bubbled up in Ophir’s memory. “Saira.” The word came out as a sigh.

“Quite so.” Saira stroked Ophir’s trembling stomach with her silk-gloved hands. “I was so pleased when Goddess Asherah informed me that you were sacrificing yourself to Her. How fortunate you are! She wills that you become one of her priestesses.”

A second figure moved out from behind Saira, hooded and masked in red. Ophir looked up at the dark eyes, and ed.

“You were in my dreams...”

“Of course I was,” said the Implanter, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile. “I put those dreams and memories into you.”

“The Implanter will be the one to program you with the knowledge that a priestess of Asherah requires,” Saira explained. “Of course, before we can do that, we need to dissolved the memories you have.”

“My memories?” Ophir mumbled. Her lips were starting to feel numb. “No, not, mem’ries...”

“My Oblivion serum will break down the structure of all your memories in your mind,” Saira smiled. “Leaving you a beautiful clean slate for the Implanter to inscribe. Won’t that be wonderful?”

“No, pls...” Ophir tried to move away, but her body was immobile.

“The paralysis drug is temporary,” Saira explained, as two masked attendants wheeled a gurney next to the sling, piled with silken wraps. “It’s much easier to bind you like this.”

The attendants eased Ophir’s legs out of the slings holding them, and started to wrap the bindings around them.

“Don’t worry,” Saira reassured the wide-eyed girl, now silent. “There is no pain. We send you into Dreamland while the Oblivion serum does its work.” She held up a tablet with two pictures on it. “Here are your two friends in Oblivion. Don’t they look happy?”

Ophir stared up at the pictures of Naomi and Chaya, cocooned in white, staring up at the camera with dreamy, blank looks. Inside, she was screaming, but as the attendants undid more of her restraints and proceeded up her body with the wrapping, she was completely unable to resist, or even complain.

“I will see you later,” said the Implanter, ominously, and moved away, leaving Ophir with Saira.

“You see why Goddess Asherah put you to the Question so soon,” Saira smiled. “We needed all that information taken from your pretty head before everything was wiped clean.” Ophir’s head and shoulders were lifted, and the binding worked its way up her arms, pinning them to her body. “We have so much to do, now. I am very grateful to you.”

The last few turns of the binding wrapped around Ophir’s head, leaving only her face clear. She had a moment to observe herself in the mirror, mummified and helpless, before her attendants carefully slid her immobilized cocoon off the sling and onto the gurney.

“I will come with you,” Saira reassured her, as the attendants pushed the gurney through the throne room doors. She was true to her word, walking alongside the gurney, a wide smile on her face, as Ophir was wheeled down the corridor.

They came into a white painted room, and Saira took a seat next to Ophir.

“This is Oblivion,” she said, sweetly. “This is where ‘you’ leave, and a new ‘you’ arrives.”

One of the attendants put a needle into Ophir’s neck. The paralysis prevented her even wincing from the pain, though a tear did escape one eye. Saira noticed, and dabbed it away with the tip of a finger.

“You may leave us,” she instructed the attendants, who walked out silently.

“Just the two of us,” she murmured, leaning over Ophir. “And now, Oblivion...” She opened the line on the I/V now plumbed into Ophir, and nodded with satisfaction as the drugs started to drip through it.

The paralysis was starting to ease off, and Ophir tried to speak, but her tongue was still not cooperating. Saira noticed, and touched Ophir’s lips with her finger.

“I treasure this time,” she whispered, watching Ophir’s eyelids twitch. “I am the last face you will see—and will be the first when the new ‘you’ wakes.”

Ophir could start to feel the sedation effects now, even as the paralysis continued to fade. She made a futile attempt to push her arms out, but the bindings held her in place.

“G’na... g’na... sleepy...” she burbled. There was something really important that she had to do, but it was so hard to . So hard... Easier to rest, for now.

Saira leaned down until her face was all that Ophir could see.

“Sic transit Ophir mundi” were the last words Ophir heard, and a sweet, long kiss was the last sensation she felt, before Dreamland claimed her.