The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

June 2, 2010 — Helver, Ontario, Canada

Normally it would have been Arnold Roark’s proudest moment of the year. This year it was looking like it would be his most disappointing.

Roark, you see, was an aging World War II veteran—83 to be exact. He had been 18, just a kid really when he, along with all the of his regiment stormed the beaches of Normandy to liberate from the Nazis. He had fought bravely taking out many German soldiers and even saving a few civilians while he was at it. He, along with many of his comrades received the Medal of a Liberated , and the Croix De Guerre.

While he had also served gallantly in the Korean War had won the Korea Medal. However, he had lost a few toes to a sniper and gained a noticeable limp thanks to an impromptu foxhole, It was a long story, but it was still one he could be proud of.

However, he was proudest of himself when he spoke about his—and his unit’s—heroics at D-Day. Moreover, every year—the chapter of his local Legion (a war veteran’s charitable organization) would hold a retrospective in honour of the event. Among other things, this retrospective contained a recruitment drive, and solemn, yet touching parade to the Legion and all veterans past and present.

That was the source of his disappointment. For Roarke had recently broken his foot in a bad fall and now had to use a wheelchair. It had also rendered him unable to march in the D-day parade, where he would, among other things, blow the trumpet and tell others about the big battle. He especially wanted to tell young people about it so they could understand the importance of honouring Canada’s veterans.

While Roark had once been a strong handsome man, that looked like he came out of a war movie, age—and warfare—had now taken its toll on him. He was an old man with a wrinkled face, thick glasses, balding grey hair, liver spots and a skinny torso. He was currently wearing a military shirt and a pair of Khaki shorts and sandals.

Oh, how he long to don his uniform for the parade again.

Roark was glumly lost in his thoughts when he heard his doorbell ring. Could it be a personal worker?

He wheeled himself to the door and opened it. He did not see a PSW worker. He saw someone better: Taylor Tompkins. The 21-year old daughter of his next door neighbours, Tina and Tanner Tompkins. They were an alliterative family though only Taylor had come to visit.

He and Taylor went way back. Indeed, after her immediate family, Roark was the next person to hold her in his arms when she returned from the hospital after being born. She had attended several of her birthdays (he brought gifts for her). He had routinely babysat her and even rescued her from drowning.

Taylor, of course, was now all grown up. She was a tall attractive woman with shoulder length strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, long arms and legs, an energetic and cherubic face, and a toothy smile so bright, it’s energy could be marketed as a small flashlight. She was wearing a turquoise and white striped dress that was sleeveless and extended to her ankles. She was also wearing a pair of black leather sandals.

“Taylor,” Roark beamed. “It’s nice to see you. What brings you here?”

“Well Mr. Roark,” Taylor began, “I heard about your little accident and how you can’t march in the parade this year. I know how much that means to you. I also know how you like to tell stories about storming the beaches of Normandy. I have heard them before and really enjoy them and I know both of us would love to hear you tell it again.”

“You hit the nail on the head,” Roark said. “Let’s go to the living room.”

“I’m right behind you,” Taylor replied, as she shut and locked the door, and followed him into his living room.

2.

One minute late, Taylor and Roark were in the living room. The latter was in his wheelchair while the former laid in an emerald, green recliner. His living room was clean and had an old-world charm to it. Granted there was a weathered couch, an oakwood bookshelf, a teakwood coffee table which contained two bottles of ice tea Taylor had brought along, and a television set. Even better, he had finally bought a DVD player.

He also had a large grandfather clock with a pendulum. It seems like something out of the World War II era. This made perfect sense as he was at his prime in that period. Taylor was seated in such a way that she got full view of the clock’s pendulum while still being able to legitimately. see and hear Mr. Roark. He began to tell his story.

It began with soldiers landing on the beach some right out of their helicopters. Roark got to the beach via a watercraft. He actually had to swim to the shore because said watercraft hit a mine. When he got there, he began firing. He also had to dodge fire—both enemy and friendly. He began talking about the mortar fire the death of some of his comrades, capturing Nazi soldiers and acts of heroism.

While he was doing this, however, Taylor couldn’t help but notice the pendulum on his grandfather clock swinging back and forth, back and forth. She knew it was disrespectful as she had to focus on what the veteran was saying, but the clock was just so eye-catching.

Moreover, she could still hear some of what Mr. Roark was saying. Something about how it was important for him to march in unison with his unit, and obey his superior’s orders. They had to kill the Nazis and save and think of nothing else. Not eating, not sleeping, nothing else but the goal.

Mr. Roark’s then began to talk about after he had achieved his goal and how great the French were for their liberation and how they would be willing to do anything for them should they ask. They were so grateful they would do anything.

While Taylor was still half-listening to the story, her eyes were glued to the pendulum as it kept swinging back and forth and side to side….

3.

“The end,” Roark said jovially as he finished telling the story. Then he looked at Taylor and became surprised. She looked like. She was slumped across the recliner, eyes shut. “You have got to be kidding me Roark thought. Not only had he broken his foot, but he had lost his skill for storytelling. He had bored Taylor to sleep.

Since he was the one who put her to sleep, he was required to wake her. “Taylor,” he called. “Are you sleeping?”

Roark heard no response. “Taylor, he asked. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I am relaxed…Taylor said choppily. “I am focused on the goal. I will do anything for veterans.”

“So you did like the story,” Roark asked.

“I am relaxed…focused…will do anything for veterans.”

Roark was confused. Then he had a thought. Ridiculous as it was, he had to ask.

“Taylor,” Roark inquired. “Are you hypnotized?”

“Yes….” Taylor slurred. “Hypnotized….”

“How?” Roark pursued further.

“Clock had…pretty pendulum…you had story talking about focus…order…obeying. Fell into trance….”

It came to him. Taylor really was hypnotized. Roark continued to speak.

“You are grateful to veterans. Are you not?”

“Yes, very grateful to veterans…”

“Since I am a veteran, you are very grateful to me.”

“Grateful to you,” Taylor slurred.

“Because you are so grateful to me. You will obey me. You will do anything I say.

“Yes…do anything you say.”

Roark couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. Somehow, his antique clock and storytelling had hypnotized his neighbour’s daughter and now she was completely at his command.

Roark now felt two urges in his mind, each strong and contrary to each other.

The first urge was to turn Taylor into his love slave. Roarke’s wife had died two decades ago and he hadn’t felt the touch of a woman ever since. He had sexual needs and Taylor was—for lack of a better expression—smoking hot. She was completely under his control and he could have sex with her. She wouldn’t even anything afterward.

The second urge was to do the decent thing. Taylor was his neighbour’s daughter and friend. She looked up to him and cared about him. He also cared about her. It felt wrong to turn her into a human sex toy.

He agonized over this decision for another minute when an old joke came to him. It went like this:

Q: Why did the Canadian cross the road?

A: To get to the middle!

He decided he would not make Taylor has any sort of sex with him. However, that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have any fun with her mind and body.

“Taylor,” he commanded. “Get up and open your eyes but remain deeply hypnotized.” Taylor did so, standing and staring blankly ahead.

“Now Taylor,” Roark continued. “Whenever I give you a command, you will salute me and say “Sir yes, sir and then carry it out. Understood?”

“Sir yes Sir!” Taylor barked as she saluted him.

“Excellent,” Roark said gleefully. “Now take off all your clothes.”

“Sir, yes Sir,” she responded. She undid her sandals and kicked them away. Then she lifted up and slid off the straps of her dress, which soon fell to the floor. She was now in a whiter bra and panties, though these were soon removed too.

Roark let out a low whistle. Taylor’s breasts, butt and pubic area were amazingly beautiful. She was going to make a man very happy one day. Her reddish blonde clit was of particular note.

“Now Taylor,” Roark ordered. “When I clap my hands, you will stand on the coffee table and act like a chicken. Understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” Taylor droned. She got on the table and began flapping her arms and shuffling her feet. “Bawk, bawk, bawk1 Baw cock!” Taylor went at this for a few more minutes, with Roark laughing throughout.

“Taylor,” Roark ordered after he told her to stop clucking. “I want you to do a sexy dance for me. You need not go beyond your limits, but you must dance as best you can. Understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” Taylor said as she began to sway. She shimmied across the coffee table. Then leapt off of it and glided toward Roark. She got on his lap and kissed him on the cheek. Roark touched Taylor’s back. Then he began stroking her hair. It was so soft. Then he went lower, cupping, squeezing and patting Taylor’s bodacious ass. Taylor couldn’t help but gasp.

Roark couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure either. Especially, when Taylor’s titanic tits were in his face. He took a few moments to kiss each mammary and lick her cleavage up and down. A few minutes later, he had Taylor disengage from him and get on all fours on the floor. Then he made her think she was a cat.

“Meow,” Taylor said. “Meow, meow.” She then crawled over to Roark and put her head on his lap. “Purr…Purr,” she said.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” Roark remarked coyly as he began stroking Taylor’s body.” There was more where that came from.

About half an hour later, Roark decided to call it a day. He had Taylor redress and sit up in the recliner. “Taylor,” Roark commanded. “I am going to clap my hands. When I do, you will awaken from your trance. You will not anything that has happened here. You will being moved by my D-Day story, remain and thankful to veterans. You will also want to visit me more often. Lastly, whenever you hear me say the words ‘tick tock trance Taylor,’ you will go back into this wonderful state and do as I command. Understood.”

“Sir, yes Sir,” Taylor said as Roark clapped his hands.

4.

It was now one year after Taylor’s original D-Day visit and Taylor was visiting him again.

Well—Taylor was actually visiting his tombstone. Roark had died of natural causes two months ago. Taylor had been at the funeral and had returned to pay her respects. It was the least she could do. Roark had been so kind to her throughout his life. He had even left her $5,000.00 in his will that would be put into a trust and used as needed.

Taylor crouched down, kissed his tombstone and spoke: “Thank you Mr. Roark for everything you’ve done.”

“You’re welcome” Mr. Roark, who was now looking down at her from heaven—he was Catholic and had gone to confession an hour before he died—said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me as well.”

Even though she didn’t it Taylor had made a veteran’s last months on earth his best months on earth.

Indeed, it was a veteran’s tale well told, and a life well lived, and a neighbour’s daughter well-loved.