The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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The constant erotic commands echoed endlessly through Alexandra’s ears. Her eyes were dazzled by a constant and insistent light just above eye level. She stared, wide-eyed, unblinking, her arms held fast at her sides by the pink silk blanket that had been wrapped around her, mummification to the nth level of desire.

She had no idea how long she had been in the glass coffin, or where she was going, yet her clit tingled when she remembered her Sapphic seduction at the hands of the two wanton policewomen who had ravished her at the Middle Eastern club in Queens.

She vaguely realized that she had been put on a plane, but to where she did not know.

The constant barrage of subliminal suggestions had left her teetering on the brink of orgasm for several hours. Now the commands were different, telling her to relax, to sleep, to sleep, to sleep, sleep.

She sighed, and fell into velvety blackness.

Alexandra awoke to find herself in a tub of hot water tinged with strong perfumes, two beautiful women slowly bathing her. “Mmmmmmmmmmm?” she groaned.

One of the women spoke to her in a dialect that Alexandra recognized as Arabic, while the other silently opened a small censer next to the bath, allowing a heady cloud of opium to drift over Alexandra, one that blurred her vision and slowed her thoughts. “Relax, my pretty,” the darker skinned of the two smiling slightly as she gently blew the narcotic cloud into Alexandra’s face, her lips gently brushing hers.

Alexandra sighed, her body surrendering to the knowing attentions of her attendants. Deep inside her seduced and dazed mind, however, was one last grasp of consciousness; her years of real life honing her natural survival instincts.

Although she was still quivering, as if a constant thrill of orgasmic energy was coursing through her body, she knew that this carnal conditioning was the will of someone else’s, not her own, and, although surrendering in form, her spirit was still her own, but for how long?

The soft hands of the women had bathed and dried her body to a healthy glow, massaging her in sweet oil, then garbed her in the slightest and sheerest of silken fabrics, gently guiding her to a velvet door at the end of an immense hall.

The women gently knocked, then bowed and scurried away, pushing Alexandra forward as the door began to open, light beginning to accent a boudoir of large pillows and hanging curtains.

A fat and sweating man lay prone on an overstuffed sofa, his eyes red from the opium he was smoking, several empty carafes around him.

His eyes bulged when he saw Alexandra, the door now closing behind her as he motioned for her to quickly stand before him.

Alexandra’s glazed eyes did not conceal from her the slow vertical shift of her entertainer’s shorts, as he clapped his hands and gestured to her to dance, throwing an empty glass towards the bored tabla player who wished he was somewhere else. “Play!” he barked.

Alexandra’s eyes gleamed, and her clit tingled, as basic instinct took over. She recognized the rhythm as one of the earliest and most rudimentary ones that she had heard as a dancer, a sort of musical scale of dance rhythm, one that she learned as a pianist learned scales.

Still, she had danced for years, and knew the power of her body, and, if she was to be conditioned to be this flabby man’s slave, then she would show him her power.

A blank but sexy expression swept her face as her body moved of its own volition, her eyes never leaving her audience as she began to sway to and fro, moving in the music of the dance.

The tabla player’s eyes widened. “Ah, a live one,” he thought, and he began to play faster, pleased to see that Alexandra could keep up with him.

The fat man began to play with his cock, his hand working furiously between his legs.

Alexandra arched her back sharply, her hair gracefully caressing the floor as her body glided effortlessly through the air, her stomach muscles rippling as she sensuously danced and strutted and gleamed, beads of sweat touching her lips and forehead, her erect nipples and oozing innards clearly visible through the sheer fabric of the silk that surrounded her.

As the music reached a climax, her eyes met her captor’s again, her hands thrust in the air.

He gasped, his throbbing cock spraying the table in front of him. “Huhhhhhhhhh!” he exclaimed, then passed out on the pillows, his mouth slack and open.

Alexandra shook her head, cobwebs wrapping her thoughts. “Uhnnnnn....where, where am I?” she whispered.

“The palace of Omar, a smalltime oil baron who suddenly made a killing in exports after your country invaded Iraq,” the tabla player dryly replied, his crisp accent and grasp of English suggesting Turkish origins. “I’m Dogan, house musician.”

“ How did I get here?” she asked.

“Before you got here, Omar was very excited, telling anyone that listened that he could finally afford the services of a bellydancing club in Queens that traffics in the sale of hypnotic dance slaves. My guess is that you must have run afoul of somebody,” Dogan said.

“ I.....I remember going to a club because they kept sending me invitations, and I asked to see the owner, and....and....”

She suddenly blushed deeply as she did indeed remember what happened next, her body involuntarily shuddering with the memory of that erotic encounter.

“ It is my understanding that they use some type of combination of hypnosis, brainwash, and sex,” Dogan said.

“ I...I have got to get out of here. Will you help me?” she asked.

Dogan shrugged. “What the hell, this gig sucks anyway.”

“ Ahhhhhhhhh! The pain is good! The pain is good!”

Margot grinned wickedly as she swung the riding crop against the bare and red bottom of her sobbing, senior slave. “Again,” she said, stinging his flesh.

“ Ahhhhhh! The pain is good!”

Margot repeated the passionate and painful mantra as she swatted her sub, until he too climaxed, his body twitching as he kissed the boots of the Nordic goddess that was Margot.

In many ways, she used peoples perceptions against themselves, using her natural height and blonde looks to fuel others fantasies of her as a dom, interrogator, etc. A former runway model, she made a small but very lucrative income as a German Euro-domme.

One of her slaves crawled over to her as she wiped the sweat from her face, the leather outfit tight and hot against her body.

She retrieved the cellphone from the gold plate on his back, and he quickly crawled away. “Good morning,” she said.

“Margot! It’s me, Alexandra!”

Margot’s eyes widened, having not heard from her friend in some time, but Alexandra quickly cut her off, spilling her bizarre tale from thousands of miles away on a bad Middle Eastern telephone.

Although the story was fantastic, it was not outside the realm of possibility for either of the women, and Margot soon realized the gravity of the situation, the two women plotting to resolve it.

“It’s late, come and eat, I am sure you are famished,” Dogan said, escorting Alexandra to a palatial guest quarters.

“ Omar will be out like a light for the rest of the night,” he said. “In the meantime, you can stay here. The women will bring you food.”

It had been quite a journey, and Alexandra wolfed down a healthy and large dose of food. “What happens to me next?” she asked, her mouth full.

“ My guess is that Omar will assume that you are still his hypnotized slave,” Dogan replied. " I guess the conditioning wasn’t as thorough on you.”

“You may have to fuck him in the morning.”

Alexandra smiled. “Then we’ll have to leave quickly.”

Having finished her workout, Margot left her studio, her hair piled high upon her head, an ankle length black leather trenchcoat sweeping her steps. Her eyes were hidden behind the darkest of glasses, but she saw and knew all the looks, crisply walking towards the waiting limo, carrying only a large black leather bag. “The airport,” she ordered.

Omar’s erection was uncomfortable in his pants as he quickly and clumsily dressed himself, the prospect of a sexual encounter with his new toy befuddling his mind and actions.

Splashing on a more than generous amount of Drakkor Noir, he ordered his servants to bring Alexandra to his room, having finally recovered from the indulgences of the previous night.

Again, his eyes bulged as Alexandra entered, clad in the sexiest of bellydance outfits, her eyes darkened with Kohl.

Before Omar could react, the sound of the tabla began to play.

He motioned to Dogan to leave, but his arm soon relaxed and fell to his side, as his eyes began to drink in the sight before him.

Over the slight but insistent beat, Omar could hear Alexandra whispering to him, whispering over the gentle tinkling of her outfit.

“That’s right my Master,” she cooed, her breasts swinging from side to side. “Watch your slave. Watch your slave dance for you. Watch my body move back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Watch the shimmer and shine of the lights from the room as the reflect off of me, reflect off of my clothing, my breasts, my body. Watch the lights, my Master. Watch the lights, my Master. Watch the lights in my eyes, Master. Watch me, watch me, watching, watching, watching my body, watching the lights, listening but not hearing, seeing without speaking, feeling so good, feeling so good, feeling soooooo good..... watching and relaxed, watching and relaxed, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, watching and relaxing, watching and relaxing, soo relaxed, sooo relaxed, so..........sleepy............sleepy...........sleepy, watching and sleepy, watching and sleeping, watching and sleeping, sleeping and slipping, sleeping and slipping, slipping into sleep, slipping into sleep, slipping into ..........SLEEP.”

Omar’s eyes drooped as he watched, softly slipping into trance.

“Yes, that’s it Master, slipping into sleep, feeling so sleepy, so good, so..........sleepy, and.........so good, and sooooooooooooooo.............sleepy, and sooooooooo............goooooooood, sleep, sleep, gazing in my eyes and sleeping, gazing in my eyes and sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, hearing only my voice and sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, sleep,sleep,sleep.........”

Dogan stopped playing, shifting his package as she stood up. “That....that was really hot,” he admitted. “How long will he be out?”

“A couple of hours. If we’re lucky, we can make it to the border by then,” Alexandra replied. “Is there nothing for me to wear but this outfit and a fur coat?”

“ I’m afraid so. Omar is not very good with women, as you may have gathered.”

“ Let us waste no time then. Margot will meet us there in her helicopter.”

“Helicopter?” Dogan’s eyes widened. “Where...

“Never mind,” Alexandra said, " let’s go.”