The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mr. Green smiled as he looked out the glass of his environmentally correct mansion. Everything was coming to plan. Tomorrow he would announce his candidacy in a major election that he knew he would not win, but one that his participance in would result in national chaos, resulting in political confusion that he would profit from.

He had begun, as others of his ilk had, in the idealistic 60’s, and had originally made a name for himself as a consumer advocate.

However, after years of working outside the system, he saw how he could better profit from it from manipulating it from the inside. He would present himself as an idealistic alternative to the prominent parties, and gradually build a profitable cult of personality about himself.

And cult it would be. His operatives were present in some way in every major entertainment, environmental, and anarchistic groups in the country, subtly influencing every aspect of American culture in order to manipulate it to Mr. Green’s ways, and profiting from that association.

There was the time a Green girl had hypnotized and sexually blackmailed a former rock star into endorsing his views, and the late-night TV hosts, the V-Jays and deejays, anyone with even the slightest relationship to communication were all working towards a completely secret and singular goal.

He smiled again. He had waited almost forty years for this.

Returning to his recycled desk, he indulged himself in one of his favorite personal past times; updating himself on the activities of his Blackmail girls.

Mr. Green had a disciple who had a brother in the military who had introduced a general to his sister’s friend from the Republican party, who had provided unknowing travel access to the Middle East so that Mr. Green could privately negotiate with oil emirates and raid the entertainment halls for exciting feminine talent.

By a long series of arranged coincidence, a clique of Gre enfolk had stolen into the room of what had initially appeared to them to be an American of some financial stability, a stranger in a strange land cavorting with two tavern bellydancers.

They arranged to kidnap the three of them and force ransom on the American and sell the girls to a harem, but one of the Greenfolk recognized Kevin as a known antiestablishment writer, and a war correspondent.

Alexandra was also recognized by a female Greenfolk who had recalled her presence at an international lingerie party years earlier.

Not recognizing Margot, the statuesque Nordic beauty would nonetheless make a splendid addition to their plans.

Poring over all of their files that related to all public and accessible private knowledge of the Kevin and Alexandra, the agents planned an elaborate seduction and brainwashing that would forever bind the two to the ways of Mr.Green.

Alexandra awoke in an overstuffed armchair, the sound of Baroque music swimming in her ears, as her eyes gradually adjusted themselves to her awakening in an elaborate entertainment room in a Victorian mansion.

Drawing in her breath, she suddenly realized that her borrowed silk pajamas had been replaced with the sheerest and tiniest of a French-maid uniform.

Blushing as she stood up, the pad of fabric around her pelvis rubbed snugly against her mons, designed to stroke and silently stimulate with every step.

She then realized that she was holding a large feather duster in her right hand.

“ You there, servant, come here,” a strong voice barked at her from behind, causing her to jump.

She turned to see a large middle aged man, obviously a land baron, glaring at her and gesturing to the furniture. “Get to work, I command you.”

Upon hearing the word “command,” Alexandra found herself suddenly swooning, the very word causing unplanned but not entirely unwelcome feelings to wash over her.

“ Yes Master,” she meekly replied, nonetheless feeling a thrill of excitement at the dynamics of this new development.

She turned her back and began to dust the large fireplace, trying to gather her thoughts even as she felt the Master’s eyes boring into her back.

She remembered having met the guy, and Margot and herself had partied with him, but now ... where was she...how had she.

“ Servant, I order you to dust the couch. You must obey me and do as I command,” the Master said, his voice quiet but his eyes shining with delight and intention.

Alexandra paused, trying to resist the urge to obey, even though every action word of obedience seemed to trigger desire inside her. She draw a deep breath, vainly shaking her head.

“Do not resist.”

Alexandra turned a deep crimson, and her body shook in orgasmic utterance, her knees buckling together, barely keeping her standing as she shuddered from orgasm.

The scent of feminine arousal now obvious, she slowly walked towards the couch, her nipples pronounced, her inner thighs slightly squishing as she approached the couch, slowing dusting the armrests, embarrassed and simultaneously wildly turned on by her public display of private servitude.

Her aroused thoughts tried to make sense of the sensual sense of it all. Was this man really her Master? Was she really his servant?

Servant.

Slave.

Obedience.

Pleasure.

These feelings and more engulfed her, her legs now slick and shiny with her quim. She was now a maid, another man’s servant, and although she could not remember how, it seemed that she was indeed in the employ of this house. She had no choice but to obey.

The Master’s voice was now softer, but no less authoritative. “Touch yourself, I command you.”

Alexandra’s eyes glazed, the feather duster floating to the floor as she began to stroke and caress her bosom, her breasts straining for release as she teasingly undid the top two buttons of her creamy blouse that was clinging to her chest like a sweaty lover.

She could see the outline of the Master’s cock through his pants as he stared at her, her heart pounding with excitement, enthralled by her own personal power. In her dazed hypnotic state, she recognized and relished the seductive power of herself, and knew that even as it was being wielded by someone else’s will, it was still her power.

She began to slowly sway back and forth on her high French heels, lasciviously licking her shiny breasts, revealing more and more of them as she obeyed.

“ Servant, I order you to take off your blouse,” the Master said huskily, sitting on the couch in front of her.

Alexandra’s eyes were fogged with lust, as she gently girated before her prone Master, her Owner, the keeper of her fate. She had to please her Master, she had to obey.

“Slave, I order you to take off your skirt,” the Master whispered, his fingers fumbling with his buckle and fly as his cock squirmed for open air.

Alexandra complied, vaguely realizing that this would render her practically naked save for garters, stockings, high heels, apron and hat, but the feelings of desire and want were now very strong, and she would obey them.

“Come here,” the Master whispered hoarsely, his eyes bulging with desire and demand.

Alexandra grinned, straddling him, impaling herself on his swollen member, the Master crying out in pain and pleasure as Alexandra’s pelvis pinned him to the cushions.

His inners thighs were chafing with the sting of sweat, but he nonetheless threw back his head and tightened his hips to meet her amorous advances.

As he felt his balls tighten, he squinted as he sensed that Alexandra recognized his impending arrival and was thusly riding him even harder, thumbing her clit as she fucked herself against her Master’s cock.

As Alexandra cried out in orgasmic bliss, her PC clenching like claws on her Master’s prick, she wrenched herself from his cock a second before his semenal offering spewed forth.

It was fuck beyond his wildest dreams, and as he climaxed, his cock spastically spurting, he ordered Alexandra to sleep, and she instanty closed her eyes and stood totally still, lost in trance until the next time she would hear her Master’s voice.

The Master huffed and puffed as he caught his breath. Now while she was entranced, he would have his operatives place the young beauty in a silken sarcophagus, musical messages of subliminal submission buzzing in her ears and mind.

He smiled gleefully as he composed himself. “Now for the blonde,” he said eagerly.