The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Monday. 10:45 a.m. Claire Willis and Rachel McGilll were having coffee as usual in Claire’s dining room. Claire was telling Rachel about how a neighbor’s exclusive handbag was actually a cheap knockoff.

As Claire explained, “So she says, I bet it was $10,000. And I say I bet she didn’t spend ten bucks. And she says, no way,and I say, way. And she says, how can you tell? And I say, you can totally tell by the stitching. And...”

Rachel’s cellphone interrupted Claire’s story.

“Sorry.” Rachel said with a sheepish smile. Claire frowned and sipped her coffee while Rachel checked the caller’s number.

“Sorry got to go.” Rachel declared abruptly.

“Hey!” Claire objected but Rachel was out the door in an instant.

“She’s been acting real crazy recently.” Claire mused as she went to her front window to see where Rachel was going. She went into Dr. Don’s house across the street.

“Oh that ho!” Claire laughed. “I’ll surprise her and the doc when they’re getting it on. Let me time this right. Five minutes chit chat. Two minutes to strip. Ten minutes for foreplay. Strike that. The doc has got to be a slow mover—15 minutes for foreplay. So I’ll give them roughly 30 minutes and start banging on the door. That will scare them totally shitless.”

Claire thought about Rachel’s infidelity while she waited for the right moment to surprise the couple. She felt responsible for it. She must have given Rachel the idea when she talked about how she wanted to have an affair. She hadn’t been serious about fooling around. Sure her husband had other lovers. He probably had several, both guys and girls. Claire’s reaction was “so what.” He could play the field as long as he took care of Claire and he did that very well. He bought her whatever she wanted—the best clothes, the nicest handbags, the most expensive shoes, a great car. She had feigned anger in front of Rachel just to break up their dull routine.

Claire had to admit though that she had sacrificed a lot for this life of luxury. Regular sex was one casualty. Her husband, Paul, wasn’t around much and wasn’t up for nookie when he was. Another price had been her dancing career. Paul was adamant it was inappropriate for his wife to be a dancer. At the time her husband had popped the question, giving up dance for security seemed like a good deal. She was unemployed, bouncing checks and her landlord was ready to evict her. Sure she loved the thrill of performing before an audience and showing off what her bod could do, but good gigs where always hard to come by. She found it hard to compete against the flat-chested stick figures with her deep breasts and curvy figure. The life was tough and she didn’t want to go the way of Natalie Portman in Black Swan.

Not that she didn’t want to dance anymore. She practiced solo but it wasn’t the same. That urge to dazzle a crowd was still with her and annoyed her terribly from time to time, to the point that she might explode if she didn’t get on a stage. Sometimes, when she was really alone, she felt other urges and desires, feelings deep and primal that she kept locked away, a fantasy of dancing naked before an audience hungry for her and desperate to have her. She dispelled these feelings for fear they could doom her life of comfort.

As much as her “kept woman” existence grated on her sometimes, Claire had to endure it as best she could, especially since Paul had made her sign an ironclad pre-nup that would leave her out on the street without a dime if she was caught fooling around. She was far too prudent to let hat happen.

Claire took great pleasure in being able to now wield that moral superiority over Rachel. Though they were essentially in the same situation as bored housewives, Rachel’s Ivy League intellectual pedigree and smarts gave Claire a major league sense of inferiority. Rachel seemed to know everything about everything. What made that worse was that Rachel had married for love where Claire had married for security. Those smarts and romance didn’t carry much weight any more and Claire took a lot of glee from that. Rachel slipped up morally and in a really stupid way. Now who was the better person?

The time that Claire had set to show up at Dr. Don’s had come. She restrained the urge to run over. When she got to Dr. Don’s door she gave it a hard pounding, hoping to rile up the occupants from their illicit conjugal bliss.

Claire had been surprised the first time she had knocked on Dr. Don’s door when it turned out that he knew her and Rachel even though they had never met. She was surprised this time too when the door opened to reveal Rachel, completely naked except for a slinky pink thong, with a tiny pink bow in the middle, and matching pink high heels. Claire was also stunned to find Rachel wearing makeup—lots of it. The most Rachel usually wore was maybe some gloss. Now, her lips were painted bright red, her eyelids were coated with full-blown, gaudy purple eye shadow, her lashes were thick black with black eyeliner, and her cheek bones were defined by bright rouge.

Rachel’s eyes were closed as if she were trying especially hard to concentrate. When she opened them, she whispered, “Don’t.”

Claire misinterpreted the word as a plea instead of the warning Rachel had summoned the strength to make.

Claire was about to make a teasing comment, but Dr. Don’s voice interrupted her. “Please show our guest in.” He said. Instantly, Rachel’s demeanor turned to one of stiff formality, like a servant in a period mansion in England.

“Come in, Miss Claire.” Rachel said meekly. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Rachel spun around and sashayed into the house, her hips swinging seductively. Claire gulped. Rachel was certainly beautiful but Claire had never seen her do anything so sexy before. Presumably she saved that stuff for her husband. Now she was moving as if she wanted to turn Claire on and she had succeeded.

Claire followed Rachel into the Doctor’s living room. The Doctor himself was sitting comfortably in a plush leather chair, reading one of his scientific magazines and drinking a scotch. Without acknowledging Claire, he raised his drained glass and gave it a little shake, clinking the ice cubes it contained. Without hesitation, Rachel obtained a scotch bottle and refilled the glass. For a moment, she turned her head slightly to look at Claire and gave her a brief, pensive look of shame. Then she returned the bottle to a shelf and fell to her knees besides Dr. Don, her head bowed as if a supplicant before her god.

Claire laughed out loud. “Could you two just be a little less discrete with your master slave act you got going on here?” She snorted sarcastically.

Rachel blushed but neither she nor the Doctor said anything.

Claire became annoyed about being ignored. “Doc, you can move wherever you want, but Rachel has her reputation to worry about. If anyone finds out what you two are doing her, Rachel’s good name will be in the toilet.”

Finally, Dr. Don gave a light wave to Rachel and said, “Tell her, girl.”

“I’m not Rachel anymore.” Rachel said blushing, with an air of sad resignation. “I am Sir’s girl.”

Claire became unnerved. “Come on, Rachel! Snap out of it.” She said insistently. “You’ll need a miracle worker for a divorce attorney if your husband finds out about this!”

“I live to serve, my Sir, Dr. Don.” Rachel said flatly, her voice tinged with shame.

Claire couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “For god’s sake Rachel! Think of your future. This weird ass s-and-m thing is not worth it.”

For a moment, just a moment, Rachel’s brow trembled and she closed her eyes as if she were exerting herself to move. She failed to lift a finger and sobbed, “I am Sir’s girl.”

Claire pointed an accusing finger at Dr. Don. “You’ve brainwashed her, you bastard!”

The Doctor finally looked at Claire and shook his head. “Brainwashing would presume that I compelled my girl to do something she wouldn’t want to do. I am merely helping her realize one of her fantasies. In return she is providing me with some valuable data. In fact, I’ve learned from her that my induction programs have to move slower if they are to properly alter a subject’s thought patterns. My girl, here still feels a need to resist her programming even though she cannot fight it.”

“You’re crazy!” Claire gasped.

The Doctor shrugged. “I am sure I seem that way to you now, but once you join my experiment, you will discover how lucid I am.”

Claire didn’t like the sound of that. “Back off, asshole!” She cried, not realizing a small black creature had crawled up her sleeve and was on her shoulder. Only when it had scurried to the base of her neck did she realize it was there until it quickly burrowed into her skin and attached to her spine.

Suddenly, Claire fell into a void of empty whiteness, deprived of thought and emotion. Out of this emptiness came a voice, a chanting voice, reciting a seemingly random series of zeroes and ones, “Zero, one, one, zero, one,zero, zero, one, one, one.” As the voice droned on in a monotone, Claire began to reemerge into conscious awareness. Slowly, Claire realized she knew the source of the voice. It was her own. She was saying these numbers even though she could not feel her lips moving or even the rest of her body. Finally, her voice deviated from the numbers to which it was devoted and said something else. “Test Subject 2. Claire Willis. Twenty-eight-year-old Caucasian female. Fantasy: exhibitionism...

Claire swooned as Dr. Don’s living room came back into focus. Dr. Don was giving her a clinical look as if performing a routine health exam. Rachel was staring at her sadly.

Something was wrong. Claire felt it. Even if she had no idea what it was. Anger rose within her. “What did you do to me, you bastard!” She demanded of Dr. Don.

“Merely inducted you into my test protocol as I have already done with my girl.” The Doctor replied matter-of-factly.

“You’re not going to pull your invasion of the body snatchers routine on me!” Claire yelled and she scrambled out the front door. Down the sidewalk she saw a neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, walking his dog. She ran after him.

“Hey, Bert!” She called.

Mr. Jenkins stopped, turned and faced the out of breath, sweaty Claire. Perhaps it was the surprise of female attention, unconscious lust, or a primal mating instinct but, whatever the reason, Mr. Jenkins eyes inadvertently fell on Claire’s heaving chest.

Claire liked Mr. Jenkins enough and never thought him anything close to attractive. Yet, somehow, his glance her breasts received turned her on. Her body began to glow with warmth and her stomach tightened from the reception she had received from his eyes. For a moment, Claire forgot her anxiety and coquettishly reached for her blouse as if she was going to give him a more unobstructed view of her bosom.

A sharp twinge of embarrassment and shame retrieved her from going any farther.

“Oh my god, what am I doing?” She blurted and tore off, leaving a confused Mr. Jenkins scratching his head.

Claire slammed the door behind her when she reached home and rubbed her forehead. “What the hell did that freak do to me?” Her protest trailed off as her body began to throb with a strange sensation. Her flesh seemed to vibrate with energy as if the warmth from Mr. Jenkin’s stare had infected the rest of her form. There was a countervailing sensation now too. Her clothes—the began to feel constricting, like a boa strangling its prey. This feeling became so unpleasant that the urge to strip then and there became overwhelming. She tore off her all clothes, popping buttons in her haste, and threw her garments across the room as if they intended to do her harm. Free from her bondage, Claire laughed and drank in the exhilarating freedom of her nudity, but only for a moment. This strange behavior worried her deeply. What had the Doctor done to her to make her act so crazy? She remembered that pinch at the back of her neck. Maybe that had something to do with the cause. She ran up to the full-length mirror in her bedroom to find if it had left a mark.

Upon inspection, Claire did find a red mark on the back of her neck, but no other clues to show how she might have been tampered with. She grimaced as wondered what to do next. Her eyes fell to her reflection.

“Hey, I am so hot.” She discovered as she drank in the vision of her nude self. She still had her dancer’s body with her strong and firm arms and legs, her long swan-like neck and non-existent tummy. Her big boobs and curvy waist that had been a liability in her profession were still dazzling.

“I am sssso hot.” Claire told her reflection in a sexily smooth voice as she drank in her image. She ran her hands over down her chest, circling her swelling boobs and thickening nipples. The feeling of her own fingers was as intimate and delicious as a lover’s caress.

As her body swayed from the bliss of her own touch, she became intoxicated with its movements in the mirror. She playfully swung her hips to a Nickelback song she played in her mind. At first the undulating motion of shoulders, to waist, to hips was subtle but became more exaggerated with each wave of movement.

“God, what a hot bod!” She repeated as she watched her private dance...giggling at her rhyme. “It’s too hot to keep secret. I should be showing it off.” A vision came to her, one like she had toyed with many times over the years. She was on a dance platform in front of crowd of lust inspired men, reaching out to her with desire, but unable to touch her glorious body. How she drove them wild in this dream, how she drove them from reason to lust’s full embrace. Even though she had enjoyed this fantasy many times before, the rush from its current incarnation conjured the more intense bliss than she had ever know before. One hand fell to her sex and found it wet, hot, hungry and inviting.

The doorbell rang, rousing Claire from her lurid dream.

“Oh my God!” She gasped as she looked at herself, naked, hot and flushed from her self arousal. “What am I becoming?”

The doorbell rang again. Claire ran to her closet for something to put on. She reached out for a prim blouse and skirt but hesitated. She couldn’t bring herself to put it on, it was too restricting and too concealing of her sexy and luxuriant body. The thought of wearing it made her flesh crawl. Claire tried to force herself to pick something but she couldn’t. The idea of wearing the clothes in her closet now seemed utterly repellant. It was like after eating the same food she liked had suddenly become unpalatable.

The doorbell made an irritably long and loud ring.

“Come on!” Claire yelled at herself, “I have to wear something. I can’t answer the door naked.”

The thought slipped her back into the realm of her randy fantasies. In her boredom, she actually had dreamed of answering the door naked with whoever was there becoming entranced by her sexy body, their jaw slack, their mouth watering, their hands reaching out to touch her. It was a fantasy that would become reality; she only had to let go...

“No, no, no!” Claire screamed at herself as she banished the vision from her mind. “I am not that kind of woman!”

Claire finally forced herself to war something: a sundress that danced about her skin in the right places to accent her body’s shape. She never wore the thing because it became see-through when it was hit by direct light. It seemed the perfect compromise between her sensibility and her new-found desire to reveal herself.

Claire ran down to answer the door. It was Rachel. She was back to wearing a shirt and jeans but she still had the heels and make up she had been wearing when she answered the door at Dr. Don’s.

“I wanted to warn you.” Rachel sobbed. “I tried really hard. When he ordered me, I had to obey. He’s robbed me of my will. Whatever he wants, whatever he commands, I have to do it. I am the slave I always fantasized of being. The things he has made me do...you have no idea. But I loved doing them. I loved them because I love serving him. As ashamed as I am about what I have become, I still love it!”

“Rachel...” Claire wanted to say something consoling but her friend interrupted her.

“Don’t call me that! You know about my slave self now. I am no longer Rachel. I can barely remember what it was like to be her. I can hardly remember what it was to think for myself and make my own decisions. Rachel is just a mask I wear now. I am whatever Sir wishes me to be. I am an instrument of his will. It still sounds so strange to say it but it is true.”

“Rachel...girl...whoever you are, we have to get help.”

“I want help but I can’t! The urge to obey Sir is too powerful. I can’t resist!”

“Then I’ll get help!” Claire groaned as she tried to leave.

Rachel blocked her way.

“You can’t. Sir ordered me to take you somewhere where you will realize your own fantasies.”

“Rachel, please! Just let me go.”

“No, I won ‘t let you1 The last time I failed Sir he turned me out for two whole days. He didn’t talk to me. He didn’t command me. It was agony. I felt as if a part of me had been ripped away. I can’t go through that again!”

“I won’t go!” Claire growled.

Rachel stepped forward, grabbing Claire’s hips and pulled her close. “Don’t be crazy! Your programming is phasing in. Everything you are feeling now is going to get worse. You won’t be able to resist it. If it is not directed, by tonight you’ll be running through the streets naked. You have to come with me to a place where your urges can be contained.

“No!” Claire protested, trying to pull herself away, finding that the idea of her streaking through the neighborhood was not at all that unappealing. She struggled fruitlessly as if she did not want to break away from Rachel’s grasp.

“This ass, these tits, these curves.” Rachel whispered hotly as her hands roved over Claire’s body. “These were meant to be seen and stared at. They want the eyes of a crowd. They can’t be hidden away unseen, untouched!”

Rachel’s hands struck a chord where ever they touched Claire, until nearly her entire body was singing with arousal. Claire’s mind drifted back to that Nickelback song she had hummed in the bedroom, slipping her back into that dream of herself before a huge crowd, with men yearning to covet her, women insanely jealous of her and both desperately wanting her. Her body was ready to offer herself to this vision and her mind was to weak to resist the temptation.

“Take me with you.” Claire whispered desperately as she dwelt on this dream.

Rachel led the dazed unresisting Claire to he car. They both got in and Rachel drove them toward the location Dr. Don had chosen for Claire.

Through the fog of her desire, Claire had an reawakening of the sharpness of her reason. Small though it was, it was enough for her to realize that the passenger car door was unlocked. The next time the car stopped, she could escape and run to get help! When they came to a stoplight, Claire reached for the door latch. Before she could pull it, she looked up to find the driver of the truck next to her, stealing a peak down her dress. Claire had been ogled this way before, by men a lot better looking than this jerk, but the affect of his lurid stare made her tummy do a flip and her her tits start to ache with tingling. She found herself wanting more of a reaction from her voyeur, not for his sake but to inflame the feeling his stare gave her. She ran her hands over her bra-less boobs and then tugged at her dress’ collar line to reveal them more and more. The man’s jaw dropped and Claire drank in his attention. She ceased to see him as a person but his gawk distilled him to the essence of his lust. Claire drank it like an intoxicating liquor. It was so delicious and she needed more. Her dress was now pulled down so low that her nipples were starting to show. The driver was now leaning so far out of the window, he was in peril of falling.

The light turned green and Rachel and Claire were off again. Claire shook her head, realizing she was becoming to far gone to escape. She stared out the window as the burbs gave way to exurbs and then to the country. Finally they pulled up to the front of a gated drive.

“Dr. Don’s girl.” Rachel said into an intercom. That gate swung open and Rachel drove in.

“Is that what I am now?” Claire wondered. “One of Dr. Don’s girls?”

Rachel pulled up to a large manor house. Both women got out of the car and found themselves greeted by a woman in a full-length black velvet cape and two handsome men in tight clothes.

“The Doctor’s new test subjects, I see.” The woman said. Then she addressed Claire, “I am Miss Prymm,. I was the Doctor’s graduate assistant and first experiment. As I am sure you know by now, his work has some interesting side effects. I will be your employer and house mother.. Since you will now be working for me, you will call me, Mother.”

“There is no way in hell I am calling you that!” Claire shot back angrily.

“Oh you will, my dear, you will do that and more.” Miss Prymm said ominously.” She threw open her robe to reveal she was clad in a garter belt, stockings, and heels but nothing else.

“I am Dr. Don’s girl. My name used to be Rachel. I am test subject one. ” Rachel introduced herself to Miss Prymm. “This other girl is Claire. She is his test subject two. The Doctor said that she will make an excellent addition to your establishment.”

“Off with your clothes.” Miss Prymm told Claire.

“Here?” Claire asked with surprise, fighting the urge to undress. “Outside? I won’t do it!”

“Very well.” Miss Prymm replied. “Then go.”

“Really?” Claire said suspiciously sure that this was some trick.

“Really!” Miss Prymm said. “I have no need or desire for unwilling girls.”

Claire laughed and tried to get back in the car. As she did, she caught the men with Miss Prymm lewdly staring at her body as it moved under her dress. She drowned again in an intense feeling of warmth. Even with her back to them she could sense their eyes, roving up and down her figure. As if their stares spoke to her in musical form, she began to sway delightedly in smooth undulation, moving like a snake. Everyone, even Rachel and Miss Prymm were transfixed by Claire now and she found herself reveling in their attention. Unconsciously, she pulled at her collar, tearing it so that her dress could fall to the ground and her naked body could emerge like a blooming white rose. Claire swirled around and ran her hands over her breasts and let them glide over her tight tummy, hungry for the attention of all around her. The men were obviously excited into straining erections, Rachel was blushing with her own arousal and Miss Prymm was salivating at the performance.

Claire caught herself before she could do anything more lurid. She realized now why Miss Prymm had been so ready to let her go. If anyone ever wanted her and showed their desire, she would give them a show like the one she had just performed. She was addicted to being seen., She had been able to resist the feeling before Mr. Jenkins, but her will was getting progressively weaker. Rachel had been right. Soon she would be so hungry for stares and looks, she would be streaking through the streets to get them. She would be totally out-of-control. She didn’t know what Miss Prymm had in store for her but the alternative currently seemed a whole lot worse. She was trapped. Claire Willis the housewife was now helpless in the clutches of Dr. Don and this Miss Prymm.

Claire caught a sob in her throat and hung her head. “So what are you going to do me?” She asked.

Miss Prymm moved closer and felt Claire’s body like she was inspecting a horse. “Nice body. Strong thighs. I bet you can handle yourself on the pole real well. You’re a bit older than most of my girls, but that gives you a maternal quality that the customers just love. I’ll have you on the stage in no time.”

Claire found herself getting excited. She was going to perform. This was going to be her dirty dream come true. She tried to douse her thrill. It may be a dream but it was a dirty dream. DIRTY! She couldn’t like it, she couldn’t enjoy it even if she had to do it. That would mean she was dirty too.

Rachel cleared her throat. “Miss, if you have no need of me...”

“Your master said I could make use of you if I needed you and I do need you.” Miss Prymm interrupted. “I am short a waitress and you will do just fine.”

Rachel gulped as Miss Prymm descended upon her.

“Undress.” Miss Prymm commanded firmly. Rachel was soon almost fully undressed down to her pink thong. Claire found herself taking special pride in the fact that though Miss Prymm’s men were slightly distracted by Rachel’s performance, their eyes remained on her.

“Domination fantasy. One of my favorites. The first experiment the Doctor performed upon me involved making me live one of my domination fantasies. It must make you feel sooo goood” Miss Prymm said in a near hiss.

“Yes, miss.” Rachel stammered meekly.

Miss Prymm considered Rachel briefly. “The best thing about the domination fantasy programming is that it is so easy to get whatever I want from you. Whatever I ask, you will give to me without hesitation.” Miss Prymm said. Her voice then became dark and more demanding. “You master has given you to me and so this is what you will become. My waitresses are always cheerful. They think of nothing else but pleasing my customers. Whatever my customers want, they will do, within the confines of the house rules. Their sole goal is to make my customers happy. Nothing else matters. Is that understood?”

As Miss Prymm made her decree, Rachel leaned back her head and her eyes started to roll back as she absorbed these commands, her bright red painted mouth making an “o”. What remained of her old personality was subsumed by her programmed need to obey and Miss. Prymm’s directives. Before she realized what was happening, she had shed all thought except that necessary to carry out what Miss Prymm had commanded.. It was as if she changed into a totally different person within a minute. Her lips widened into a broad grin. She sighed a happy sigh and her eyes twinkled not with intelligence but with saccharine cheerfulness.

“We can’t have customers calling you girl.” Miss Prymm mused. “Rachel is to boring a name. So we will call you Raquel. Are you ready to work, Raquel?”

“Oh yes, Miss!” Raquel with childlike simplicity. “I want to make customers happy. Can I make them happy?”

“But of course, Raquel, that is your sole purpose.” Miss Prym laughed. “Gentlemen, see that Raquel is properly employed.”

The two men took Raquel into the house, one cupping her ass with her hand while she giggled in delight.

“So is that what you’re going to do to me?” Claire asked Miss Prymm. “Turn me into some brainless bimbo?”

Miss Prymm laughed as she took Claire’s hand and directed her into the house. “Strip away the Rachel’s imposed civilization and education and you’ll find a slave at heart. Someone who needs to be dominated. You are a natural slave too, but a slave to your body. I will unlock your inner slave. You will find the experience must illuminating. I know I did.”

Entering the manor, Claire found that the interior had been gutted to make a huge strip club. Tiered stages served as venues to naked and nearly naked women performing erotic, gymnastic dances. Their rhythm matched that of the loud music blaring through the room with heart stopping bass. Customers sat either in rapt attention at dinner tables or huddled up against the stages screaming their adoration at the dancers and waving money to get their attention. On small stages in side rooms dancers performed acrobatic sexual acts for smaller groups.

If Claire had come to this place before Dr. Don had reprogrammed her, she would have walked out in disgust. Now she was drawn to this place like a moth to flame. This was a place she wanted to stay This was a place she wanted to perform in like the girls on the stages.

“No!” Claire told herself in rebellion against these thoughts. “They’ve done something to me to make me act crazy. I won’t become their plaything. I won’t!. No matter what they make me do!”

Miss Prymm led Claire through the hall, passing Rachel, now Raquel, who had completely slipped into the role of one of Miss Prymm’s waitresses. She was going from table to table, asking “Want a drink?” She giggled in immature excitement as customers swatted her ass or copped a feel. Raquel wanted to make the customers happy and, if this is what made them happy, this made her as happy as could be. To Claire, this Rachel, stripped of all inhibition and will power, with her personality recast and simplified to play this part, was a bizarre mockery of the housewife she knew. Raquel passed by Claire without acknowledging her, the now-limited resources of her mind focused solely on the customers’ needs. Since Claire wasn’t a customer, she didn’t register to Raquel at all.

Miss Prymm took Claire backstage to a dressing room and eased the dazed woman into a salon chair. A group of girls similarly undressed as Rachel descended upon her. One gave Claire’s feet a pedicure. One gave her hands a manicure. Another washed and coiffed her hair. Another painted and applied makeup. One spread a cream over her bush and shaved her pussy clean. Claire was washed, waxed, massaged and exfoliated all at once. She felt she was being cleansed from head to toe.

Miss Prymm spoke to Claire as she endured the treatments.

“The wonderful thing about reading your remote brain scans from Dr. Don is that I know more about you than you do about yourself. For instance, I know you have loved your body. You have always loved your body. You love the way men and women look at you. It makes you feel comfortable, hot, relaxed, proud.”

Claire grinned and her hand stroked her tummy. She did love her body, she loved everything about it. The way her firm breasts bobbed on her luscious chest, the slopes of her shoulders and waist. She loved to see it reflected in the lustful eyes of men and envious eyes of women.

“You have been ashamed of this self love.” Miss Prymm said with an accusing harshness. “You have been conditioned to hate it as self love. You have been educated to believe that it is wrong.”

The change in Miss Prymm’s tone took Claire by surprise. She had been enjoying the touch and feel of the body at that moment so the charge was not one she could deny. Claire choked back a sob. Miss Prymm was right. She had been told it was wrong to love her body. Her parents, her teachers, her religion. They all said it was wrong so she repressed her self love in obedience to their dictates not hers. And here she was doing what they said not to do, loving herself and her own touch.

“Even despite this condemnation. You became a dancer to enjoy your body. To show your body. You told yourself that you danced for art. This was a lie. You danced to be seen, to turn people on.”

“No! Claire cried. “That’s not true!” But it was a hollow protest. Miss Prymm was right again. Claire had told herself and others that she loved dance as an art. She claimed to love Balanchine and Taylor but this was just fancy window dressing for what she really wanted. Miss Prymm was flaying away the layers of denial she had put down to contain that desire that drove and fueled her. She and her girls were chipping away at Claire’s personality, corrupting each aspect of it with her increasingly liberated self love.

“You’ve been tempted to strip. You envied the girls you knew who did it. It seemed like such easy money. But you wanted to do it for more than just make money at it. You wanted to let loose on stage and have people hunger and want your naked body. You wanted to drown in their gazes. You couldn’t do it because of all those lies you told yourself. It wasn’t proper. It wasn’t right. You didn’t do it. You wanted to. Badly. You regret not doing it when you had the chance.”

Claire squirmed in the chair as tears ran down her cheeks, which the make-up girls patted away. It was as if Miss Prymm possessed all of her secrets but, more so, she could not find the ability to contest them with the deceptions and lies that had hidden them even from herself. It was as if she were compelled to tell the truth and confront it. She felt more bare than she had ever been in her life. Yes, Claire had wanted to strip back then. She so wanted to. Not just for fun and money, but for the sheer ecstasy of showing off her wonderful body. She had such a great body and it would have felt so good to do it. How could she have passed that up? “Yes.” She admitted aloud. “Yes, I wanted to.” Admitting her secret gave her a sense of release but also tinge of shame. It wasn’t something a proper woman would admit to. The condemnation of her word and her past rose against her but now they were just phantoms against the truth that had been released.

Miss Prymm laughed. “Now you will strip. That urge to show yourself has always been with you, gnawing at you. It wants to escape and consume you and a part of you wants it to. Tonight it will!”

“Yes.” Claire moaned. “No!” She yelled quickly afterward. Yes, she wanted to strip, she was desperate to do it now and realize that desire she had wanted to realize. Only surrendering to that temptation would jeopardize her comfortable life. If her husband ever found out she had done such a thing, he would turn her out. Shamed, she would have nowhere to go. Her parents wouldn’t understand. Her friends wouldn’t. “Please don’t!” Claire pleaded. “Please don’t make me do it!”

“It’s who you are Claire.” Miss Prymm told her. “It is time to stop lying to yourself and become what you are meant to be.” . The girls who had been treating Claire pulled away and the back of the salon chair was raised so that Claire could see their completed work. Her hair was pinned up while the rest of her body was completely hairless and bronzed with fake tan. Her eyes, with lids painted in a shimmery blue, batted heavily mascaraed false lashes almost double their normal length. Her eyebrows were now sculpted to be short and extra thin, prominently arched and tapered at the ends. A sweep of pink toned contouring blush drowned her cheeks. Her lips were glossed with bright red glittery lipstick. Sparkles and glitter were powdered lightly over her breasts, reflecting light like a galaxy of stars. Her fingernails and toenails burned with a red that matched her lips. Not only did was she painted with make up but she also decorated with jewelry. Her nose was pierced with a diamond and belly button was pierced with a silver ring. Sparkling bangle bracelets danced on her wrists and ankles.

The makeup girls pulled the passive Claire up and “dressed” her, slipping her into a red g-string and seven inch stiletto heels. They draped a flowery dress over her body that was so flimsy she barely had to breathe to slip out of it. “I want to take, dressed advantage of that maternal look.” Miss Prymm informed her as she placed some horn-rimmed glasses on her nose. “To make you look like the horny, out of control housewife the Doctor has programmed you into.”

Finally Claire got a good look at herself. Made up, dressed and decorated as she now was, she was a sinfully, seductive temptress. She was more than a common whore or slut in this form, she was a succubus, painted and decorated to be viewed and to inspire lust and desire. Her very presence was a lure for souls, to offer everything they held dear, money, family, job, loved ones, salvation, everything, just to be with her even if it meant their everlasting damnation. She was breathtaking. She even took her own breath away.

The old Claire was repulsed by what she had become, shocked at her new lush tawdriness that seemed a mockery of the woman she had been back in suburbia. It was like that this vision she now saw was a parody of that life, using it as an element to enhance her allure by appealing to dark dreams and fetishes. What made this part of herself cringe even more was that the realization that it was slipping away. This new her was asserting control, flexing its power, drinking in its beauty. That part of her that had always wanted to be on display was now at the forefront, its passions dulling her self control and her judgment. It was as if the body had a powerful voice in her mental counsels and wanted to show off this form and enjoy what it could do and inspire.

“I won’t do what you want. You can’t make me!” Claire protested but doubting whether she had the will to resist.

“Oh, you will do everything I ask.” Miss Prymm said smoothly stroking Claire’s trembling cheek. “This defiance is merely the last fragment of your free will. Soon Dr. Don’s programming will dissolve even this into the desires you have repressed. Soon you will become your desire completely and perfectly malleable to my commands. You will beg to do everything I want of you. You will do it because I will give you what you have always secretly wanted. I know because Dr. Don did the same thing to me.”

“I won’t!” Claire whined.

“Time to go on stage.” Miss Prymm told her.

“Don’t make me.” Claire pleaded.

Miss Prymm laughed. “I hear the old Claire speaking. That Claire is disappearing.”

“No!” Claire begged. “Please.” Indeed Claire as she was slipping away before the new her that was emerging, sweeping her former consciousness away into irrelevance.

“In her place.” Miss Prymm continued. “Will be Morgana, stripper queen!”

“Morgana!” Claire said, savoring the new name for herself. She tried to resist, shaking her head as if she could just wake up and everything that was happening to her would disappear in the mists of a dream. But the woman she had seen in the mirror, that body, embraced the name and was ready to shrug off Claire and her suburban prudeness in a heartbeat.

While Claire was struggled desperately to maintain her finger hold on some small bit self control, she hardly realized that Miss Prymm was moving her to the dressing room exit and directing her toward the stage. Only when the D.J announced her arrival did she really realize what was happening.

“Now, Miss Prymm’s newest acquisition, Mooooooorgana!” The D.J. Shouted to the audience that cheered with anticipation.

As Nine Inch Nail’s “Closer” began to shout from the speakers, Claire found the eyes of the entire club upon her, pulling her out onto the stage as if she were on a leash. At first her steps were hesitant as she tried desperately to assert the will to restrain herself but she felt herself being drawn on to the stage as if she were being pulled by invisible strings. The music beat was crushing her resistance and she found herself doing a vamp strut onto the stage. She didn’t know what to do but she could feel what the crowd wanted, she could see it in their eyes, their desire was a palpable presence and it took control of her and manipulated her body like a marionette. Her shoulders started to roll, her hips began to sway seductively, as her hands ran up and down her body boobs, her waist, her thighs, her tight ass .

“I can’t believe this is happening to me.” She whispered desperately to herself as she found herself on display. “I can’t stop it...I can’t stop it. I have to dance!”

Making eye contact with a man below the stage, she strode up to him, thrust her breasts forward, her butt out and gyrated her way into a crouch, swinging her skirt as to give him brief glimpses of that hotness between her legs. She was as surprised by her own actions as the recipient of her attention was to obtain them. For a moment, Claire had a sudden realization about the wellspring of her moves. Back when she had thought about being stripper, she had fantasized about what it would be like, what she would do and how the audience would respond. It was a dream she had masturbated to often back then and then locked away after marriage. Now it was as if the music reached into her and pulled out that long forgotten repressed memory and stoked it into an overwhelming compulsion. She was making it come true! She tried to restrain herself but she could not restrict the impulse to dance—to dance and drive the crowd wild

Claire’s dance became more exaggerated causing the man’s eyes began to bug out of his head and his jaw dropped,. She found satisfaction in taunting this man with something he could never have. She wagged her hips up to a standing position, jiggling her tits in front of him, the sight of which caused the viewer to visibly drool like an idiot. After making this conquest she went on down the stage, finding other victims to drive mad with her moves and beauty. Claire’s personality was fading with each strutting step, which each hip bump, with each chest jiggle. She was losing herself before the audience, becoming their fantasy as well as her own, drinking in their cheers and applause, but most importantly their fixed stares that were locked on her body. She began to see herself through them and savor what they saw, the fullness of her breasts, the power of her thighs, the seductiveness of her curves.

By the time Trent Reznor’s acid like voice was singing the song’s refrain, she sauntered to the stage pole and was grinding against it as if she were taking a lover. When the song increased in intensity, she did too, assaulting the pole, arching a leg around the poll and spinning fiercely around it in lightning fast circles. She arched back, her hair came loose and spilled out in a shower of silken tendrils and she tossed her glasses away. She was a gyroscope of sexy curves. In an instant, she was off the pole and out of her flimsy dress and rubbing her body and posing and flexing to the roars of the crowd, naked except for her heels and thongs. At the same time, she was flinging away her restraint, her self control as the needs of her body to be seen and the return of her long lost fantasy to strip merged together into a controlling power within her.

Claire moved down the stage again, occasionally swinging her hips and rolling her ass into a crouch before a forest of hands waving bills, letting only the ones with the largest denominations slide the folded paper up her thigh and into g-string. If the money was really big, she pulled the owner close so their face was pressed against her tits. When the music was reaching a crescendo, she spun away to the end of the stage, crawling cat like until the song’s words burned into her. “I want to fuck you like an animal!” She bucked forward and backward as if she was being taken like a beast, her back was arched, her hair flailing, her tits bobbing fiercely. She even growled. In a way, she was a beast now. She was something deeply primal, something ruled by a ravenous appetite, but it wasn’t sustenance she craved but the need to show her body and to be seen and desired . The compulsion laced her consciousness and dulled her reason.

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar. Claire drank in the moment she had thirsted for all her life-bringing an audience to its feet, screaming with adoration. When she left the stage to make way for the next dancer, it struck her that this moment had come about by becoming what Miss Prymm wanted, by using her body in the most sinful and seductive ways, by adopting poses and positions only hours ago she would have disdained as the stuff of bimbos, strippers, and whores only hours ago. Something she had wanted all her life had not come from those years of studying and performing jazz and modern dance, it had come from becoming Miss Prymm’s. Claire found herself actually grateful to Miss Prymm and Dr. Don for making this moment possible. She hungered for more moments just like it. “Enjoy yourself, my dear?” Miss Prymm cooed as Claire re-entered the dressing room.

“Oh, yes!” Claire blurted. “So much. Can I go on again? Please?”

“That depends.” Miss Prymm said curtly. “The slots on the stage rotation are full. I can’t send a girl out who won’t do what she is told.” Claire gasped. She was finding experience was addictive as it was exhilarating and the idea that she might be left out filled her with an overwhelming sadness. Her resistance reduced to a nagging doubt, a whisper, subsumed under the weight of her new personality’s power. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it!” Claire said desperately. Miss Prymm looked at her slowly and Claire lowered her head. “I’ll do whatever you ask.” Claire felt the bitter shame in her growing sense of defeat even as the promised rewards of dancing seemed so great. “See that you do.” Miss Prymm laughed. “We’ll see if there is an open slot in an hour.”. “Yes.” Claire said meekly. She gave Miss Prymm complete power over her. Because Miss Prymm controlled access to the dance floor and the stage she wanted to take, her urge to dance overwhelmed any opposition to her commands. When Miss Prymm raised an eyebrow to her response as if she expected something more, Claire quickly responded, “Yes, Mother!” She opened her heart to Miss Prymm and her mind, allowing her to Miss Prymm to write her commands on both.

Miss Prymm could took delight in seeing Claire compose herself as a servile stripper. “While you are waiting, sweet Morgana, use your special skills to make my customers comfortable. Do well and I’ll get you into the rotation.”

Claire squealed with excitement. She would do just as Miss Prymm asked. After she returned to the hall, she realized from the activities of the other dancers that making Miss Prymm’s customers comfortable meant soliciting them to buy lap dances. Claire threw herself into her performances. She was in much demand from her d so she could pick and choose who she wanted to dance for. When she spotted a candidate, usually good looking with expensive clothes and a watch, she would appear before them, bouncing her tits beneath the flimsy dress she had danced in, twirling her hair. “Wanna dance?’ She would ask. The man or woman was always too flabbergasted to refuse. She pushed them in a chair and acrobatically created a fantasy of allure on and around them. She pulled her thong strap to let them slip in their cash and then was on her way to find another customer. At first, that last part of Claire that still clung to being Claire cringed at using her body and her dance in this shameless way, but with each dance she thought less and less about about it, until she wasn’t thinking about much at all other dancing and collecting money.

A pleased Miss Prymm caught Claire after one of her lap dances, “Morgana, dear.” She told Claire. “We have a request for a private d from a very important customer. The thing is, he wants you to play.”

Claire looked confused. “Play, Mother?”

“Yes dear. Miss Prymm told her. “He wants your lap dance to be a bit more physical.”

Claire froze as she guessed Miss Prymm’s meaning. The old part of her rose in power, pushing aside her stripper persona. This was a matter of survival. If she did this thing, there would be no turning back. She would do it again and again. She would have broken her pre-nup with her husband, he would find out, he had people to find out those things, and she would be cast out, with no source of income but this, being one of Miss Prymm’s strippers.

Miss Prymm sensed her hesitation. “Of course, you don’t have to, my dear. However, my customers expect the top dancers to put out for the right price. I can’t have them being disappointed so I can’t put anyone in the rotation who isn’t willing to play.”

The threat of not being able to take the stage let Claire’s s persona roll back, just like water that has been displaced by a stone comes rushing back. Claire was too weak to resist the demanding urge of her body to dance and be seen. There was nothing she wouldn’t do, even if it meant giving up her comfortable existence as a housewife, she was unable to stop herself from surrendering that too.

Miss Prymm led her to a room where a well dressed man sat in a chair, his hands handcuffed behind him and his mouth gagged with a red ball held there by black leather straps.

“Just a precaution.” Miss Prymm explained. “We have strict restrictions on touching. My girls are far to alluring to trust any man to keep his hands or his mouth to himself. You know what to do?”

Claire nodded. Miss Prymm closed the door and a Nickelback song came on, the exact one she had been humming when she had danced for herself back at her home. Home, she was so far from it now, mentally more than physically. Claire slowly descended upon him, her body swaying in time to the music. She could see in his face how he wanted desperately to run his hands over her body. To taunt him, she felt herself as he wanted to feel her. Her fingers made a long and seductive journey over her body, running through her silken hair, down her neck, over the full summits of her breasts, across her tight tummy and over her hips and to grasp her round ass. Then they made a return journey revisiting the sensuality of her body’s geography, slowly, gently and lovingly. Her moves took the sensual tension he was feeling and transformed it from an amusement into agonizing want. He groaned and strained fruitlessly at his restraints.

Delighting in his reaction, Claire strutted around him, playing with his hair and laughing triumphantly as if her were a downtrodden warrior captured in battle. When she was in front of him again and so close she barely touched him, she spun around and rolled her hips in a circle, grinding down and brushing against his knees as she descended into a crouch, lifting and sweeping her dress as she went so he could get a playful close-up view of the hypnotic motion of her ass. She over her shoulder at him teasingly. His wrists were jerking against the restraints and he lolled his head as if in a fit but the mound at his crotch showed where his thoughts lay. She ascended and then swept ass back and forth over it, letting it tremble like an earthquake.

In an instant, Claire spun around and threw off her dress. She crawled up on to his lap and pulled his face into her tits, squeezing their sweet velvety flesh against his face, making him drown in her sweaty musk. She rocked in time to the music, pulling him into her flesh, suffocating him to one beat, and letting him go in another so that he could drink air again. She giggled. This was power. Here was this man, no doubt richer than anyone she had ever known, and here he was as helpless as a baby. She could even use him to pleasure her. That was it. She wanted to play so she play with him.

Claire slid down to a crouch before him and expertly undid his trousers and pulled at them and the man’s underwear so they were at his knees. His cock was erect like a pole. She licked her red lips as if she were going to devour it. The man’s eye’s went wide as if that was what he expected but while she did swallow his prick she did not bite it, her head bobbing over it sheathing and then releasing it. The man gurgled and his prick jerked as if were ready to cum. Clair gave a tsk tsk motion with her fingers and mounted his lap once again. Claire knew that once she did what she planned to do there would be no turning back. Her husband would disown her, somehow he would find out, he would know she had screwed someone else. Up to this point there was still some hope that he would understand that everything she had done now was against her will. This was the fantasy her, the creature that Dr. Don and created and Miss Prymm had created. As fantastic as it sounded, there was still a chance he would forgive. But her dance was merged with lust now and she was beyond the recall of rationality.

Claire lifted her legs, swept them around and onto him, resting her ankles on his shoulders, leaning back leaned on her hands which clasped his knees. She lifted herself up and then fell on his hardened shaft, easing herself on it with a piston-like pumping motion, letting him slowly into her. She would use this man no matter what the consequences now. She was not to be kept on a shelf or closeted away any longer, she was a vital, virile woman, an exotic dancer who was the embodiment of lust. Her body was on fire with heat and the room’s dull light glistened off her tightening body. The man’s head was thrown back in stifled screams that barely passed his gag. He was Claire’s now. She owned him.

Once the man was deep within Claire, she lifted her waist and and let it fall more forcefully the grinding beat. Each time she impaled herself on him, her ass hit his pelvis with a loud smack. The man was delirious now but Claire had that part of him that she wanted and used to to hit exactly where she needed to be hit. Still she got what she wanted. Her body began to vibrate as if she were coming apart. Her panting became moans and her moans became screams as her cunt grabbed his manhood and squeezed it. She crested an orgasm that hit her like a thunderclap, blinding her and nearly cleaving her mind with pleasure. For a moment she was sucked into it and all of reality dissolved. When she returned, she rocked on the man as she enjoyed some last treasures. She hadn’t realized he had cum too. The experience had been too much for him as he was unconscious with his head down but with hints of a smile on his gagged lips.

Miss Prymm was waiting for Claire when she left the room.

“How did it go, Morgana?” She asked.

Claire, now Morgana, laughed. “I think he survived.”

Claire danced the night away, on stage, on laps, before crowds and individuals who could afford the price Miss Prymm charged for the privilege. The club finally closed in the early morning hours but Claire begged Miss Prymm to stay.

“Don’t send me back!” She pleaded. “I belong here now.”

Miss Prymm laughed gently. “You do indeed, sweet Morgana, but Dr. Don has not finished with you yet. When his work is complete and if you are still willing, then you can be totally mine.”

Miss Prymm had restored Rachel’s wits, the two housewives drove home. For most of the ride they were silent, but when they reached their suburban neighborhood, Claire finally spoke up.

“This place is so unreal to me now. It’s so dull and so bleak. I don’t belong here. I belong at Miss Prymm’s.” She murmured.

Rachel nodded. “I know what you mean. As much as I have tried to fight Dr. Don’s programming, I find that I can become anyone that he wants me to be or anyone he gives me to wants to be, even Raquel the slutty waitress. As crazy as it sounds, this is the most free I have ever been in my life.”

The car stopped in Claire’s driveway. Claire rested her palm on Rachel’s hand. The two looked at each other and felt a deeper connection between each other than they had ever felt before.

“Rachel, I know its late...um...early but...” Claire stammered.

“You don’t have to ask.” Rachel told her.

The stripper and the slave went inside and made the most passionate love they had ever enjoyed in their whole lives.