The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My god, you can’t believe how hard it is for me to write this. I have to just type without thinking too hard about the words, just CONCENTRATE on the keyboard, or I start feeling sick and like I’m gonna pass out. I can’t talk about it at all, and just realized that maybe if I type it I can tell my story. I’m just hoping that I can post this on the net so somebody out there will step in and stop what’s happening to me!

It’s only since the car accident that I’ve been remembering bits and pieces of the story. They started as dreams, but far too vivid to be figments of my subconscious. Of course, it didn’t seem that way at first. I mean, what I was dreaming is in no way how I was brought up to act. And I’ll NEVER drink lemonade again!

You see, I went to strict Catholic schools, wore the uniform, remembered to ALWAYS keep my legs crossed, and to make sure the boys weren’t trying to see my panties reflected in my shiny black shoes. I think that’s partly why I turned into such a willing victim, due to the natural curiosity any normal human has about how boys are different than girls.

By the way, my name’s Shannon. I’m 5′1″ and weigh about 90 lbs. I’ve always been into sports, so I’m naturally slim and toned...and, no, not anorexic! My breasts never really grew after puberty, so they’re fairly small mounds. I rarely wear bra, because I really don’t need one. My nipples protrude about a half inch when they’re aroused, which is just about all the time.....

Damn it, there I go again! I’m still under his control, thinking about sex all the time! God, how I hope there’s someone out there who can help me!!

Let me tell you how it all happened. Maybe then someone will know how to break this hold he has on my mind.

It all started when Mom and Dad were breaking up. Dad was never really around for me, so when he got a job clear across the country, he took it without even talking to Mom. Mom was an alky anyway, and this just took her over the edge. She dropped out of sight for a couple of months, and as far as I know she’s still on the streets somewhere.

Well, Dad wasn’t about to quit his job, so he asked Uncle Gordon (oh, how I despise him now!) to watch over me. Even though I was now in college, he thought it best to have someone watching me. Gordon’s not really my uncle, he’s actually an old flame of Mom’s that Dad never knew about—just thought for all these years that he was an OK guy. How stupid could they be!

Anyway, I moved in with Gordon, and things were OK for the first week or so. Then it began to get a little wierd. I began finding girlie magazines lying around, just soft core stuff. At first. I didn’t pay them any mind, but was certainly uncomfortable coming down to breakfast and seeing pictures of a nude girl lying on the table.

Once I came upon Gordon leafing through one of those magazines. He made a show of trying to hide it, then sheepishly said “Guess I’ll have to be a bit more careful about these!”

But he wasn’t, and soon I saw my first picture of a naked guy...standing there with a girl in front of him, her tongue stretched out towards this thing sticking out in front of his body (we had never had any health or sex education in school by then), and some kind of white stuff all over her face. I picked it up and stood there, shocked, trying to figure out what was going on. Then I heard Gordon come in. I whirled around and saw him leaning against the doorframe, shirtless, with a smirk on his face. “I see you found my little present for you, Shannon,” he said. “So what do you think?” I froze, more frightened than I ever had been before. I dropped the magazine, ran into my room and locked the door for the night. I had no idea what it all meant, but was pretty sure it was one of the sins the nuns had warned us about.

When I woke up the next morning, I carefully unlocked the door and peeked out. Gordon wasn’t there. I checked the whole house, but he was gone. I was terribly thirsty, but when I opened the fridge, there was nothing there but a pitcher of lemonade. I thought that a bit odd, since there was usually an assortment of juices and milk. But, not thinking anything was unusual, I poured and downed a big glass of lemonade.

You gotta understand that since this all happened, I didn’t remember a thing about that whole day. In fact, I believed I was still at home with my parents all this time! Not until the accident did I begin to remember all of this.

Anyway, after drinking the lemonade I began to feel a little lightheaded. Then Gordon came in! He was dressed only in a little Speedo-type bathing suit. I had forgotten to look by the pool! I felt afraid, but only a little bit, and was frozen in my seat. “How strange I feel,” I remember thinking.

“Hi, Shannon,” he said. “I see you found the lemonade. That’s good, because now you’ll never be afraid of me again. Isn’t that right, Shannon? You’re not afraid of me now.”

It was like something clicked in my mind. My fear went away, though I didn’t move. “I’m not afraid of you, Gordon,” I could hear myself saying. I remember thinking “That’s funny, I was afraid of him, but I don’t remember why any more.” Of course, that was all because of the lemonade...though he didn’t tell me that until much later.

“That’s a good girl,” he said. “We’re going to get along just fine from now on. Tell me that’s so.”

“We’re going to get along,” I replied, and I couldn’t help thinking that we would, too.

“You’re getting turned on seeing me,” he said. “Feel the warmth flow through your body.”

I remember thinking how manly he looked, nicely tanned and nearly naked. I could feel a stronger tingle between my legs than I had ever felt before. My nipples began to stiffen, straining against the fabric of my halter top.

“I feel it, Gordon,” I heard myself say.

“From now on, my name is Master. Say it.”

“Yes, Master,” I replied.

“Come over here,” he commanded.

I walked towards him until he ordered me to stop, about three feet away from him. At this point, I began thinking of the pictures in the magazine, and unconsciously started staring at the bulge in his crotch.

“You like what you see, Shannon,” he said. “Beg me to show you more.”

“Please let me see more of you, Master,” I replied. I reached out to his bathing suit, but he slapped my hands away. I remember being surprised at this and let out a sob.

“Not yet, Shannon. First you have to show me more of you. Take off your top.”

“No!” I said. “It’s...it’s not right. I mean...yes, Master...no...” The years of training were hard to break at that point.

“I think you need to drink another glass of lemonade....NOW!” he commanded.

Of course, I had no deep-seated inhibitions against that. While it had been drilled into me not to undress in front of a boy, they never taught me to resist the kind of mind control Gordon had exerted over me by whatever was in the lemonade. I poured and drank a tall glass, and immediately began to feel ashamed of refusing my master.

“Now get over here and take off your top!” he ordered me.

This time I obeyed without protest. I untied my halter and let it slip off my shoulders to the floor. That morning I had left off my training bra, so my stiff nipples pointed at him like twin cherries.

Gordon reached out and cupped my budding breasts in his hands and began using his thumbs to play with my nipples. His hands actually were a bit cold, making them swell even further. I let out a moan of delight which I couldn’t control. The electricity flew from my nipples through my entire body. My legs began to tremble and I had trouble standing up.

“You like that,” Gordon said. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful, Master” I breathed. “Please don’t stop.”

Of course, that made him stop right away. He stepped back as I slowly got my eyes in focus again. “Sit down,” he commanded, and I found a chair without taking my eyes off of him.

He reached in his bathing suit, pulled out his penis. The top part was sticking out over the waistband a good 7 inches, and he hadn’t pulled them down at all. (He’s about 9 inches long all together.) I reached out towards it and again he slapped my hands away.

“Not yet, slave,” he said.

“Please let me touch it, Master,” I whined.

“Not yet. You have to earn it. You have to prove to me you’ll be a good little girl.”

“I’ll be good, Master,” I said. “Please let me touch it!”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the chair, leading me to my makeup table. He shoved me in the chair. “Fix your face like you did for that dance last weekend,” he commanded.

I hesitated a bit, because for the dance my friend Heather had come over and helped me. Then I started in, applying just a little bit of blush to my cheeks, a pale eye shadow, and mascara. Next I took out my pink lipstick and put a sheer coat on my lips.

“More,” Gordon ordered me. “Put on more lipstick—slowly this time.”

When I turned back to the mirror I noticed he had moved behind me so I could see his penis in the mirror. He had lost his bathing suit somewhere along the way. I remember thinking “I shouldn’t be seeing a man naked” but it didn’t make a dent in the control he had over my mind. I had trouble concentrating on what I was doing because my eyes were drawn to his penis. I took the lipstick and slowly put a thick coat on while staring at him, watching it throb with pleasure.

“Now the shiny stuff,” he commanded. “Lots of it.”

I recalled then how the women in the magazines looked, all of them wearing really shiny lip gloss as they reached their mouths towards penises. I realized then that’s what he wanted me to look like. So I toook out my gloss and covered my lips with a thick, gooey coat. In the mirror, they looked so wet I thought they might drip off my face!

I turned back to Gordon. “Do I look acceptable now, Master,” I asked.

Gordon didn’t answer. Instead, he came near, pushing my legs apart and moving between them until the tip of his penis was just an inch from my face. I remember almost fainting from the excitement. “Stare at it, bitch,” he ordered. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“Oh, Master, it’s...it’s beautiful,” I whispered. “What do you call it?”

“Cock. Dick. Prick. Say it.”

“Beautiful cock,” I whispered, my lips just inches from the tip, which was already leaking pre-come fluid. “Beautiful dick. I need your dick, Gordon. I need dick. I want dick.” All the time my mind was spinning. It seemed the closer he stood to me, the less I could resist. Although I was under his control, I remember feeling humiliated, ashamed. “Can...can I touch it?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “With your tongue. Use just the tip of your tongue, and lick it at the very tip, around the hole.”

One last remnant of my school training came to the surface then. “But....but won’t that make me a slut?”

“Yes it will,” he answered. “You are a slut. You’re my good little slut from now on. Good sluts listen to their masters. Good sluts lick and suck dick. Now lick it!”

I did as he ordered. I nearly swooned with pleasure as I swirled the very tip of my tongue around the bulging tip of his penis. His pre-come tasted salty, and I tried to stick my tongue into the little hole at the end.

I’ll say this for Gordon, although he talked mean, he was very gentle this first time. He placed his hands on my head and slowly pushed the head of his cock into me. My lip gloss smeared the head, lubricating it so it easily slid into my mouth. Without being told, I knew to open wide so my teeth wouldn’t scratch it. I swirled my tongue around and around the head. My pussy was on fire, and I used a free hand to begin playing with myself, my moans of pleasure muffled by his dick in my mouth. But even though my body was reacting with pleasure, my mind was swimming in despair. I felt worthless, used.

He began slowly sawing his prick in and out of my mouth, every time going in a little bit deeper. He was training me to take more and more of it. “You won’t gag, bitch,” he ordered. “Do you understand me? Use your mind; concentrate on not gagging.” It was unbelievable—he was pushing more and more of his cock into my mouth and I WASN’T gagging! The first time I felt the head touch the back of my throat, I fingered myself harder and had an orgasm right then. My cries were choked off by the swollen member deep inside me.

“Swallow as I push it in,” he ordered. His voice was changing, becoming huskier. I didn’t know what this meant, but at that time I didn’t care. I followed his command, and the next time he thrust into me I swallowed his cock as best I could. And I guess I did a good job, because my nose ended up buried in his pubic hair and I could feel his testicles hitting my chin.

He pulled his prick halfway out, then all of a sudden it started twitching. Never being with a man before, I didn’t know what this meant, so I was startled when my mouth started filling up with some warm liquid. I tried to back off, but Gordon held my head firm. I swallowed one big gulp, but there was way too much. I felt it exploding past my lips, running down my chin and all down my chest. I groaned with pleasure, my body again belying what was going on in my mind. I remember feeling dirty, soiled, like one of those trashy sluts the nuns warned us we’d become if we gave in to a boy.

Gordon left his cock in me for a couple of squirts, then pulled it out and began shooting the rest on my face. He held a fistful of my hair so I couldn’t move out of the way. I just closed my eyes and recalled how the girls in the magazines looked.

“Aaaahhhhh,” he moaned. “You love this, Shannon. Tell me how much you love experiencing my cum.”

Again I couldn’t control what I said. “I love your cum,” I moaned, as more kept splashing on my face and dripping off of it. “I love the taste. I love how warm and wet it feels on my face. Let me have more, Gordon,” I begged. I was totally humiliated by then, feeling used just like the blow-up dolls I had seen in the ads in the back of his magazine. I wanted to cry.

Done spraying, he moved forward and slapped his cock onto my face, rubbing the cum all over. I kept talking dirty to him, interrupted only when he shoved his softening prick into my mouth for a stroke or two.

He backed away. “Play with my cum,” he ordered.

I ran my fingers around my face, picking up cum and slowly licking it off. “Mmmmmm. That tastes great,” I said. I looked down and began playing with the gobs of cum which had dripped onto my breasts. I spread the cum all over them, getting turned on by how shiny the goo made them. I noticed some cum on my skirt. I played with it for a moment and looked up at him, pouting. “You made a mess of my skirt, Gordon,” I complained.

“Take it off,” he commanded. Of course I complied. “Suck it off” he ordered. I brought the skirt to my lips and sucked off as much of the cum as I could.

“Now stay there and don’t move,” he ordered. He left the room and came back with his camera. He took a bunch of pictures of me as I sat there, covered in cum, feeling totally used and worthless while unable to do anything about it.

Gordon wouldn’t let me shower or get dressed for the rest of the day. Over and over again, at least once an hour, he raped my mouth with his penis and spewed his cum all over me. His domination of me was complete. But that was just the beginning......