The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was morning again, and Cynthia wanted to feel conflicted. She wanted to feel disgusted with herself. She wanted to hate herself for groveling before the Lord of her dreams. But she didn’t. She couldn’t even bring herself to fake it. She felt good! The sun was shining. The birds were singing. Colors seemed brighter. Smells seemed sweeter. The whole world was a fucking Disney musical! She had just had the most amazing sexual experience — the most amazing experience period — of her entire two thousand, four hundred eighty-two year existence.

Like a loyal puppy, she had reveled in his praise. Even now as she heard him say “good girl” in her mind, she shivered. Her nipples turned into pencil erasers. Her pussy turned into a warm, wet vise. Like a faithful slave, she had obeyed his every whim. She had even tried to anticipate his needs and desires and to obey those. Like a submissive contrite little child, she had accepted his right to discipline her. She had even begged him to spank her, to punish her, to purify her, to shape her again into his perfect “good girl”.

It had cost her every last ounce of her self-respect. But oh, what she had been given in return! She had always been a devout woman her entire life; hell, she had actually been face-to-face with her Gods! But last night — in a dream! — was the first truly religious experience in two and a half millennia of full and accomplished life.

«So this is what it feels like to be fulfilled, to find that thing that was missing from your life!»

It had only been a dream — a dream! — but it still consumed her. She had awoken from her dream in a supplicant’s pose: head down, ass up, arms outstretched. It had felt — right. She had drifted back to sleep in the same position and had awoken again this morning in the same position. It still felt right.

Even her morning routine was suddenly free of fear and stress. Gone was the visceral terror at the sound of draining water. Towels and washcloths inspired no dread. She had no fear of “Discipline”. She was now fully disciplined! She had experienced both the carrot and the stick. While the stick was truly terrifying, the carrot was so — yummy — that she was certain that her Lord would never again need the stick to bring her to heel.

I must note at this point that I am sometimes surprised by my own handiwork. In her mind, Majestic Woman had just described her “fantasy” sex life as “yummy”. Yes!

But even beyond her newfound submissive serenity, she could only take the tiny chiding inner voice of self-disgust so seriously. It was just a freaking dream after all! Yes, it was a dream where she had surrendered herself into sexual slavery, but still just a dream.

«Besides, it’s not like he gave me a choice anyway. I could drown in “Discipline” hell until I broke — and break I would, every time — or I could just submit from the outset and be rewarded beyond my wildest dreams. Well, I guess not “beyond” my wildest dreams, » she giggled — actually giggled! — to herself, «My wildest dream ever just happened! And that reward was in the dream not beyond it.»

And so it went for Cynthia all morning. She was fooling herself into believing she could have her “dream” cake and eat in too. Every self-reassurance that it was “only a dream” was followed immediately by a visceral, nearly childish, thrill in how vividly real were her animal arousal and her orgasmic pleasure, her rewards for accepting the yoke of her Lord and Master. She was clearly at war with herself over her dream behavior, but the forces of feminist anger and shame were weak and outnumbered. They were fighting a flagging rearguard retreat. And the forces of subservient bliss were fresh, well-armed, and overwhelming. They seized the day despite the logical flaws in their arguments.

Her fight for her own freedom ultimately ended with a whimper, and she put it from her thoughts. Now she had the rest of her day before her. She was feeling refreshed, alert, alive.

«Ready to kick some supervillain ass!»

It was time to plant a seed, a reminder really.

«“Think of it as homework for next time.“»

Now we would see what sort of internal debate this kicked off.

Point: «He said I had an “incompetent mouth”! If I don’t — »

Counterpoint: «Oh Zeus’s Lightning, Cynthia. It’s just a dream!»

Point: «But it’s a dream with “Discipline”. He said, “Only bad slaves make excuses.” I can’t ignore this. He’ll punish me!»

(Of course, she conveniently ignores how much she wants to please me just because obedience feels good.)

Counterpoint: «Um. Okay, look, can we at least “time box” this, ah, fellatio research? I’m still a superheroine; I need to spend some time on some superheroics.»

Point: «Two hours, max!»

And thus Majestic Woman’s laptop was introduced to internet porn. I was very helpful with my seed thoughts for googling. Three hours later, she felt as if she had barely scratched the surface of the complicated subject of cocksucking. She had taken down some notes that seem to cover the basics:

• work up some spit. saliva = lubrication
• lips over teeth. teeth on penis -> BAD!!!
• tongue action -> stimulate glans (head), work underside, lick balls Before? During?
• suction: seal lips. Conflict w/ tongue action? Alternate?
• deep throat==all the way in! HE’S TOO BIG!!!
• “suppress gag reflex” -> WTF?! It bends UP, not down! more flexible than it looks??
• eye contact is sexy
• more from D/s “subbie” blogger on “face-fucking”: “If he grabs your head and starts thrusting, don’t freak out! It doesn’t necessarily mean that you screwed up or that he’s punishing you. It probably just means that he’s asserting his dominance, taking control. That’s what we want, right, ladies? OTOH, he might be punishing you. Have you been a naughty girl? Communication is important.“
• NEED TO PRACTICE!! -> with a dildo? with a MAN!? :—P
• Big Rubber Monster!!

This last note, I must add, was in reference to a short video she saw online. It started with a woman holding something jammed down her throat. Slowly she drew it out until you could see that the object was a two foot long translucent pink rubber dildo. As she wrote the note, mentally christening it with the acronym “BRM”, she thought to herself, «If I could deep throat THAT, I could take anything My Lord can throw at me.»

Looking at her notes she started to get nervous. This was beginning to snowball. She was already an hour outside of her time box, and she was nowhere near ready to “turn in her homework” to her Dream Lord. «“Only bad slaves make excuses” ... “Discipline”» No, those were not seeds from me. She did that all by herself.

«That’s it then. The whole day is shot. I’ve got to be ready to face Him.»

She needed to come up with a plan and execute it, right now! She seized upon the goal of swallowing the BRM. I was impressed; she had barely even touched man meat to her lips before and she already wanted to try out for the Cocksucking Olympic Team!

Her first problem, of course, was that she didn’t actually have a BRM. But never fear! I was there for her with helpful googling suggestion seeds, and in no time at all, she had located a brick-and-mortar store that sold exactly the desired “novelty”. Except ... she had no idea if they actually had it in stock, and the store was in Nez Pierce, Washington, almost a fourteen hundred miles away. The second problem was only a minor inconvenience for a woman who can fly, but transit time could become an issue. She was not Greased Lightning or Power Man; her top flight speed was only about eight hundred miles per hour. There were a few other sellers in her search results, but none that listed a physical store location. So she called the Nezzytown store.

The voice on the line was masculine and gravelly. “Ecstasy Connection, how may I serve you?”

«What the fuck?» That greeting really threw her off her stride. “H-hi, I’m calling to see if you have item ... D-1432-24?“

“Ah, I can only assume you’ve seen the video?”

«Arrgh. I wasn’t expecting to have to make small talk!»

“Um, yes. Do you have it?”

“Checking now, ma’am. Ye-e-es, we have two in stock. Shall I send you one?” I had located the mind on the other end of the phone now, and I was listening to his thoughts too.

“No,” said Cynthia, “I’ll be by to pick it up this afternoon. Can you hold one for me?”

Now he was confused, and maybe a little suspicious. “Um, ma’am, that’s a Portal City area code. What do you mean ‘you’ll pick it up this afternoon’?”

«Damn! Fuck caller ID!» thought Cynthia. “No, no,” she said, wracking her brain for a way out, “That’s, ah, my cell number. I’m actually in town, you know, on business!“

“Um, Oka-a-ay.” He still didn’t trust her. You got some weird people calling sex stores sometimes. “But I’ll need a credit card to run that hold for you.”

«Shit! Shit! Shit! I don’t want this loser to know my NAME!» “Really? Look, I swear I’ll be there in just a few hours.“

“Ma’am, it’s store policy,” he invented, “Look, I’ve got a line at the checkout here. Could you call back?” The store was empty. He was just trying to get rid of her.

“No, No, just wait a sec. I’ve got to dig it out of my purse.” She ran for her purse, came back, gave him the card info.

He ran the authorization right then, still not trusting her. “Okay, Missus—”

“Ms.”

“Miz, ah, Royal, that item will be waiting for you. What time should I expect you?”

“Sometime this afternoon. I have some meetings, and besides that, I’m not completely sure where you are. How far you are from me, that is.”

“Sure, we’re right downtown. Oh, and we close at eight.”

As she hung up she started making plans. She was still two hours away at her top speed, making the round trip almost four hours. This would seriously cut into her practice time. She was about ready to book a hotel room in Nezzy, but then remembered that last night was the only night of the three that she didn’t damage things in her sleep.

So she decided now to do something borderline unethical, something she had never done before. She was about to use the teleporter in Spyglass for personal business. This was not a seriously bad breach of ethics. But she recalled that Eagle Warrior had once used it when he realized he had forgotten about his son’s birthday party two states away. He had managed to make it on time, but had reported some awkward questions afterward from one of the other adults about where his car was, or rather wasn’t.

Again, not a big deal, but bad form, somewhat risky, something the LoH discouraged. She had a reputation as one of the most personally upright — some would say uptight — heroes in the LoH. Just because it was Majestic Woman making personal use of the teleporter, someone might notice. Noticing would be bad for her considering what would be in her “shopping bag” on the trip back! But she had to do this.

So she pulled out her lead box to take with her, thinking, «This is starting to get complicated.» Many members of the LoH — especially those gifted with super-strength — kept a cubic-foot-sized lead box handy so that if Power Man or his young cousin Powerhouse were exposed to rheanite, one of the others, bearing an aforementioned lead box, could come rescue him/her and could pack away the selectively-deadly radioactive crystal for disposal. She had no idea if the teleporter’s monitors could “see” through lead, but it was the best she could do on short notice.

She had the box and was about to signal for teleportation when she realized she was still naked; she had been all day. Quickly she dressed in a conservative business suit — after all, she had told the guy she was in Nezzy on business — grabbed the box and signaled for teleport.

In Spyglass the duty officer was a minor hero from Australia whose name she could not remember; his hero name, The Rock, was pretty hard to forget though. He came off as a bit of a macho prick, but she was pretty sure it was just a front.

“So, Cynthia! Biznez o-ah plehzhah.”

“It’s personal, um, Rock. I need you to set me down in Nez Pierce, uh, Washington, USA, somewhere secluded near the corner of Sixth Avenue and Newgate Street.”

The Rock had been hoping to get a bit of a rise out of his senior colleague, using the overly familiar “Cynthia” rather than “Ms. Royal” or better yet “Majestic Woman”.

«She must be really distracted not to jump on red meat loike that.»

Using the teleporter’s remote viewer, the Rock looked around at the indicated area, noting the train tracks, the warehouses, the loading docks.

“Nawt exac’ly the city hawt spawt, eh, Cyn? Secluded should bay ayzie. How ’bout heah?”

It was the space between two semi trailers at adjacent loading docks about a block from the store.

Cynthia thought, «Not a hot spot indeed. Great neighborhood to fence a stolen watch or buy some meth, maybe.» “Sure, that looks great, Rock.“

«Son of a bandicoot! I just called her “Cyn” and she didn’t even bat an eyelash! Something is definitely strange here.»

He was getting uncomfortably suspicious, so I tried planting a seed, «Cut ’er some slack, boy-o. Even oice queens deserve a lit’le consideration.»

He bought it.

“Ow-ways a pleazhah t’ give a luvlie sheila a lif’!”

Thankfully he hit the button and she was gone.

On the ground again she quickly made her way to the store, remembering to hide the lead box behind a bush along the way.

«Whoa! Fox. In. The. House.» thought the clerk as Cynthia walked in, «Kim Kardashian’s face, hair, and skin wrapped around Pamela Anderson’s — No, Bianca Beauchamp’s — body. Well ... if Bianca’s tits were real maybe. It’s a shame to try to hide that body under that conservative business combo though».

He did not associate this confident sexy woman with the neurotic chick he just got off the phone with. But rather than browsing a while — as he hoped she would — she walked straight up to him and announced herself.

“I’m Cynthia Royal. You’re holding an, um, item for me?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, Ms. Royal. I haven’t even pulled it down yet. Let me go back and get it.” «I couldn’t have guessed that one more wrong,» he thought as he walked into the back warehouse, «I would have guessed some mousey school-teacher-church-lady type with a kinky, demanding new boyfriend. This is a woman who could have any man she wants! ... But maybe I’m right about the boyfriend ... Ah, there it is.»

Soon he was back out front. “Wow, you, ah, got here pretty fast. I wasn’t expecting you until much later.”

“Yes, one of my meetings was postponed, so I got a ride over here. It turns out you’re not that far away.”

He was suspicious again, «Oh really? You got a ride from a business associate to an X-rated toy store?» “Um, okay. That’ll be twenty-six, sixty-nine, heh. Keep it on your card?“

“No. Here’s thirty bucks.”

“And ... your ... change. Plain bag or store bag, ma’am?”

She shuddered slightly. She couldn’t imagine carrying, or even possessing, a bag labelled “Ecstasy Connection”.

“Plain bag please.”

As she turned to walk out he wondered, «Should I tell her?»

Seeing what he was thinking I planted a powerful «Yes!» seed in him.

“Uh, ma’am, Ms. Royal.”

She turned, “Yes?”

«Wow! Those eyes!» he thought, and then remembered that he was going to say something. “Um, you know that it’s fake, don’t you?“

“What?”

“The video you saw. It’s fake. That rubber, um, cock comes in four sizes. In the video she is pulling it out? ... They did a very good job, but I have some friends who do video editing, y’know? They say you can tell where they did the cuts. She starts out with the smallest one in her mouth, then just as it’s about to come all the way out they cut and switch to the next one, then another cut for the next one, and then another cut for the largest one. I mean she had to have it a little way into her throat each time, but not most of the way down to her stomach.“

Cynthia suddenly looked stricken. Inside she was churning. All this “practice” she had intended to do and her “goal” might not even be humanly possible!

He sighed, “Look. The sign says ‘All sales are final’, but you paid cash, and you haven’t opened it. I can take it back if you want.”

“No, no, I think I’ll keep it. It may make a good joke if nothing else.” But her shoulders were visibly slumped as she walked out.

«Wow. That really shook her. Maybe, I should close up and follow her, just to make sure she makes it to her ride.» But even as he was thinking that his pants started to tent; he had visions of “comforting” her. I had to nip this in the bud, for lots of reasons. So I planted a seed image of “myself” — Greg, really; y’know, six-foot-five blond Adonis — as her boyfriend. In the seed vision I was getting out of my hot sports car as she climbed in, I was chasing him down, and then I was laying him out with one punch. It was risky to try to plant that much visual as a seed, but it worked. He stayed put.

She boxed the dildo, returned to the warehouse loading dock, called for teleport, and safely got her dick-in-a-box past the Rock. For his part, the Rock could tell she wasn’t in a bantering mood and put her back in her living room right where she had been when she left.

Just two hours after her return home she was crying. Cynthia Royal, Majestic Woman, superheroine — no, a leader among superheroes — war hero, former Commander-in-Chief of the Amazon Army, “Guardian of Portal City” with the statue to prove it, was reduced to tears by her inability to suck a rubber cock. It wasn’t that she couldn’t get down the basics: she had worked up plenty of spit, she had pretty good tongue action on the tip and on the underside, she (eventually) was able to take it all the way into her mouth without making “tooth contact”, and she was getting a nice rhythm going in and out.

But she could not get the damned thing down her throat! First, there was the problem of the Shield of Athena, that aura of invulnerability that surrounds and suffuses her body. The shield simply would not allow that monster to pass into her throat.

This “inconvenient invulnerability” problem was actually a daily occurrence, and so was her means of getting around it. She often needed to weaken or eliminate the shield, for example, whenever she wanted to clip her nails, or cut or style her hair, or shave her legs and armpits, or wax her nether regions — hey, have you seen her uniform? That’s a pretty challenging bikini line for a dark-haired Mediterranean girl! — or even get a little drunk — the shield stopped toxins like alcohol too. She would weaken the shield by “praying to Athena”. At least that was what she believed she was doing. Remember, they were not really “gods”, they were not really omnipresent, and they certainly didn’t hear and answer prayer. My theory of the moment was that they had built a semi-conscious backdoor AI into the shield technology, triggered by her “prayer”. Or, who knows, maybe it really was magic after all.

«O Great Goddess Athena,» she silently intoned, «Please remove your divine protection over my throat, so that through mortal weakness I may act on mortal needs.» She felt truly guilty asking Athena to facilitate her imaginary sex life, but she reminded herself, again, that Aphrodite was also one of her patrons.

So, throat was no longer an impassable barrier. But, alas, that only made the problem worse. Now she was stymied by the very “mortal weakness” for which she had prayed. She simply could not stop the gagging. The second the rubber cockhead touched the back of her throat the reflex took over. It was all she could do avoid chucking up her lunch. She could even feel her esophagus clamping shut and pushing back.

And even worse, trying to force it really hurt. Her abused throat was going to be sore for days now, and she was no closer to swallowing the BRM than she had been when she started. This whole thing was a disaster.

So there she sat, BRM in her lap, utterly desolate.

“sob ‘Just suppress sob your gag reflex,’ they say. sob ‘It’s easy,’ they say snif.“

Actually, none of her research had said it was easy, but she was not exactly in a reasonable state of mind right now. Besides that, she had seen quite a bit of very skilled face-fucking today, and they certainly did make it look easy. But I truly had not expected her to be reduced to such child-like despair, not in this body anyway.

Look, there were lots of things that could have been going wrong for our heroine right then. To begin with, she was trying to stuff a seven-inch circumference rubber rod into a four-inch circumference hole. On top of that, saliva, while a fairly good skin-on-soft-tissue lubricant, was lousy for rubber-on-soft-tissue. She might have had better results if she had used an actual sex lubricant on the BRM. But it was also quite possible that our Cynthia was one of those people who simply couldn’t voluntarily control her gag reflex are all.

So she was in despair, at her wit’s end. She was terrified of “Discipline”, yes, but she was even more afraid of simply disappointing me, of failing to be desirable, of being a “bad slave”. She knew I would never reward her for this kind of failure, and she wanted to be rewarded. The Majestic Woman of four days before would not even recognize who she was now.

Cynthia still hadn’t had dinner, but she was too depressed to cook, and Cynthia loved to cook. She rummaged through the freezer and found a serving of casserole that she had set aside for some too-rushed-to-make-a-real-meal evening. So, turkey divan heating in the microwave, tea kettle heating on the stove, she picked up an orange and absent-mindedly peeled it. Her mind was stuck in a failure loop. Tears flowed again, in silence this time.

Meal finished, kitchen cleaned, evening stretching out before her. Cynthia Royal fell further into her funk. She dreaded going to bed tonight even more than she had the last night.

«Last night I had a plan. Tonight I don’t know what the plan could possibly be. Throw myself at his mercy and hope for the best? Ha, mercy!» Memories of drowning flooded her mind. «Mercy is not very high on My Lord’s agenda. When He tells me to blow him maybe I should just cut to the chase and offer him my ass instead.» Now memories of that horror resurfaced. She started to shake; tears made new tracks on her face.

She tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate. She tried to watch TV, even though she hated TV. She went out for a walk, but that just left her alone with her thoughts again. Eventually, she decided to face the inevitable, called it an early night, and went to ‘bed’.