The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Now Cindi was back home for the day, a driven slave determined to make me proud. But she was a bit surprised at how she found herself. She was in a great-dane-sized dog bed in her own bedroom. At first she had a warm feeling thinking that I had not sent her home after all, but then she realized that it was, in fact, her bedroom, not mine. Besides, this dog bed was a different color and a slightly different shape than the one at my house.

Looking up, she saw an envelope taped to the bedroom door, with Annette’s beautiful flowing script. But this note was at her standing eye level and labelled “Cynthia”. Inside she found ... an apology?

Dear Cynthia,

I’m terribly sorry for spacing out while going through your morning routine a few hours ago. In the tub this morning I was trying to shave your legs and I forgot to “pray down the shield” first. I’m afraid that I not only ruined your blade, but actually broke the razor too. I’ve never shaved my legs before so that might be an excuse, except that Master specifically had reminded me about the shield, and I forgot anyway.

But that’s not the worst part. Having made that stupid mistake, I then forgot to “pray down the shield” again when I started blow-drying your hair. Needless to say the brush broke off at the handle. I guess I just don’t know your own strength.

(°‿°)

So after breakfast I went out to replace your broken toiletries, stopping at the Bull’s Eye store just down the road. On the way back I noticed one of those big-box pet stores and decided that I would surprise you. Master said you really liked the doggy bed, that it gave you “good little subbie goose bumps” the first time you saw it. So I figured you might like one here at your home too.

In any case, welcome home! And sorry about the breakage. I’ll do better next time.

Your “little sister”,

Annette Dubois Wolfe

Cindi could not help but smile. This time she simply had to write something in return. But her regular crapola handwriting just wouldn’t do. She had to rummage around for her calligraphy pens and bond paper, and then she had to test the pens to see which ones still had ink since the first two she tried were dried out. But soon she was getting down to it.

Dearest Little Sister Annette,

Your apologies are entirely unnecessary. If you had any idea how many razors, brushes, pens, scissors, kitchen utensils, hammers I have accidentally broken over the years, you would have just shaken your head and laughed (At least, that’s what I do).

But thank you for replacing the items. And thank you ever so much for my new bed. It makes me feel so close to our Lord and Master, I get tingles just looking at it. It makes me wonder if I should go out now and get a doggy dish.

But most of all I want to thank you for taking such great care of my body while I am away, and for allowing me to use your amazingly sensitive, sexy, perfect body in the exchange. I will continue to follow your care instructions to the letter. I hope that by being a good steward, our Lord will continue to allow me to feel the submissive joy and the explosive thrills that I can only feel in your body.

Yours,

Cindi Cumdump

PS: I love Julia. She was so kind to me, and she is sooooo sexy. If you see her before I do, please tell her I said, “Rrrowr!“

Having posted her response envelope—addressed to ”Annette”—on the inside of the bedroom door, she now began to seriously consider how to best please me on her new mission. The first thing that occurred to her was that her old self was so utterly foreign to her new nature—her true nature—that in order to remember to properly impersonate Majesticu—, um, Majestic Woman, she would have to give herself constant reminders.

Inspiration struck her as she is putting away her calligraphy pens. She took the pen in her hand and looked into her desk for some yellow sticky notes. It was just a little acronym, a fairly cryptic one, but it would definitely keep her on her toes. It would be the ever-present mnemonic she needed to ensure that she would be the best imitation Majestic Woman that she could be. Everywhere she would look she would see them. Every time I might need her to wrap the shell of Majestic Woman around her true self she would be prepared to do it. All she had to do is keep this thought in the forefront of her head at all times. It was simplicity itself. She managed to run out of notes before her pen ran out of ink. Now she just needed to distribute them.

After this task her day now devolved down to waiting. Instead of her normal frantic multitasking in the media, I told her to relax a bit. I told her I would notify her if she were needed. I told her to spend her day immersing herself in the things that Majestic Woman would immerse herself in, if she only had time. She thought a bit, and then she had it, «It’s been a long time since I last read Sun Tzu!» The man had been born a contemporary of hers, but, of course, the vast gulf of miles between Greece and China made it impossible for them to have ever met or even to have heard of each other. Even so, there was something about knowing in an intimate, native way the times that were the backdrop for his writings that made Majestic Woman appreciate The Art of War in a deeper way. Her true self, Cindi Cumdump, couldn’t have cared less, except that this was part of the service I required of her.

And so, determined to make me proud, she read, treating it as if it were all still relevant to her life. Even at that, she still paused often in her reading to reflect on the nature of leadership, and how much she wished she could just leave behind the life of a leader and not have to deal with it anymore. She hoped I would end this masquerade soon; in only two more years it would be time for her fourth rotation as chair of the Legion of Heroes. Three terms were already the most that anyone had ever served, her burden in a way for being the last surviving founding member. It would be so much harder to keep up the masquerade if she had to be “on” all the time, which would be inevitable if she were in the big seat.

sigh «It’s all up to Him.» She felt again the peace in knowing that I was the one in control, that she only had to serve my will and make me proud.

She took a break for lunch and gave herself a little downtime from the impersonation. At that moment she remembered that I wanted her to learn how to dance. How to dance erotically. How to dance for my pleasure. She squeezed together her suddenly damp thighs at the thought. She was on her laptop now as she ate her salad, googling for local dance classes. To cut down on the pages and pages of listings she tried a number of limiting keywords until at last she saw this under the results for “dance class erotic”:

Erotic Belly Dancing

This class is designed to teach you how to dance in a way that will please anyone who is attracted to the female form. This is a class for beginners, but the latter sessions of the class will be quite challenging. You should be in good shape. We will be patient with shyness, but some nudity will be expected, especially in the last 3 weeks. Please leave your inhibitions and hangups at the door.

WHAT THIS CLASS IS NOT:

• This class is not an aerobic dance class, although it is quite a workout.
• This class does not teach the “westernized” form of the dance frequently featured at Middle-Eastern- or Mediterranean-themed clubs or restaurants, although many of the moves and rhythms are the same.
• This class is not a striptease dancing class, although most dances involve at least some removal of clothing.
• This class is not a stepping stone to dancing or stripping jobs, although you might be well-qualified for either at the end.

WHAT THIS CLASS IS:

The purpose of this class is to help you learn to express your sexual desire through the medium of dance. If this appeals to you, we would love the opportunity to teach you.

“YOU MUST BE TALLER THAN THIS LINE TO ENTER”:

• This is a ladies-only class; sorry, fellas.
• This is an adults-only class; dancers younger than 18 may not attend.

Cindi called the number and was rewarded with a pleasant female voice on the other end.

“Yes, I’d like to sign up for course number DA-526, it looks like the next section begins in two weeks, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, but we need to set up your interview with Yasmin first.”

“Interview?” asked Cindi, somewhat warily.

“Yes, ma’am. She likes to screen the student base, you know, since the class is kinda provocative.”

Cindi was relieved. “Sure, that makes sense. Do I meet her somewhere? Phone her?”

“She prefers in-face meeting and will meet you anywhere public in the Portal City metro area, but she will do phone if you absolutely cannot make the times work.”

“Um, okay, can you schedule for her?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“OH! Great! How about, um, now ... seriously, say, 30 minutes?”

By now I’m inside the staffer’s head. «Wow. Isn’t she the eager beaver!» “Let me text Yasmin and see if she has time now.“

“Sure.” Cindi waits impatiently, until ...

“Yes, ma’am, that works fine if you can meet her where she is. She is at Teddy Bear Skull Coffee Shop, near our offices on University. Would that work for you?”

“Absolutely. Tell her I’ll be there in, say, 20 minutes. My name is, ah, Cynthia.”

“Great ... She says she’ll be easy to find. She’s the one in red.”

Dishes rapidly done Cindi grabbed her keys and got in the car, where she suddenly realized she was still naked. Growling at herself in disgust, she literally flew to her bedroom and threw on underwear, jeans, t-shirt. As she drove off she thought about her mundane, functional bra and panties.

«Maybe I should go shopping afterwards.» Then a warm alternative occurred to her, «Noooooo. Maybe I should ask Annette to do it for me.»

Daydreaming about how her more experienced “little sister” might surprise her, she almost ran a red light. It sucked her back to reality. Majestic Woman was fanatical about traffic safety. It was not just a matter of being law-abiding. She dreaded the prospect of trying to explain how she had emerged from a wrecked car without a scratch.

«Maybe I should move one or two of those sticky notes to the car.» she thought.

As she entered the shop she looked around at the few customers she saw and mused silently about how time had made the Grateful Dead “mainstream”. Almost everyone was in suits or other business attire, while the walls, windows, and tables were adorned with Deadhead memorabilia.

«Um, no one in red though.»

Then behind the counter she saw the cashier, a small curvy woman whose olive skin closely matched Cynthia’s own. She was wearing a bright red t-shirt with pastel teddy bears marching across the chest. “Hi,” she said, smiling, “From the look on your face I’m guessing you must be Cynthia.” Then she yelled to the back, ”Karl, take the register. I’m on break.“

Cindi was not very impressed until she saw the woman move. Taking off her apron, walking around the counter, pulling out a chair at an empty table, sitting. Every movement flowing, sensuous, inviting.

«Yes. I think I came to the right place.»

“So, ah, Cynthia, why do you want to take my class? ”

The question clearly made Cindi nervous. She couldn’t exactly say “My magic Lord/Master/God who recently came to own me has commanded me to learn how to please him by dancing.” So she hesitated a bit before answering.

“My, um, boyfriend would like me to learn how to dance. Erotically.”

A pained look crossed Yasmin’s face. Suddenly she seemed to find new significance in the steel collar locked around Cindi’s throat. “Cynthia, when any ... conscientious ... person teaches ‘sexy’ classes for women, they look for certain ... signs. You just threw up the reddest of the red flags I look for. Look, I won’t tell you how to live your life, but I think you need a better boyfriend, not a dance class.”

As Yasmin rose sinuously from her seat, Cindi grabbed her arm, “Wait, Yasmin, it’s not like that!” «Yes, it is! But ...» “He just asked me if I could dance. He didn’t, like, force anything on me. I had to tell him ‘no’; I’ve always been more athletic than artistic. But the thought of dancing for him made me feel so ... hot!“

Taking her seat again, Yasmin replied, “Well, then. Let’s try this one more time. Cynthia, why do you want to take my class?“

Falling all over herself to answer, she blurted, “The first time I dance for him I want to make him cream his shorts!”

Yasmin chewed her lip as she thought over Cindi’s answer. Then she looked up and smiled. “Welcome to the class, Cynthia. Please be on time. For the first class, any comfortable workout clothes will do, but most students favor yoga pants and tank tops. Don’t wear a sports bra, athletic girl. You’re gonna want things to, uh, move,” Yasmin said, making her tits bounce without seeming to do anything at all.

“And we’ll be taking measurements that first class. We want to get them right.” she said, looking unabashedly at Cindi’s chest.

“Don’t forget to pay the costume fee, or I swear I’ll make you dance naked.” With a grin the dancing woman departed, back to her day job.

Later that evening, after dinner—Peking duck with home-made plum sauce—she read a passage from Sun Tzu that set her Majestic Woman simulation to thinking:

“We cannot enter into informed alliances until we are acquainted with the designs of our neighbors and the plans of our adversaries.”

«An alliance ... I wonder if we could get the Magic Lamp Corps to do some of the heavy lifting on the Betelgeusean situation? They’re supposed to be some kind of cosmic police force. Maybe a planned invasion against a non-spacefaring world would come under their purview?»

She put together a brief three-page analysis and fired it off to the executive team. Within minutes she received a very positive response from Magic Lamp himself, praising her profusely and cursing himself for a fool for not thinking of it himself: " ... It’s been so long since I have been earthbound that I forget that nearly everyone else in Earth is. Yes, this sort of threat is exactly the kind of thing the Corps was created to fight. May I send your white paper and your previous reports to Uena?“

Close on the heels of that message was one from the Wraith, praising her profusely and giving his permission, as chair, to release the reports, including Power Man’s original recon report.

Then praise from the rest of the team started to trickle in. «I’m surprised by all this wave of relief, or at least Majestic Woman would be. Sure it was going to be a tough fight, but we were certain to win, even on our own. Maybe Majestic Woman just didn’t project the right air of confidence in her previous reports.»

Then another thought came, filling her with pure warmth and joy, «Oh! My Lord will be so proud of me! Majestic Woman couldn’t have done this better herself!»

«“I am!“» I told her immediately. «“I’m very proud of you. Be ready to go in thirty minutes.“»

Joyfully she stripped off all those awful clothes and curled up nice and cozy in her new bed. Then she rose quickly as she remembered to write Annette a quick PPS about buying lingerie, but she made it back to bed in plenty of time.

When you are an eons-old body-hopping spirit that can read minds, very little surprises you. So you relish the surprises when they come along. Well, at least, that’s how it is for me. I don’t have any other data points to offer. Anyway, as I was saying, I was growing quite fond of the inventiveness of my new slave. Arriving at my penthouse flat, she changed her “greeting”. Prostrate on the floor she looked up at me with smoldering eyes. In a low sultry voice, she uttered, “Thank you, My Lord, for making me your slave. I can never repay you for this gift. What worthless service may I perform to show you how grateful I am?”

I was later to see that this was just a start. From now on every entreaty to serve me would start with some fresh note of gratitude for her new life.

I “rewarded” her immediately, pushing her over onto her back and taking her there on the hardwood floor, giving her orgasm after orgasm, looking into her eyes and telling her over and over what an especially “good girl” she was. Unfortunately, after only a few minutes I picked up frantic thoughts from Annette about a 4-alarm fire in a tenement in Portal City. Arrggh. I reluctantly threw myself into “high gear” and came after only a few more thrusts. It took another minute or two for Cindi to make the descent from her orgasmic mountaintop, though.

“Was that a ‘quickie’, My Lord?”

“Yes, unfortunately. There’s a major fire in Portal City. They need Majestic Woman.”

“You’re sending me back.”

“Just until you’re done.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

I made the switch, and she was ready to go, Annette had already dressed her in her uniform. I told her not to bother watching the news report; I would brief her on the way. As Cindi opened her back door, she looked at the sticky note placed on the door frame at eye-level, one of dozens just like it scattered around the house:

WWMWD?

She nodded her head. She had her “game face” on now. She was ready for action. She flew off into the night.

In less than a minute she was on the ground talking to the fire captain. Tom Cornet was the professional; she was under his direction, as always. They had worked together many times before. They were a team. He told her that he didn’t think she should carry in more water, they were already dumping half the river into the building; eight streams at full pressure. He wanted her to save the people trapped on the upper floors. Tom, incidentally was a bit puzzled by the stainless steel collar locked around her neck, but then again, her whole wardrobe was so over the top that he didn’t waste time thinking about it. He had a building full of people to rescue.

Majestic Woman was on the job immediately. But instead of her normal haphazard search and rescue approach, she had me. I directed her straight to the tenants who were in the most danger of suffocation or burns. Shield of Athena protected her from heat, flame, and smoke. She got them out first. I looked into the heads of the firemen exiting the building and saw which supports are the closest to giving way. I found all the trapped people above those supports and directed her to them next. Then I just pointed out the rest, starting with the children, then the adults, then the pets that had not died yet.

It was the best large building fire rescue she had ever run. Almost 300 saved by her alone out of 500-plus total survivors. The very fact that she had had time to rescue dogs and cats was a first. Only 4 confirmed dead. Only one of those was one that she had pulled out. Of course, that was the one she couldn’t stop thinking about.

«“She was old, Cindi. She had been breathing smoke for almost 5 minutes when we found her. Give yourself a break.“»

«But I could have been there sooner.»

«“How?“»

«I ... I could have been at home when Annette first heard.»

«“What, like before I took over? I get it, Cindi. Really, I do. But you have weigh the pros as well as the cons. Without me scouting for you, how many more lives would have been lost? Come on, Cindi! ’What Would Majestic Woman Do’ really? Would she beat herself up like this?“»

Her thoughts were scattered, hard to track. Against all logic she felt guilty for basking in orgasmic bliss in my penthouse while people were burning in Portal City. But ultimately she realized that this rescue effort really was something special. «You’re right, My Lord.»

Even so, the old woman’s face lingered in Cindi’s mind.

Hours later, after she had finished her post mortem with the smiling, ecstatic Tom and the rest of the tired firefighters, she flew back home. I swapped her with Annette as soon as she shut the door.

Back in the penthouse I had been sitting on the floor, back against the wall, cradling Annette’s head and chest in my arms. She had been frantic over the fire. But then suddenly finding herself in an orgasmic afterglow was a bit of a shock to her mind. I had been rocking her and reassuring her while she cried softly. I felt personally proud that she had not asked for Greg, although she did think about it. None of that had taken my attention away from the fire. By the time Majestic Woman was lighting down by her back door at home, exhausted and sleepy, Annette was ready to swap back.

So Cindi found herself cradled in my arms, looking up into my eyes. ”You saved all those people. You are the real hero. Whatever I can do for you could never be enough. But I want to try, My Lord. How may I serve you? How may I serve you?“

“I have a few ideas about that,” I said as I mauled her breast and I dove down onto her lips.

The weather had taken a turn for the better, unseasonably warm in fact, so we were having dinner on the balcony. Cindi had prepared tuna steaks with mango salsa and some sort of tangy creamed potato / wasabi combination. We were sharing a fine 2008 California Chardonnay. She was of course by my side, hip and thigh pressed against me, face down in her bowl. I was idly petting her as I ate, feeling her arousal from the inside.

I had some odds and ends to address, so I did.

“You haven’t taken a leave of absence from the Legion in a couple of years; I think you should.”

That got her attention! “To stay here with You, My Lord?“

“No, sorry. Don’t get too excited.” She turned back to her food, hoping to mask her disappointment.

“It’s just that ... it’s been a while since you last visited your mother, hasn’t it? An old-fashioned girl should let mommy know when she’s fallen in love.”

“Are you mocking me, My Lord?” Odd how she asked that while on all fours with her head over a dog dish.

“No! Not at all!”

Silence. “My Lord, does it really bother you that I love you?”

“No ... No, baby bitch. It’s okay.” It was an honest answer, and not the one I would have given a few days ago. I would have to think about that more before I put the plan into motion. I couldn’t go soft here. I also couldn’t let myself get sidetracked.

“Seriously, your dance class doesn’t start for another two weeks. Everyone in the Legion is head-over-heels with Majestic Woman’s handling of the Betelgeuse situation. Your life has changed more in the past week than it has in the entire previous two-plus millennia. You ought to visit Themiscyra. Hoist some grog with some old army buddies. Remember the places and people of your youth. Talk. To. Your. Mother.”

The light came on. She realized that it wasn’t really a suggestion. “Yes, My Lord. I will report my leave as soon as I get back. How long do you think I should stay?”

“A few days at least, a week might be too long, but you should probably tell the Legion a week, just in case. You wouldn’t want to miss out on anything because you have to cut it short.”

“I won’t be able to spend as much time here, will I? ... Um, My Lord.”

“You picked up on that pretty quickly. No, you won’t. You’ll be with a lot more people, a lot more hours of the day. If you can manage to get 8 hours sleep time you can spend all 8 hours here. Sleeping hours in Greece overlap some with sleeping hours here so you’ll be better off if you stay up late carousing with your pals.”

I couldn’t tell her the whole story about this yet. She’d just fret and worry about it. In any case, if things went well everything I had just said would be accurate.

“I figured. Thank you, My Lord.”

“If you manage to have a real heart-to-heart with Hippolyta, you will thank me. I promise.“

The groan from the vicinity of the dish was decidedly not sexual. “My Lord, if you had ever attempted to have a ‘heart-to-heart’ with my mother,” the last word said with all venom of a frustrated teenage girl, “you might not say that.“

“Be that as it may ...”

“sigh Yes, My Lord. I ... I will not fail you.“

Dinner was soon done, after she finished she begged permission to bring me off under the table. It was becoming our “after dinner” thing. I leaned back and looked out over the sky line while she worked me. She was getting better, almost no hesitation at all as I went down her throat.

Later, after she had cleaned up, she surprised me with another first. She reported for discipline:

• for impatience (chafing at the need for her masquerade)
• for misrepresenting me to a muggle (Yasmin)
• twice for lack of faith (1: after the fire, 2: during dinner)
• twice for breaking character (1: while driving, 2: after the fire)
• for defiance (during dinner).

Most of these perceived “sins” were utter crap. Today had been her most perfect day of service yet. But I knew better than to tell her that. You couldn’t tell a devoted slave who thought she’d failed you that she hadn’t. She’d think you didn’t care. I know, it sounds nuts, but it’s true.

So I took her to my bedroom. I heard her confession. I gave her the stripes from my belt that she demanded. I held her and reassured her and gave her the best verbal guidance I could. I made sure she understood the mitigating factors. I helped her avoid making the “same mistakes” in the future.

Then, I laid her back on the bed. I began to stroke her in a different way. Looking her in the eye, I slowly and carefully explained the myriad ways in which she had proven to be a good and faithful slave today, making her cum after (and sometimes during) each recounting:

• the ”WWMWD?” Sticky notes
• her apt choice of The Art of War for keeping her Majestic Woman character sharp
• the absolute perfection of her cooking
• the brilliant insight to bring allies into the struggle with Betelgeuse
• how good and kind she was to her sister slaves Julia and Annette
• her flawless obedience to me during the fire rescue

And on and on, I must have come up with a dozen different “good girls”, and I rewarded her with at least one orgasm for each one. She was stunned speechless and crying tears of profound joy when I finally let loose my seed within her.

After sending her home, I sat brooding for several hours. She had been on the way to turning herself into a complete pain slut, and I had pulled her back from the brink. Why did I do that? Considering what was yet to come for her, developing a pain fetish would have made her much more ... tractable.

This plan was too important for me to screw it up now. This was about survival, my survival. I needed to keep my head in the game.