The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Lily standing in the kitchen, in yoga pants, sports bra, and tank top. Barefoot.

“Huh?” Adam at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, looking out the sliding glass door at the sunrise of a cool fall morning. His mind had wandered. It was doing a lot of that lately.

“Cleaning Jill’s home. While she and I work out. You don’t mind it?”

“Eh,” shrugged Adam. “It’s either that or work out, too.” He flexed. “And become more manly.”

Wow, thought Lily. There’s an ironic segue if there ever was one.

“Sweetie,” she said, coming close, smerping her lips on his forehead. “You’re already man enough for me. Man, and more besides.”

In response to Adam’s quizzical look, Lily just brought her lips to his ear and whispered her favorite words for the third time in a week: “Doggies don’t wear clothes. Strip, doggie.”

A trigger. One of a few. But it was the first one she’d implanted, and it was the one she loved the most. A doggie: A pet, an animal, and a trained one at that. Not a dog, with the overtones of nobility and fidelity. Not a puppy, with the immaturity and frivolity and peeing-on-the-carpet that came with it. No: a doggie, all body and mouth and cock and balls and ass, the dangly and drooly bits that made doggies fun and ridiculous and vaguely pathetic.

What’s it like?, Lily wondered, watching her hubby-doggie strip. How does it feel in those first moments, during that shudder and gasp? When those pupils dilate and all sense of self drains off?

Doggie couldn’t articulate it, of course. As far as he knew, he had always been doggie, would always be doggie. And of course Adam couldn’t talk about it, because Adam had no idea what they did. His daylight mind—that’s what Lily called it—never remembered the triggers, never remembered falling away, never recalled rising and bringing Adam back. And the lost time? The hours spent naked and servile and dumb and happy? His daylight mind made up those gaps with pleasant fictions. Stories of lovemaking and chores and watching stars and going to movies and trying on new clothes. Boring stories of a normal life. Not the thrilling perversity that laced their days.

She almost felt sorry for him. As far as Adam knew, their lives were as normal as anyone else’s.

So Lily loved her husband like this. As doggie, he was so free—free of thought, free of freedom, free to feel and touch and taste and experience anything and everything she desired. And because she desired it, he desired it, too. Doggie desired it. More than desired it. Doggie craved it. Doggie needed it. Doggie loved it.

So doggie always told her, anyway. That’s the problem with controlling minds, she knew. You could never really be sure.

But she was pretty sure he loved it. Because doggie licked and fucked and begged and ejaculated in ways that Adam never did, never could, in growls and whimpers and barking arcs of semen that sailed across his chest and his face, onto his feet and their walls and mirrors, into their cereal bowls, across the dew-dropped grass in the backyard on moonless nights. And deep, deep, deep up into her twat, with the rutting, frantic, pounding passion that only a doggie could provide.

Her twat. Lily massaged it idly. The session of a few days ago had left her tender. But uttering the triggers, especially this trigger, never failed to produced that pleasing little surge in her nethers. She knew it was as much a trigger for her, as it was his.

Well. Maybe not as much.

“Good boy,” she whispered to the naked creature in front of her. She reached forward to caress behind his ear. “Good doggie.”

Adam shuddered, body relaxing, cock stirring.

Not now, not yet. They had to get moving. Lily was meeting Jill at the gym for a multi-hour morning workout. She hurried to the bedroom, Adam crawling behind her. She was ready, but doggie still needed to get dressed. She couldn’t take him out in the car like this, after all. Someone might see, although part of her hoped that someone would see. She wanted the whole world to see her doggie.

She dug into her closet and pulled out a large hemp bag bearing the words Choose to Recycle! and dumped out the contents, most of which were clothes, of a sort. She smiled lazily, then spoke to the happy doggie heeled at her ankle.

“Manly, huh?” She smirked at him, and his ears perked up. Jill was going to love this. “Today you’re more of a bitch.”

Lily and Jill breezed into Jill’s home, feeling great: pilates, spin, shower, and coffeehouse chat. The slanted autumn sunlight streamed through tall windows. Lily loved Jill’s home: Tall ceilings, plush carpet, and a vast, clean living room opening into a kitchen of chrome appliances and spice racks and heated tile flooring.

They sipped coffee on Jill’s enormous couch, talking happily. Jill sported a black tank top that showed off her stringy, alabaster-white yoga-trained arms. Her calloused feet poked from beneath a flowing tie-dyed skirt of blue, red, and white swirls. Lily was comfy as always, happy to be in her post-workout sweatpants, T-shirt, and footies.

From downstairs came occasional sounds of cleaning: spraying, flushing, vacuuming, sweeping. Lily had dropped off Adam before the workout. Jill had set him loose in her basement.

“Thanks again for the loaner,” said Jill. She tied her blonde dreadlocks behind her head. “It’s been forever since the basement got really cleaned. You’re sure he doesn’t mind?”

“He can’t mind if there’s nothing there to mind with,” said Lily

Jill laughed. “I just don’t have the time, and we don’t have the cash for a cleaning service.”

Jill taught yoga six days a week, sometimes twice a day. There wasn’t much money in it. She just loved the exercise, how it sculpted her body. She also enjoyed the people she taught—mostly middle-aged white ladies with rich husbands and lots of leisure time. The rest of her time, Jill was an artist. Painting, sculpture, pottery, mixed media—whatever struck her fancy. Although she never seemed to sell anything, Lily had noted.

“No Desmond today,” Lily noted. Jill’s husband.

“He’s out working. Won’t be home until really late. A construction job, I think. Or maybe it’s his landscaping business. Not that he tells me.”

“So he’s in a ‘noncommunicative place,’” said Lily.

“God, please, no more ‘marriage counselor’ jargon. He’s not in a ‘place,’ he’s being a dick. He won’t talk, won’t do anything around the house. Works all day for other people but won’t do anything for us.”

“He works for money,” Lily pointed out. A ton of money. She couldn’t understand how Desmond could make so much but they couldn’t afford a cleaning service. “I still think it’s a cultural thing. You know.”

“Yeah, cultural. ‘I’m a black man. We’re not like white men. You can’t be in our business all the time.’ Fine. But he married a white girl. I’ve changed for him. I pry less, I give him space, I don’t ask what he’s thinking all the time. But he’s not giving me anything. He’s just angry.” She sipped, then said, “Sometimes I want to do to him what you do to Adam. To get him talking.”

“It doesn’t work that way. He wouldn’t get Desmond’s memories. The man cleaning your basement doesn’t know anything about Adam.”

“‘Man’ in my basement?” said Jill. “You mean ‘doggie.’”

“Sure,” said Lily. She didn’t call him that unless she was playing with him directly. “Anyway, there’s just something wrong about turning a black man into a slave.”

“He wouldn’t be my slave,” said Jill. “He’d be my lover. My occasional lover. I mean . . . well, you know. We’re not doing well. We haven’t had sex in weeks. What you do to Adam . . . can we do it to Desmond?”

Lily considered. “It takes a lot of time and patience. A lot of late nights. You have to be careful not to wake him while the training’s going on. Then he’ll know, and he might not appreciate it.”

“Couldn’t we do it to him while he’s awake? You know, subliminally?”

Lily shook her head. “The waking mind isn’t as pliable. You’d have to ram so much into his brain at once that you’d damage his daylight mind. It’s safest to build from below, in dreams, than to blast it in from above.”

Jill pouted. “If he keeps up being such a pain in the ass, ramming from above might not be a bad thing.”

There was a heavy clonking up the basement steps. Twenty steps, Lily counted. Her pulsed raced; she couldn’t wait to see him like this, again.

Adam entered the living room and towered over them. Dazed, trusting, attentive.

Lily had pimped out Adam in full French-maid fantasy garb. Three-inch black pumps, black thigh-highs, garters, corset, choker, maid’s cap. A short pageboy wig of lustrous red hair framed his heavily made-up face: ruby lips, purple eyelids, blue eyelashes. Whorish. His knees bore the filth of an unfinished basement. He’d been on all fours a long time. Scrub, scrub, scrub.

“Goddamn, Lily,” said Jill. “Your hubby is a cute guy, but he’s a fucking ugly tranny. I don’t think even Balthazar would fuck him.” Balthazar was Jill and Desmond’s black lab.

Adam’s panties swelled. A wet, fleshy mushroom popped over the rim. “Oh, look,” said Jill. “He gets off on being insulted.”

“He gets off on pretty much anything,” Lily noted. “I’m not selfish. I want it to be fun for him, too.”

“How can it be fun if he doesn’t remember anything?”

“It’s fun at the time. Doggie, you’re having fun, right?”

“Yes Ma’am. Doggie has fun serving you and Jill.”

Jill giggled. “That’s hot, that third person stuff. Like he’s a Barbie doll or a bimbo.”

“Goth Barbie,” suggested Lily.

“Ugliest fucking Barbie doll ever,” said Jill. They laughed, and the mushroom plumped more and sprouted a clear bead of liquid, making them laugh harder.

Jill said, “Doggie, you’ve been working so hard—you must be thirsty and hungry. Kneel on the floor. Good boy. Now go to Balthazar’s bowls in the kitchen. Don’t worry, Balthazar’s outside. Finish them all up. Lick them clean. Then come back.” Adam crawled away. Soon they heard lapping water and crunching kibbles.

“It’s been about four hours, now,” said Jill. “Won’t he notice the lost time?”

“He’ll remember cleaning up the basement, but he’ll think he did it because he’s a super-nice guy. Then he’ll remember hanging out with us and having lunch, all in his normal clothes. None of this whore tranny stuff.”

“Adam is a super-nice guy,” said Jill. “Like, the real Adam is really nice. Did you make that happen? Muck with his head a bit?”

Lily shook her head. “I can’t affect the real Adam at all. That’s just him. He’s just a really sweet guy. Thoughtful, attentive. He doesn’t mind cleaning or cooking, he listens to me, he likes doing what I do, but he’s not clingy. He’s got his own interests and life.”

“Then why’d you do this to him? Most girls would kill for a nice guy like that.”

“One fatal flaw.” Lily sipped her coffee for the dramatic pause. “No libido.”

“No libido? You mean low libido.”

“Nope. I mean no libido. He’s scared of sex. Lots of shame, lots of guilt. Decades old stuff, foundational to his personality. So he just puts all his energy into working, writing, exercising. But not sex.”

“Are you sure he’s not gay?”

“Well, he’s gay NOW,” and they laughed. “He’s pretty much everything now.”

“Do you and Adam ever have sex? I mean, when he’s just Adam?”

“Nope. We did a couple of times, before all this started, but . . . well, he just wasn’t really into it. It was painful for him, brought up all kinds of bad feelings. I could tell he was doing it for me, not him.”

“But what happened to him? What’s he so guilty about?”

“Sorry. That’s personal. I won’t betray my husband’s trust. I will say that I did this to help him. To let him feel pleasure and give pleasure without guilt or shame. In fact, this is how he gets past the guilt and shame. By serving, and making others happy. It’s atonement. It’s the one time in his life he can be free.”

Jill pursed her lips. “It still bet he’s gay.”

“Nope. He swears on his parents’ graves that he’s straight.”

Adam crawled back and knelt on all fours in front of Lily and Jill. His belly hung low, full of food and water.

“Hunh,” said Jill, brushing hair from Adam’s eyes. “Well, you sure turned this straight guy into something pretty bent. And speaking of bent . . . should we get started?”

“Sure,” said Lily. “Do your thing.”

“Doggie,” said Jill. “Stand up, and strip.” Adam complied. He stood before them, nude, his cock still hard from earlier insults.

“Hum,” said Jill. “Let’s keep him whored up, though. Not just the makeup. Doggie, put the pumps back on. The choker, wig, and cap, too.” Adam donned them and grew 3 inches taller.

Jill’s eyes ran over Adam’s mostly nude body. “Fuck, that’s hot. I can’t decide if it’s because he looks like a whore or if it’s that he’s got no power.”

“Yes to both,” said Lily. “This wouldn’t be nearly so fun if he had any power. ‘Sisterhood is powerful,’ right?”

“It’s about goddamned time it was,” said Jill. She retrieved a pink yoga mat from a closet and set it on the floor so that it and the couch formed a T-shape.

“Doggie,” said Jill. “Lay down on the mat, on your back.” She assumed her yoga-instructor persona: helpfully stern. “Put your head up here by the couch, near me and Lily. Good boy.”

Jill cleared her throat. “Doggie: Ouroboros pose.”

Adam swung his legs up and over his head, curling his body into a C. The pumps on his feet dangled up by the couch, their weight keeping him from rolling back. His muscles shook lightly, trying to keep balance.

“Use your feet to brace yourself. Against the couch, doggie. Good, right. That’ll keep you steady.” Adam’s ass pointed toward the ceiling, and his cock pointed down at his head, about an inch from his nose.

“Doggie,” said Jill. “Hold that pose. Breathe in . . . hold it . . . hold it . . . let go. Good boy. Keep breathing that way. Let your back relax. Let it relax. Breathe, and relax. Hold that pose for a while, Look at your cock, dangling above you. Look at that beautiful, big, hard cock. Look at that precum . . . oh, it’s starting to string down. The string is getting longer, longer . . . can doggie catch it on his nose? Oh, good doggie! Here come more strings. Catch them with your nose.”

Jill moved to the floor next to Adam. She lightly stroked his lower back, his ass, the backs of his thighs. At times she came close to his balls, but not too close.

Lily shifted on the couch, putting herself directly in front of Adam. From this angle he looked like a mutant elephant, its trunk growing out of a wrinkled bump above its eyes. She took out her smartphone. “Want a souvenir?”

Jill squealed. “Oh, God, yes! But don’t get me in the picture.”

“What,” said Lily. “You don’t think this would drum up the yoga business?”

“Seriously, Lily. No pictures with me in it.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing incriminating. Not that we’re doing anything wrong. What’s a little yoga among friends?”

Adam’s back relaxed more, and his groin dropped lower. Soon his cockhead rested below his nose, precum pooling above his upper lip.

“Doggie,” said Jill. “Snort your precum. Right up your nose.” Adam inhaled, hard. Precum burbled up his nose, and then he swallowed.

Lily giggled. “Oh my God, you’re terrible.”

“Keep going, doggie,” said Jill. More inhaling, burbling, swallowing. “Snort that precum like it’s cocaine.”

Lily leaned down, took another picture. She looked in Adam’s eyes. Nothing but frantic arousal and absolute obedience in that animal brain of his. “Doggie is a sick fucking pervert, isn’t he?” His cock replied for him, plumping up and out, oozing a little warm river.

Jill chimed in. “Rub your cockhead on your eyes, doggie. Get those eyes wet.” Lily was about to say that would make his eyes sting, but then realized she was fine with that. “Now all over your face, doggie. Make your face gleam for us.” Adam’s musk filled the air.

“Soooooooooo fucking hot,” said Jill. Now she was stroking Adam’s sac. “You gotta tell me how you did this.”

Lily ignored her. “He looks ready.”

“So you’re the instructor, now? But yeah, you’re right—he’s ready.” Jill took Adam’s huge red cock in her small white hand. “Doggie: Open your mouth. Good doggies lick themselves clean. Clean yourself, doggie.”

Adam wrapped his bright red lips around his swollen thick cock. He began sucking, balls resting on either side of his nose. The strain was obvious, but by lifting his head and pushing his hips he attained the in-and-out headfucking of a true blowjob.

They sipped their coffee and watched Adam pleasure himself with his lips and tongue and throat. So beautiful. Then Jill said, “God, do I love your husband.” She began caressing Lily’s ankle.

“Nuh-uh,” said Lily, pulling her leg away. “We’ve talked about this.”

“C’mon, Lil. I could convince you.”

“Not interested,” said Lily. “I’m not a dyke, no thank you.”

“So, what, what Adam does—“

“What doggie does,” Lily corrected.

“—fine, what doggie does is totally okay, but two girls together is a problem?”

“It’s a problem for me,” said Lily. “I don’t even like to think about it. So, no.”

Jill sighed. “Fine. Oh, hey. Does he seem kinda close to you?”

Lily looked. Muscles trembling, light sweat on his thighs, asshole spasming, scrotum bouncing like a hackeysack. “Yeah, that looks pretty close to me. You wanna slow things down, make it last?”

“Um. No—I want a turn pretty soon. And if you’re not gonna do me. . . .”

“All right,” said Lily. “Let’s help him out, then.”

Lily traced a fingertip around his asshole. Adam moaned. Then she began tapping lightly on his asshole, and his moans got louder.

“C’mon, doggie,” said Jill. “Good doggies clean themselves, inside and out. Your balls are full of dirty cum. Suck that dirty cum right out of your balls.”

Between Lily’s touches and Jill’s encouragement it didn’t take long. Adam’s breathing quickened, his body shook, his eyes widened, and the muffled screams started. His balls tightened, then pulsed one, two, three, four times . . . Lily couldn’t see the semen, but she knew his mouth was filling with it. But she had to be sure.

“Don’t swallow it, doggie. Keep it all in your mouth, no matter how much there is.” His cock pumped out its nectar for a few more moments. Lily watched his throat. He didn’t swallow. “Good doggie,” she said.

Jill and Lily helped Adam out of his pose, bringing him down slowly so he wouldn’t strain his back. His face was a mess: smeared lipstick, smudged eye shadow, and runny mascara from the painting of precum he’d given himself.

“It’s hard to believe he could get even uglier,” said Jill.

“Be respectful. This is my husband.”

Lily took a few more pictures. Something for the website she’d been thinking about. “Doggie, sit up. Good boy. Now, without letting any cum leak out, open your mouth.” Adam showed off a slithery silver pool on his tongue. Lily’s phone went click, click, click, click. “Good doggie,” she said. “Now swallow.” Down it went.

“I am completely fucking soaked,” said Jill.

“You want him to take care of you?”

“God, yes, please. Doggie, off the mat. Let me lay down. Yeah, that’s it.” Jill shucked off her skirt and panties and spread her legs. She was audibly sopping. So skinny, pelvic bones showing from her vegan diet. And not well groomed, Lily noted with distaste. The hippie in Jill: all natural.

“Doggie,” ordered Jill. “Lick my pussy, make me cum.”

Lily relaxed into the couch to absorb the spectacle of her husband pleasuring her friend. She slipped a hand under her waistband and touched herself, gently. She was so happy she could do this for her husband and her friend, providing all of this guilt-free pleasure for them both. So good, she thought. So free.

Lily noted with pride that Adam was getting big and hard again. Good, and not unexpected. Doggie had great recovery time. She and Jill could spend the day playing with him, but not letting him cum so quickly this time, letting him get bigger and harder until it hurt him. That was always fun, getting and keeping doggie so horny that he whimpered.

As Jill groaned out “Good doggie, good dumb fucking doggie” over and over into a raucous, hollering orgasm, Lily chewed her lower lip and bore down silently into her own. As the pleasure bloomed and then swelled through her, she was grateful to have a good doggie—such a good bitch, today—and he was all hers.