The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A glass vase smashed against the side of the television, cracking the frame slightly and sending shards of glass all over the wall, along with a spray of water and half-limp carnations. To her credit, Moira didn’t scream or cower away. She simply stepped to the side and let the vase fly past, her face a practiced, impassive mask.

Emily was anything but impassive. Tears streamed down her face, her makeup running with them as massive, angry sobs wracked her body. Her hands trembled, clenching into and unclenching from fists over and over. She wished she had something else to throw, but there was nothing else left on the bedside table, and even in her state of breakdown she wasn’t about to physically rush Moira.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” she shrieked at Moira. If there was anyone in the hotel room next to them, surely they were scandalized by what must have seemed like a furious lovers quarrel between two dramatic lesbians. “I’m finally being me! Having fun! Doing good work! And you just… you’re just jealous! Or… or…” She ran out of steam, unsure what else to accuse her friend of being.

Moira was a stone in the face of the onslaught. “I know you. This isn’t you. None of this is you.”

For explanation of what ‘this’ was, Moira gestured up and down at Emily’s outfit. What there was of it. She was lacquered into a shimmering blue nightclub dress that hemmed high on her thighs and clung to her body like a sheath of fish scales. At her chest it split into two wide-set straps that looped around her neck in an exaggerated halter, leaving a large teardrop cutout that revealed the insides of her breasts. The paleness of the dress accentuated her alabaster skin. Even in her rage at Moira, she moved comfortably on her tall green heels. They weren’t the shoes that Emily would have picked for the ensemble, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to bring any with her, so she had to make do with the shoes she’d been wearing at the office.

The dress had come out of the small suitcase that Moira had packed for Emily before spiriting her out of Washington. Moira had grabbed clothes at random from Emily’s closet, not even realizing in her hurry that everything inconspicuous had been tossed out days beforehand when Emily had needed to make room in her apartment for a whole new wardrobe.

Emily had stubbornly refused to borrow any of her friend’s clothes—as if they would have fit her much taller frame—instead insisting to dress “pretty” or not wear anything at all. Moira had relented, realizing that she couldn’t enforce sensible dress and that a naked Emily would be exponentially more difficult to handle.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Emily countered. She spat the words, trying to use them to hurt Moira, to make her suffer for the hurt that she was bringing down on Emily’s head.

Their trip had gone well enough at first. They had moved south and ended up in a suburb outside of Richmond. They had stayed away from people as much as they could, even going so far as to shun restaurants and public bathrooms. Moira had gotten food for them from a market while Emily huddled in the car, eyes down and terrified. Even had she not been dressed like she was at a Las Vegas bachelorette party, Emily was always going to turn heads. The only way to avoid attention was to avoid eyes altogether.

They had arrived at a well-appointed but out-of-the-way hotel and holed up there while they formed a plan. Moira had booked the room, paying in cash, and then shepherded Emily through a side door. There had been one maid who had seen her, but that was it. Moira was as confident as she could be that her wayward boss was secure for the time being. Now that the situation had stabilized, they just had to stay put and work things out.

Emily’s patience for that had lasted two days. By then, her growing anxiety with the situation had graduated from bothersome to hysterical. The two women had started out discussing things calmly, but things had gotten more and more heated until their arguments had whipped Emily up into a screaming frenzy. Moira had had to lean on every bit of persuasion she had just to keep Emily in the room, but even that was wearing thin.

“You’re not like this, Emily,” Moira answered, her voice strained but level. “You’re not some dolled up whore running around stepping on people’s hearts and giving the world the finger. You’re a professional politician, and despite that you’re a good woman. You’re the best woman I know. I don’t know what’s happening to you, but it’s not ok and it’s not an accident.”

“My name is Congresswoman Hobart,” Emily shot back icily. The tears stopped running, turning sticky on her face. “And you don’t know what kind of woman I am. You’re nothing. You’re an employee.” Moira’s jaw tightened, keeping a tight rein on her feelings, but Emily knew she’s struck a nerve. “You can’t keep me here. This conspiracy theory bullshit is nothing, it was always nothing.

“You could have been something, too, you know,” she continued. “If you had an ounce of perspective, you could have had fun and seen the world and enjoyed all the men you met. Take that little pixie body out for a fucking spin once in a while.” Emily didn’t know what she was saying. Her words were fueled by pure hate and adrenaline. She was as frustrated and confused as she’d ever been in her life, and it made everything into daggers. “But you didn’t. You played everything so safe and proper. You never made yourself anything. You never had fun. You never fucked like you could fuck or planned like you could plan and now you hate me because I did.

Moira’s facade cracked, and a single tear came through. Emily saw her chance.

“I’m leaving. You stay here and be a bitch. That’s what you’re good at.”

Moira didn’t move to stop her, and Emily was out the door before she could consider what she’d just said.

The hotel stood a small distance back from a tree-lined country highway. The Virginia summer heat was oppressive, but Emily paid it no mind. She liked the heat. It made her think of fun things, like beaches and parties and shot glasses rimmed with sugar. Her heels sparked off the asphalt as she stormed down the hotel driveway and onto the main drag of the town. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she’d get there sooner or later.

Emily fumed over Moira. The whole thing was insane, dragging her out of her Washington office like they were agents in some cloak and dagger spy movie. No phone, no wallet, no ID. Only one suitcase full of clothes. People wondering where she was, all her work languishing back on the Hill.

And for what? Some conspiracy plot that she’d invented to bring a little spice to her own boring life? It was ridiculous. She could have slapped Moira for trying to ruin things. No one was after her. She was finally getting done what she’d always wanted to get done, instead of hiding behind that ridiculous populist message that she’d campaigned on. She was finally letting go and enjoying the men that she wanted to have. Enjoying being a slut. Being a… a…

a dumb slut

Enjoying being a dumb slut. She nodded to herself, then stopped for a moment. A dumb slut? The words sounded somehow foreign in her head, like she was an actor in a play, hearing line cues whispered by someone just off-stage. She wasn’t sure who was speaking, or why. She probably wouldn’t have even noticed if Moira hadn’t been scoffing at that phrase for days now.

She shook the strange feeling away as she found herself in front of a bar. Good. Bars meant people, people meant men, men meant fun. She could get what she needed from them. Maybe money, maybe a ride back to her home in D.C. Maybe just someone to listen to her vent about Moira.

The bar wasn’t quite what she was used to, rubbing shoulders with the rest of the powerful in Washington, or even back when she was touring the world as a pageant queen. This place was all wooden stools and green nylon booths. At least it was clean, though. The reputation of small-town business owners taking pride in their work at seemed to have some truth to it.

It was early evening, the sky purple from the fading sun, and about twenty people were in the bar for happy hour. Twenty heads swung toward Emily when she walked in. The silty pop music continued to play, but no one heard it. A wave of warm feeling came over Emily at the attention. She was pleasantly aware of her boobs threatening to spill out of her dress as she walked up to the bar.

The elderly bartender was as polite as they came. He called her ‘little lady’ and offered her a soda. He balked when she asked for a vodka with tonic, seeing as how she had no ID with her. “Do I look like some college kid trying to scam drinks?” she asked. The bartender told her that she did.

Fortunately, a gallant gentleman sitting nearby just happened to get thirsty for the same drink. When the bartender gave it to him, he slid it over to Emily while the bartender turned his back.

Emily looked her savior up and down. She’d lay odds that he was a truck driver, by his plaid-and-denim clothes, Peterbilt hat, and five o’clock shadow. He was in his mid-thirties and built like he unloaded his truck every day by hand.

Emily toasted to him, and he clinked her drink with his own beer. “Least I could do. Don’t get your kinda scenery around here much.” Emily liked that very much.

They got to talking, every man in the place glued to their conversation. He couldn’t help but notice that she was here without a purse. Where were all her things? How had she come here with car keys or cab money? And why was she such a mess of tears and tangles?

Emily told him the bare details. She was on a road trip with a friend, but they’d had a huge falling out and now she just wanted to go home. She spared him the details, for obvious reasons. No one seemed to recognize her, even with her face all over the news each day. This group wasn’t much for CNN, apparently.

“Well that’s a shame,” he droned. He had introduced himself as Jasper. He spoke with a considering tone, as if he was constantly trying to figure out what he was in the mood to eat for dinner that night. “We’ve all been there, honey, believe you me. Ain’t an easy thing, being a friend to everyone all the time. Sometimes you gotta go your own way.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,” Emily agreed. “She doesn’t get that, though. She’s just trying to pigeonhole me into her own conception of propriety.”

Jasper arched an eyebrow. “You ain’t from around here, I get that. But even so I ain’t never heard half the words you’re using.”

Emily silently toasted to that. “A liberal education.”

Jasper regarded her for a moment, silently. Emily was curious about the look in those eyes. There were no wheels turning there, not in the way that she was used to seeing them. There was no calculation. He looked at her like a squirrel might regard a foreign nut. Food, or something else?

Emily tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and Jasper’s squirrel eyes melted behind an easy smile. “Can’t say I know much about that. But if all this,” he gestured to her with an open palm, “is what comes from it, I say more liberal educations all around.”

Emily chuckled and downed the rest of her highball, then set the glass back down on the bar. Jasper eyed it.

“I’d offer you another, miss, but a little slip of a thing like you might not be able to handle another of Billy’s pours.”

Emily scoffed, though she did feel pleasantly warm. “I’m actually in the 97th percentile of women by height.”

“And still as big around as a rake handle.” Jasper ran his fingertips along Emily’s waist. She didn’t stop him.

“I was a model for a while,” she announced, her chin held high.

Jasper nodded sagely. “I bet you were. Any good at it?”

Emily was filled with a swell of pride as she remembered her coronation as Miss Universe. The finals had been held in a massive auditorium in the brand new Hotel Cosmos in Macau. The stage had glittered like emeralds all around her while the crowd gushed over her, loving her, wanting her.

“I was the best in the world.”

Jasper’s smile looked right through her eyes, and for the first time in days Emily felt whole. This was good. It was right. Being looked at by a man, his hands on her legs, gently feeling her bare skin below the hem of her skirt. “I believe you still are,” he said simply.

It didn’t take long before they left the bar behind. Emily didn’t walk across the parking lot so much as she was carried. Jasper handled her as easily as he would have carried a duffel bag, their lips meeting and parting and meeting again as they stumbled their way in the darkness of the young night.

His semi-truck was on the other side of the parking lot, right at the edge where the forest sprang out of the dirt like a solid green wall, keeping the asphalt at bay. Emily loosed little staccato moans into his mouth as he heaved her around the back of it, near the grass where no one could see them except the owls.

“Please… please…” she whispered over and over. His arms around her felt incredible, even better than the joy of everyone in the bar staring at them as they left, knowing what they were about to do.

“Don’t worry,” Jasper answered her. “You’re gonna get it.”

Any reply she had was cut off when her back hit aluminum. He had thrown her up against the side of the tractor trailer, her feet completely off the ground, wrapping around his waist without a thought. She gasped as he pressed himself into her, sandwiching her between his beefy body and the makeshift wall of the truck.

A sliver of memory flashed in her mind. Eight years ago, her senior year of high school. A classmate had gone outside a party with her boyfriend, by the trees, a bit like this. There had been a shed there, behind the house, and he had been drunk, and he had gotten too rough, he had done things to her, unforgivable things not part of their fun together. She had come to Emily, crying, confession, confiding. Emily had led the campaign against the boy, against violence, against taking advantage. ‘Dignity,’ she had shouted. Dignity and safety and respect…

Why had she thought of that? Had it really happened?

The memory was blasted away from her like sand before water as Jasper’s cock slid into her. Her panties were pulled aside, her dress hiking up around her waist. He felt huge in her, sudden and urgent. She wondered if he even need his arms to hold her up against the truck. His thrusts were short and deliberate, like jackboots on cobblestones. Emily wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to match him with her own hips. It felt like she was flying.

The past didn’t matter. Politics and justice didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was getting fucked. She had a man in her, just like she’d always wanted.

Always?

“You need it like that, huh?”

Emily was confused. Like what? Only after a moment’s hesitation did she hear the words that were spilling out of her own mouth. “Yes, fuck me, fuck your little slut, your slut needs your cock so bad…” It had no beginning, no end. It was just what she felt, so she said it.

Jasper pulled out of her and lifted her away from the truck. Reluctantly she unhooked her heels from behind his back and stood on her own two feet.

“Get that dress off you,” Jasper ordered. There was gravel in his tone.

Emily didn’t need convincing. With an effort she pulled the skintight fabric up and over her head. A sheen of sweat lingered on her from the warm night and their joint exertions. She held the shining fabric draped uselessly in her hand, looking around nervously for fear that someone would see her here in the distant glow of the bar’s ‘open’ sign.

“Goddamn,” Jasper was saying. He reached out with his meaty paws and experimentally squeezed her bare breasts, now that he could see them in full. “Those things are real? No fuckin’ way.”

“All mine,” she smirked. She loved the sight of them overflowing in his big, calloused hands.

His hands drifted downwards, tugging her panties off. She obligingly stepped out of them. “What a piece of ass you are.” His voice was pure satisfaction.

Jasper took her dress from his hand and wadded it up with her panties. He opened the door of his truck and tossed the clothing inside, then closed and locked the door again.

Emily watched him with a mix of arousal and fear. She was suddenly aware of where she was, how foreign and dangerous this place was, and how completely helpless she was. She was far from home, far from help, with no protection against the world, not even something as flimsy as a dress. She was completely as this man’s mercy. Even as her heart pounded in her chest, she knew it was at least half from excitement.

She watched Jasper with wide eyes as he approached her again. His cock bobbed and weaved like a prizefighter from his open fly. She stood still, letting his finger slide into her as his other hand grabbed a handful of her hair.

“I knew you were a slut. I didn’t realize you knew it, too.” Emily bit her lip and nodded. Jasper’s voice was a hot breath in her ear. “Show me.”

Emily took his meaning and sank into a crouch in front of him. Her heels actually made the posture easier, bracing her ankles up so she could bring her mouth in line with his cock.

It tasted tangy as it slid into her mouth, the sheen of her pussy juices coating it to the base. Emily savored it, the extra submissive feel of cleaning her own remnants from his shaft. She looked up at him with eager eyes, stroking him deeply into her mouth. He was big enough that there was no way she could take all of him, but she wanted him to see her try anyway.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he looked down at her. “Look at you, you love it. All naked out here, working my cock. Nothing but a hot little slut. Nothing else.”

She let his delicious, heavy cock fall out of her mouth for a second. “I’m a Congresswoman,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I’m not just a slut. I’m a Congresswoman.”

Jasper found that to be very funny. His belly laugh bounced off the side of the truck and sank into the trees. “Congress? Hell no. You ain’t one of them. Ain’t none of them never done nothing for me. Crooks, parasites, that’s what they are. Take, take, take, and no give.” He stroked her hair, pulling just a little, as if testing its strength. “You, though. You’re a giver. Give all you got, and all you take is cum.”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She trembled, suddenly unsteady on her feet. Her hand vibrated on his cock as she guided him in and out of her mouth, shivering.

She was one of them. She was a Congresswoman. But she was no parasite, and no crook. She wanted to help Jasper, to do things for him. Not just please him like a woman pleased a man, but actually help him. He was a hard-working American, salt of the earth. People like him were the backbone of the country. They shouldn’t be taken advantage of by Congress, by the powerful elites of the country. By anyone. By…

She couldn’t finish the thought. It was half-formed, like fog on a windy day. She knew she’d given speeches about basic rights and human dignity and standing up for the little guy. She could remember the words. Had she meant them? No, it was just a cover, so that she could get elected and… do what? Help someone. Corporations. Help corporations. Yes.

Then why had Jasper’s accusations about people like her hurt so much. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. She only liked him because he was a man and he made her feel good. Other than that, he could go to hell. He was nothing. Just some idiotic laborer, dirty and sweaty and mean.

Moira’s face popped into her head. She wouldn’t think that about Jasper, or about anyone. She believed that all people deserved the chance to prosper, and that the biggest obstacle in their way was bullies. Plain and simple. The world was full of big fish tormenting smaller fish, and that was wrong. The world needed a place where those without power could band together for the benefit of all. That was what government was for. That was what they did for a living. They were the united will of the people made manifest, standing up to those who had power and still clawed for more, destroying lives and livelihoods by the thousand just for another percentage point on a bottom line.

That was what Moira believed. That was what she had told Emily she believed. “You’re not you,” she’d said just a day about. “This isn’t you. They did something to you. We have to fix it.”

Emily couldn’t imagine who they were. But something was definitely wrong. She couldn’t think straight about things one way or the other. Her mind was fracturing apart like a mountain in an earthquake. She couldn’t trust a thing. She couldn’t trust anyone. All her friends were far away. Devin, her best friend, was far away.

Moira was here, though.

Emily gasped, falling back onto the asphalt, Jasper’s cock hanging wetly in the moonlight above her. The rest of him was like a colossus, cloaked in the shadow of the muggy Virginia night.

Emily scrambled backwards on her hands and knees, her heels scraping sequins off on the pavement. She climbed shakily to her feet while a confused Jasper looked on.

“What happened? You all right?”

Emily’s breath came in ragged gasps. Her throat ached pleasantly from where his cock had just been. His cock. There it was. All those muscles and that skin and that cock. It was right there, and she wanted it. She wanted to fuck him. To suck him.

“No. No, no.” She walked backwards, putting distance between herself and the sexy, muscular release in front of her. “Stay away from me.”

“I ain’t doing nothing.”

“Good. Just… I have to go.”

“You really gonna leave, just like that? Me here like this?”

“I’m sorry, I want to…”

“Then do.”

“No!” The shout came from deep in Emily’s skull, the place where headaches come from. Panic gave her clarity.

Without another word, she turned and ran. She hugged the trees, disappearing into the forest behind the bar, moving away from the main road. Her heels made it difficult to run, but she didn’t dare stop to take them off. She didn’t trust herself. Branches tugged at her hair and bashed against her shins. The words were noisy, cicadas and owls and frogs groaning all around her, eager for attention.

Distantly, lights twinkled through the trees, just up a small rise. Even in her panic her direction sense had not failed her. She splashed through a small creek, turning one ankle painfully, but not so bad that she couldn’t walk. She continued, leaves kicking up a trail behind her like a motorcycle in the desert.

The trees abruptly ended, the small hotel nestled among them with the friendly warmth of a storybook home. She was aware of her nakedness, her breasts bouncing with every uneven step, her pussy bare and wet in the glow of the orange lights through the windows. She got a momentary thrill at the knowledge that anyone could see her like this. Could stare at her, could want her. Could guess that she was out to find someone to fuck, that she was a slut not even good enough for clothes.

No. Not now. Not now.

She stumbled in the side entrance of the hotel and down the diamond-patterned green carpet. The room that Moira had booked was nearby. She made it there, praying that no one saw her. That no man grabbed her, either out of desire or concern. Either would be bad.

There was the door. She knocked, flat-palmed. “Moira. Moira please be here.” The words were a hoarse whisper, all the could manage.

The door opened, revealing Moira’s shocked face. Emily tumbled into the room, half-dragging herself to the nearest bed. The door shut and Moira knelt beside her, a soft white robe appearing in her hands. She was saying something, asking what had happened. Her hands ran over Emily’s body, checking for cuts or broken bones.

“Moira. Moira,” Emily murmured. The sight of her best friend and closest colleague was more welcome than the sunrise. Emily shivered in Moira’s arms, unable to sit still. “I think I’m in trouble.”

TO BE CONTINUED…