The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The second package arrived the same way as the first. I found it on the landing of my apartment, a nondescript brown package. My heart raced when I picked it up. I headed up the stairs, entered my apartment, dropped the package on my coffee table, and sat down on the couch and stared. I was torn, suddenly unwilling to face new truths. I had spent my last weekend in Detroit with my cock stuffed in Kyra’s mouth, taking advantage of any opportunity. First thing upon waking in the morning, I had her blow me in bed. Later, while out for a drive, I made her go down on me on a deserted road. Both times, I came in her mouth, and she swallowed without complaint. In fact, she was silent throughout. We never talked about what happened. It was clear that she was not even aware of her actions.

I had gotten used surprisingly quickly to having her mouth at my beck and call. I had also conveniently forgotten that her mouth was also at the beck and call of unknown individuals. The package sitting on the table in front of me now reminded me of this last bit. If this package was what I thought it was, someone else had once again used my fiancee.

After some more staring, I finally reached over, opened the package, and extracted the expected videotape. I put it in the player, and settled down to watch.

“So, you think we’ll have to stay long at this gig?", I asked Kyra.

We were set to go to some party that evening, the second night of my next Detroit trip. Not that I felt like going—a bunch of people at her university that I could barely stomach. But it was important to Kyra, so I made an effort.

“As long as it takes to make my supervisor happy,” she said, from behind the closed bathroom door. She sounded tense.

“All right,” I said. I straightened my tie in the bedroom mirror. A fancy party, she said, dress nicely, so I had pulled my old suit our of mothballs. I wore it at every official function I had to attend.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Kyra said. “What do you think?”

I turned to look. And nearly choked. She was breathtaking, literally. She told me that she had gone shopping for a new dress earlier in the week. It was a small red thing with white polka dots. It left most of her shoulders and neck exposed, being held up by two thin straps, and hugged her body close, drawing attention to her small waist and the curve of her hips. Lower, it spread out slightly, and stopped mid-thighs, revealing Kyra’s perfectly formed legs, wrapped in translucent white nylons. Her legs went on forever, and ended in a pair of three-inch stiletto white pumps. I could not stop my eyes from traveling up and down her body, practically salivating.

“Wow!” It was all I could say.

Kyra blushed, and fidgeted in place. She never was comfortable with me admiring her, yet she clearly enjoyed it.

“How about giving it a little swirl, so I get a complete view?” I asked. She spun in place, slowly, and I got a great view of her ass, perfectly emphasized by the flare of the dress. “God, you’re beautiful,” I said.

She completed her turn, smiling. “Glad you like it,” she said. “I hope others will like it too.” She was still worried about her party. Personally, I had other things on my mind.

“I feel I must ask, " I said, getting closer. “What are you hiding under that dress?” I lightly touched her thigh, feeling the silky material of her nylons, and ever so slowly felt up to where her dress fell. “The ever central question: hose or stockings?”

Kyra lightly slapped my hand away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, definitely. Frankly, you look stunning in this getup. I would love to see you dance.” I put a not altogether subtle emphasis on the word ‘dance’.

She looked up at me. “Oh, really? Well, if you behave, maybe we can arrange something later. But not right now.” She took a step back and headed for the living room. I stared at her ass, swaying playfully because of her heels. I smiled to myself. Not right now, huh?

“Kyra, conditioning level beta.”

She stopped abruptly. I could just imagine her face, the blank look she must have had. Perfect. We might be a bit late to the party.

Remembering the second tape that I had received now a couple of weeks earlier, I went to the entertainment center, and chose an appropriate CD. Shakira would be suitable, I thought, and plopped it in the player. As the beat started, so did Kyra.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Kyra, are you okay?” I asked, still afraid something went wrong.

“Oh yes, honey. I’m just in the mood to dance, that’s all,” she said, her voice husky, starting to move to the beat of the music. She still had her back to me, offering me a wonderful view of her backside.

“You just sit tight, and enjoy the show,” she said, almost whispering it. And she started dancing. She whipped around a few times, swaying dangerously on her heels, arms in the air, head thrown back, hair spreading out. Her movements were alternating between slow and fast. I was mesmerized. Her dress was flying up, not showing anything until she was once more with her back to me, and, still gyrating her hips, lifted the hem of her dress to first reveal that she was wearing thigh-high stockings with a wonderfully wicked lace top, and then her ass cheeks, hugging the skimpiest white thong I had ever seen. Her ass was magnificent, and because she knew me, she starting swaying her body, bending over, her dress flipped over her back, her ass offered to me. I had to fight the urge to jump up, push her on her hands and knees, push aside the thin strip of the thong and fuck a pussy that I knew warm and tight and enveloping.

Kyra suddenly let go of her dress, which fell back on her thighs, whipped back around, and, still dancing to the music, reached up and slowly lowered the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders. Teasingly, looking straight at me, a slight smile on her lips, she pulled down the top of her dress, revealing that she was not wearing a bra, as her breasts popped into view immediately. A delicious pair they were, like small grapefruits, with red nipples pointing out.

Kyra kept on dancing, slowly pulling her dress down fully. It fell down to her feet, and she kicked it off, before standing, legs spread, in front of me, a vision of loveliness. She was only wearing her thong, and her legs were wrapped in white stockings, her feet in tall white heels. She had her hands under her breasts, holding them up as if offering them to me. She slowly tweaked a nipple between a thumb and forefinger.

Remembering the tape, trying not to think too much about the fact that another man had found himself in essentially the same position as I was with my fiancee half naked in front of him and offering her tits. I pulled out my wallet, fished a ten dollar bill, and waved it in the air.

“Nice! How about a little lapdance, sweet thing, while you got me all hot and bothered?” I said, trying to act nonchalant. Kyra positively purred, and came up to me with long cat-like steps. She thrust a hip forward. I reached up, and slipped the tenner in the string of her thong, feeling the satin of her skin in the process.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, still with her husky voice. She slowly started moving her hips in wider and wider circles, her head thrown back, eyes closed, one hand on a tit, the other sneaking down her sides to play with the string of her thong. I went back to being mesmerized.

Kyra lifted a leg and set it down next to me. This put her crotch level with my face, and I could see the wetness spreading on her thong.

“You’re wet, aren’t you?” I asked, looking up at her.

“Oh God, yes, I am dripping. I wish you could feel...” She slowly sneaked a hand across her tummy, slid it slowly under her thong, where I could see it move. She must have been sensitive, because I saw her shiver, open her eyes, look at me directly and give me the dirtiest smile. Her tongue slowly licked her upper lip.

“Mmm, yes, I’m running my finger through my slit, and I’ve never been so wet before. Just for you, baby.”

She pulled her hand up and, putting her finger in her mouth, started to suck on it. “Yum,” she said, still looking directly at me.

A beat, then, still dancing to the music, Kyra turned around, slowly bent over, and started shaking her ass in my face. She then straightened and sat on my lap, massaging my cock with her ass, deliciously. I could not resist any longer, and brought my hands around her chest, and none too gently cupped her tits. They felt wonderful.

“Tut! Tut! None of that,” she said, gently pulling my hands away, still massaging my cock with her ass. “No touching, you know the rules.”

There was only so much I could take. My cock was ready to burst. Exploding in my pants would be a waste, when I had a perfectly good mouth to take care of it.

“Kyra, conditioning level alpha.”

Her ass on my cock stopped abruptly. Kyra stood up, turned around, and kneeled before me. As I pulled my pants off, I looked at her. She was a delicious sight. There was my fiancee, all of twenty-two years old, kneeling in front of me, wearing a skimpy white thong, a pair of thigh-high white stockings, her ass sitting on a pair of white pumps. She looked like a virginal wet dream. As my cock jumped out, I reached over to grab her hair, pulled her to me, and as she engulfed me to the hilt, I could not resist adding “Now suck me, you little slut!”

Later that evening, at the party, watching her talking to one of her friends, I wondered whether she could taste my cum in her mouth. I also thought that every man here would love to see her stripping, especially as I have caught quite a few appreciative leers towards her legs throughout the evening. I had never had fantasies about watching my fiancee with other men, so my feelings came as a surprise, and I found myself having to resist the impulse to call out her conditioning trigger.

Needless to say, I made had her strip again when we got home.

Over the following days, I found out more about her conditioning. For example, while she would gently swat me away if I tried to touch her while she was in what I now called stripper mode, I could ask her to wear whatever I wanted her to. I had her dance and strip in all my favorite outfits, and some new ones I discovered. She danced and stripped out of a silky black nightie that barely covered her crotch, wearing only a pair of black fuck-me pumps. She danced and stripped out of a very proper white shirt and short black skirt, wearing black stockings and black heels. I even went and purchased a red evening gown with a slit up the side, with matching heels and a set of Victoria’s Secret red lace underwear that revealed more than it hid. I asked her that evening, when in stripper mode, to tease her hair up, put on some makeup, wear the red dress and accessories, and give me a slow bump-and-grind, teasing me mercilessly and talking dirty, telling me how much she wanted me to just “rip out my thong, spread my legs wide, and fuck me hard”, or “grab me, throw me on the bed, sit on my tits and fuck my throat”. That last sounded like a good idea, and she almost choked as I spewed in her throat, her head pulled tight against my belly, tits naked and nipples poking into my ass, her legs spread, covered in tan silk, five-inch stiletto heels digging into the bed. Bliss.