The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sophie Lee stood at the front of the apartment, waiting impatiently for her driver. She was overdue for her meeting with the label, and her driver was never this late—in fact, he’d never been late at all. Her driver was typically so reliable that Sophie didn’t even have a phone number for him. She’d never needed one before—as soon as she left the building, he’d be there, ready to pick her up and whisk her away.

Her manager’s number she did have, and he’d answered straight away, promising to sort it out for her, but Sophie was still furious. She didn’t like standing out in public at the best of times, but in her current garb…

Sophie had just spent the night at her boyfriend’s and (in an unusually risky move) had decided to walk to her car wearing the sexy costume normally reserved for his eyes only. If she was being honest, she’d done it because the risk of being caught was itself a turn-on…but she’d been expecting it to be nothing more than a brief exposure to the public. She certainly hadn’t foreseen an extended wait outside his building.

All I need is for a pap to snap me in this, she thought with a toss of her long red hair, and I’ll be reading about it for months.

Sophie’s boyfriend was the only other person in the world aware of Sophie’s secret sexual desires. She had trouble admitting them even to herself, but this one she’d come to accept:

She liked dressing like a slut.

It turned her on beyond belief. Anything that one would normally see on a cheap hooker—short shorts, thigh-high boots, see-through tops…the second she saw herself in those, her nipples would harden, her eyes would cloud over with lust, and her panties—if she was even wearing any—would immediately grow soaked.

In the past 3 years, Sophie Lee had been responsible for nine hits. At that level of success, she could arguably have wear anything she liked in public, but she’d carefully constructed an image and she insisted on upholding it. As far as the public (and especially the media) were concerned, she was pure class. Her image was of a tasteful, well-dressed woman, who would never do anything to exploit her body or looks.

It was an image that, to her constant annoyance, was in direct contrast to the shape of her body.

Sophie’s fan-base loved her for many things, but largely for making pop classy again. All three of her albums had received rave reviews: the tracks soulful ballads, feel-good pop hits, and revolutionary new pieces that had every other artist on the charts scrambling to keep up.

It was as if The Beatles were back, in (curvy) female form.

Sophie Lee had been entirely responsible for her first (record-breaking) album—she’d written the songs, she’d recorded and mixed the tracks, and it was only when she’d started pitching it around that the studio had gotten involved.

Since then, a lot of her music had been written in collaboration with all the big names (her schedule, didn’t allow the time for her to pen everything herself), but everyone knew that it was her unique voice and lyrical ability that kept her on top.

As soon as her driver arrived, he was going to whisk her to a meeting with her label, where she’d be organizing her first world tour.

A young man approached with a whistle of admiration, and Sophie looked away in an attempt to hide her face. Fortunately for her, that wasn’t where he was looking—the singer’s luscious curves, normally so carefully hidden away, were out for all to see, and it was there his attention was drawn.

It was an industry secret that Sophie Lee sported EEs. Her first album had stayed in the top ten for a record 91 weeks, a feat which she was (deservedly) proud of. She was even more proud, however, of the fact that she’d managed to do it without ever flaunting her figure in a music video. Normally her huge breasts were kept under wraps—literally bound for a great number of her public appearances. She wanted to be famous for her talent, not for her body.

She wanted respect.

It was impossible to completely hide her curves, but outside of a rare few, no one knew just how hot she was. Double-E cup breasts, a huge (but still pert), firm ass…she had curves that would make Jessica Rabbit jealous, and spent a great deal of time and effort hiding it from the outside world.

But Sophie’s boyfriend had uncovered her most wicked secret…being objectified turned her on more than anything else.

Her number one priority was her career—it was so important that she maintain the respect of her fans. But as soon as she was out of the public eye, Sophie Lee would fantasize about the idea of destroying her carefully-constructed images, and showing her fans the hot piece of fuckmeat that she really was.

She’d picture herself working at a gentleman’s club as a topless waiter, strutting through the room and having every man turn and stare at her huge, mouth-watering jugs. Her enormous tits would make every cock in the room hard, and they wouldn’t be able to resist reaching out and grabbing them, tugging on her nipples, feeling her up, treating her like nothing but a plaything…

The young man in front of her wasn’t looking at her tits, however. He’d approached her from behind, and it was Sophie Lee’s perfect bubble but that he was staring at.

On the rare occasion she had a day off, Sophie Lee would celebrate by calling her boyfriend, and having her dictate an outfit for her. At first, he’d insisted that he thought she was sexy no matter what she wore, but as he’d started to realize how powerful her particular fetish was, he’d started to get into it.

He’d quickly worked out how hot she got, showing off her assets in a way that she could never do in public, and nothing got Sophie Lee off faster than dressing as her boyfriend’s fantasy, putting her perfect body on display. She loved the look of lust that overcame him whenever he stared at her dressed like a slut—dressed like his slut.

The previous night, he must have googled some images for reference, because his request had been very specific.

And so it was that Sophie Lee was standing on the streets of New York, wearing a tight pink miniskirt that barely contained her ass. It was accompanied by a matching tube-top—normally Sophie Lee wouldn’t let anyone see her in anything more provocative than a loose-fitting dress with a hemline waaay beneath the knee, but this ensemble barely hid any of her assets.

She was dressed like a cheap bimbo, an effect that was only highlighted by the black studded collar she wore around her neck.

The young man openly ogled her—dressed the way she was, she was definitely inviting it—and Sophie could practically feel his eyes burning into her skin as they started at her six-inch “fuck me” pumps, travelled up her long, toned legs, their shape highlighted by the footwear her boyfriend had insisted she find. The stranger’s eyes momentarily rested on her pert ass-cheeks, poking out the bottom of her miniskirt, jiggling every time she moved.

Sophie Lee was more turned on than she could ever remember being.

She knew that she should be furious—she onew she should go back inside and wait for her car, but she’d never been so blatantly checked out, and it was so hot…and besides, it was just for a few more minutes. Her car would be here any second.

That morning, her boyfriend had woken her up by slowly fucking her ass—she’d requested it the night before, but she frequently wished he’d just take the initiative and just do it without being instructed. Getting fucked in the ass was another of her biggest turn-ons that she could never share with the press, and being used even while she was asleep lit a fire inside her that she just couldn’t explain, not even to herself.

When she’d started moaning, he’d picked her up and started pounding her against the wall. In response to her begging him to, he’d called her a cheap slut, but before she could cum, he’d unloaded into her bowels, and she’d noticed the time.

She’d cursed, and run downstairs without time for a shower, or even a change of clothes (but not before cleaning his cock off with her mouth)—she knew her whole body was likely glistening with sweat, and only when she was in the elevator had Sophie Lee noticed the dried cum on her tits, from when she’d knelt before her boyfriend and had him jerk off on her body the previous night.

Had her car been there, she would have been able to change immediately—there were always two full changes of clothes—but instead, she was standing on the street, exposed and horny.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if she was wearing panties, but that was part of the fantasy. “What kind of a slut doesn’t even wear panties?” her boyfriend would ask, as his fingers felt her wetness dripping down her thighs.

As it was, her cheeks were unadorned, and her booty was there for anyone to see, irresistibly spankable and utterly fuckable. A part of Sophie Lee wished that the stranger would lift her skirt up, reveal her to the street, and spank her silly…but, of course, real life didn’t work that way.

Perhaps due to how horny her fantasies made her, perhaps it was just because her body was built that way, but Sophie Lee was almost-constantly wet. When she was working, she was able to put it out of her mind, but whenever she was alone—in her car, backstage before a show—she’d reward herself by slipping one hand between her legs and enjoying how wet she got. She’d imagine her fans lining up to take her slippery hole, ramming their thick cocks between her well-lubricated pussy-lips, the girls playing with themselves as their boyfriends fucked their idol…

Pull yourself together, Sophie Lee told herself, shivering with arousal, tempted to slap herself straight, knowing that it probably wouldn’t help. Being slapped or spanked would just serve to turn her on even more…

One of the pop star’s greatest fears was giving into the lust. She enjoyed playing with it, feeding it from time to time, but she needed to be more than just a piece of fuckmeat. She’d worked hard to get her career where it was—to most people, she represented dignity and self-respect.

The idea of throwing it all away and letting the world see who she was underneath was abhorrent, her biggest fear…and her biggest turn-on.

The car will be here soon, she told herself, and you can get off in peace. Until then, just…keep it together.

Not trusting herself to speak, the pop star took a few steps away from the man, hoping he’d get the hint. With each step, her thighs rubbed against each other, and to her annoyance, Sophie Lee found herself wishing he wouldn’t leave.

After all, why would he? She was dressed like a cheap streetwalker, dolled up with the express intention of getting men hard. Everything about her costume, from the thick red lipstick to the collar she couldn’t believe she was wearing in public…it all said “Slut”. It all screamed “Use me, abuse me, fuck me…please!”

Fortunately, after one long, lingering stare at her perfect body, the man walked away.

Thank god, Sophie told herself. I’m so wet I’m amazed that I haven’t started dripping…

The image of her juices dropping on the ground hit her like a freight train, and Sophie stumbled with arousal. She couldn’t believe how much the idea turned her on—the thought of leaving a literal trail of girl-cum, that men could follow to find an oversexed slut.

No…I can’t think like that. Not in public.

Just one image of her current outfit, and her classy image would be irreparably destroyed.

Where the hell is this car?

As she stood outside the apartment, trying desperately not to imagine every man in a one-mile radius smelling how turned on she was, approaching her and touching her, feeling her up, spreading her legs, spreading her lips, filling her up with cock, cumming inside her, cumming on her…as she desperately tried not to think deeply erotic thoughts, another man approached.

He looked like a jogger. She froze, terrified of being recognized, while the idea of her secret sex life getting out to the media fed into her fantasy.

Everyone would know, she gasped, too turned on to think straight. All my fans…all my friends…they’d all know that all I want is to be fucked from all sides, filled with thick cock, serving them, pleasing them, making them cum. They’d think that the only reason I made music was so that more people would see me fall to the lust…

Fortunately, just like her previous admirer, he didn’t even look at her face. The jogger’s attention was wholly focused on Sophie Lee’s double-Es.

That could be the name of my next album, she thought, still in an erotic haze.

Perhaps it was all the time they spent constrained, or perhaps she was just born lucky, but Sophie’s tits had nowhere near the amount of sag one would expect for breasts of their size. Late at night, when she was alone in her penthouse apartment, she’d play with herself imagining letting them free in a strip club, allowing all her male fans to gaze at them as she allowed them to bounce and sway to one of her pop hits.

Everyone would be hard…because of her. Every erection in the house would be because of her body—no one would care about her brain, her talent. They’d only care about her ability to get naked for them, to get them off.

She’d make them form a line, single file, as they tucked bills into her G-string and came on her tits. The men in line would jerk off, waiting for their chance to blow their load on her beautiful, enormous breasts. Her female fans would be there too, helping the men stay hard…not that they’d need much help, with Sophie Lee’s Double-E’s to look at.

And if they were having trouble cumming, she’d be more than happy to help—she’d slip their cock between her boobs, so well lubricated by the cum of the men before them, and she’d lift them up, over and over. They’d get to watch their cock disappear into her soft tit-flesh until they couldn’t hold back any more, and came all over her smiling face.

And when it got to be too much, when she couldn’t see through the layers of semen, her female fans would flock forward to lick it off…but not all of it. Enough that she could see, but not so much that her face wouldn’t still be coated in their thick, salty, glorious seed.

Of course, Sophie Lee knew that she could never do that. She could never do anything like it. And that’s why she loved her boyfriend so much—he knew her fantasies, and he loved her for them. And he was always happy to role-play them, even as she came up with new, depraved ways to dream of debasing herself.

The previous night, as soon as she’d arrived, Sophie had taken off her long overcoat to reveal the slutty outfit she was wearing underneath. He’d immediately reached out and slapped her tits—hard—and Sophie had swooned at the sensation. Her boyfriend was playing the role of a slave master, and she was the latest shipment. He was going to sell her to the highest bidder, but first…he had to test out the merchandise.

He hadn’t let her cum all night. The plan was to reward her with an orgasm in the morning, but now Sophie was on the street, almost unable to control herself. She hadn’t cum for almost twenty-four hours, and she’d spent the night getting fucked…fucked so hard…

Just thinking about it made her nipples ache for a man’s touch, and she suddenly become acutely aware of the jogger standing in front of her.

Oh god, she thought, as she realized what she was going to do. A part of her knew it was stupid—incredibly stupid—but through her fog of arousal, she managed to justify it to herself. No one would believe it was me…and it will keep him from looking at my face.

Grabbing the top of her tube top, she lowered it, exposing her enormous breasts and wide, brown nipples to the jogger.

His eyes opened wide in shock as he gaped, nervously fiddling with his glasses. When Sophie put her tits away a few seconds later, he looked up at her…without any sign of recognition.

Smiling in relief, Sophie winked, and the jogger, barely able to believe what had just happened, was on his way.

That’s almost humbling, she told herself, fighting the urge to reach between her legs and slip three fingers into her sopping wetness. I’ve gone platinum twenty times, but there’s still someone on the streets of New York City who has no idea who I am.

It was only when he’d left the block that a sick feeling crept into her stomach, and she tried to remember what those new Google Glasses looked like.

Sophie’s hands were slowly inching closer and closer to the hemline of her miniskirt. She was horny,—hornier than she could ever remember being—she was standing on the street in the sluttiest outfit she’d ever worn, and she’d just flashed a stranger.

And it might have been caught on film.

It would destroy her image. Her huge, fuckable tits, making their way across the internet…being viewed by everyone…the tabloids would have a field day, and no one would ever take her seriously again.

The thought terrified her, and turned her on before belief.

She’d gone to check Twitter, to see if the images were out there, but her fingers were trembling so hard that it took her a few minutes to search for her own hashtag.

Nothing yet. She was relieved—as much as she enjoyed the fantasy of being exposed to millions of fans across the country (Sophie Lee had to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning out load at the idea) she enjoyed the reality of her current lifestyle much, much more.

Sophie was weighing up the pro’s and cons of going back inside (the car was due any second, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was enjoying the thrill of her public exposure…) when it happened.

A young couple walking toward her looked at her, recognition in their eyes. Her fingers twitched—her tit-flesh was pressing against her pink tube-top, begging to be let free again, but she knew that wouldn’t save her this time.

They knew who she was.

Crap crap crap crap, she thought, trying to work out whether she’d be safer bolting back inside, or putting on a German accent and pretending to be someone else.

She began to force a smile, even as her eyes flickered down, trying to work out whether the man walking toward her had an erection.

Every time Sophie saw her boyfriend’s erection, it immediately put a smile on her face. It was such a turn-on, knowing that she’d caused it. She wasn’t a fool—merely by being a woman, she knew that she’d inevitably caused hundreds of erections, and even with her conservative dress and classy image, any woman at her level of fame was likely responsible for thousands (if not millions) of boners.

But when her boyfriend got hard, it wasn’t because she could hold a tune, or because her face was on the cover of a different magazine each week. No, when she turned him on, she was turning him on—her body, the one she worked so hard to keep covered. His erection was caused purely by her flesh—her huge jugs, her long legs and bouncing ass…and her wet, eager pussy.

When her boyfriend fucked her, she didn’t feel like he was fucking Sophie Lee, International Pop Star. She wasn’t a celebrity to him—she was a wet hole to get him off. He got hard not because of her fame or wealth, but because of what she could immediately provide—a slut to wrap around his hard-on.

She loved it.

Just as the young couple were close enough to say something, a car pulled beside her, and the curb-side door opened.

“Thank God!” she explained, leaping head-first into the car and pulling the door closed, leaving behind her a nonplussed young couple, wondering if they’d just seen what they thought they’d just seen.

Now, Sophie told herself, they can claim to have seen me, but who’s going to believe them?

Unless the jogger was wearing Google Glass…

Sophie took a deep breath to calm herself down, before smiling as she realized that she was finally alone in her car, that she finally had time to masturbate. Reaching into one of the car’s side-compartments for one of her many toys, Sophie made a startling observation:

This wasn’t her car.

The divider between her and the driver was opaque—she could see her reflection in it. Her cute button nose, her scattered freckles, her “stormy green eyes” (as Vogue had described them)—at that moment, however, Sophie wasn’t interested in seeing anything except the face of whoever was driving the car.

“Driver,” she said loudly, rapping on the divider, but there was no answer.

“Driver!” she repeated, slightly more insistently, but the divider stayed up.

As her head began to spin with kidnapping procedures, ransom money, and whether it would be weird for her to masturbate while being kidnapped, the car’s sound system turned on, and Sophie was slightly alarmed to hear one of her own songs playing. It had been altered, somehow, and didn’t quite sound right. It was slightly too slow…or too fast…or perhaps the pitch had been changed.

Suddenly unable to think about anything except for what was different about the song, Sophie was so distracted that she didn’t even notice herself slowly drifting off to sleep.