The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Day One

In the past, I’d always hired the same girl. Thin, so thin, and worshipping me and the magazine. They were all easy to manipulate, and I came to possess them quickly, but they were so limited.

This time, I wanted different results.

When the woman with no sense of style stood in front of me for her ersatz job interview, confessing that she’d never heard of me or read my magazine, I realized something. So many women read our magazine, trying to become stylish. That was what our magazine, in its nobler moments, was for.

Had I started in the wrong place with all my previous assistants? This woman looked so eager to please, though not necessarily to conform, and she was bright. Maybe a smart woman would take to the programming on her phone even better.

I was intrigued, so I snubbed her, of course. That was step one.

Emily swept into my office. Oh, Emily. She meant well and her enthusiasm was quite pleasing, but she had worked for me for over a year and was only beginning to develop the memory and eye for detail that working for me requires.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Miranda?”

”Have you completed the list I gave you not ten minutes ago?”

She lowered her gaze. ”No, Miranda.”

”Oh, and tell human resources to hire the smart girl.” Emily bit back a horrified expression. She better. “Her new phone is already in her desk.”

Emily left the room, and I was free of her embellished faux leather minidress by Burberry as well. Ugh, I wanted her to desire attention, but not like that.

I indulged myself in one single moment of pitying Andrea. She was going to be getting a lot of calls. That said, the more of them she got, the more she was going to crave them. She’d ache to answer the phone when she thought I might be calling. That was step two.

“I’ll tell her it’s a job a million girls would kill for,” she said.

”You will be right,” I said. She got almost to the door before I called after her. “And Emily?”

”Yes, Miranda?”

”I expect Andrea to be well-trained. She’s going to have to get used to me not learning her name until I’m sure it’s worth my time. Also, make sure she thinks her new phone was issued by the company.”

”Yes, Miranda.”

”That’s all.”

Day Fourteen

I was just off the phone with Tom Ford when Nigel, the magazine’s artistic director, called. He’d been working with me for a very long time and knew better than to question it when I told him to start being kind to Andrea, offering her advice on fitting in at the magazine at the same time that I was making it all too clear that she needed that advice.

Then, yesterday she’d been unable to book me a flight home during a hurricane. It wasn’t incompetence, but I made it clear that I thought it was. Just to push her to where she was right now.

“She’s here,” he said. I’d been hoping for this. Andrea had held on a long time, wanting to pick her clothes, when Nigel had offered to supply her with some, starting with slipping her a pair of shoes she’d worn for most of this week. I’d made her own clothes increasingly uncomfortable, and at last, her will had crumbled. To her, clothes were a tiny thing, but this would not be the last time she tried to stand up to me and ended up on her knees.

I had to fight the appalling urge to pump my fist. Such a gesture was, of course, beneath me. Instead, I tapped my fingernails on my glass desk. It made an appealing sound but my manicurist would have to fix the damage tonight.

“What does she want? More shoes?” I was teasing, of course. I knew what my second assistant wanted.

“She wants everything,” Nigel purred. I squirmed in my leather chair. “What should she get?”

“Thin, silk bras and panties. La Perla or similar. Make sure she gets black, cream and blood red.”

“Fabulous with her coloring.”

“Yes. Other than that, a wide variety of clothes appropriate for my office and the functions she will attend. Lots of pumps, lots of boots with advice on how to match them with the clothes. Please me.”

“Yes, Miranda,” Nigel said. Even the gay boys love to please me.

“That’s all.”

I leaned back in my chair, basking in the New York skyline in front of me. Of course Andrea had come begging to Nigel. He had all that charm and warmth and other skills I paid my employees to have. Nigel had better things to do than keeping my assistants supplied with beautiful clothes, but he knew that little favors for me always pay off eventually.

By the time Andrea got back to her desk, she would be a new woman. Precisely the woman I was shaping her into. I smiled, then pulled up the latest draft of a staff writer’s new article on Dolce and Gabbana’s winter line.

Day Twenty-Five

I was impressed with Armani’s fall collection, though I’d had them make me their pseudo wrap dress in chocolate brown; that beige was simply appalling with my coloring. I discovered in my town car on the way to work that the large button on the hip was inconvenient for sitting in a car. Twenty-five days ago, I suspect Andrea would have thought practical concerns like this were irrelevant to me. But she was learning. I sent a message to Emily, directing her to inform Armani’s creative director of my concerns. I do try to be helpful.

Desperate for amusement, and still uncomfortable from the pressure of the button, I pulled up the copies I received of Andrea’s incoming and outgoing text messages, reading them quickly.

Oh, were her sweet little friends getting mean? They thought she was becoming shallow? They thought she’d been bought! It made me laugh, but something would have to be done about that. And the timing couldn’t be more perfect for my next surprise for Andrea.

I texted Emily, “Open up six gift boxes and have their contents lined up on my desk. Is Andrea in yet?”

“Yes, Miranda. I’ll have the gifts ready. Andrea is out getting your coffee. The gift boxes will be on your desk when you get back.”

And they were.

I pulled a small silver box from a filing drawer, putting it with the opened gift boxes.

“Emily?” I called. Andrea had just been there a moment ago. Maybe she was on the phone. Well, she should know to get off the phone when I need her. There was shuffling and whispers in the outer office as if Emily were sending Andrea in. “Emily? How many times do I have to scream your name?” I cooed. Really the vocal intonation I used when I was calling Andrea using Emily’s name was quite different than the vocal intonation I used to call Emily. I can’t imagine that it would have been difficult.

“Yes, Miranda.” She hurried into the room. Chanel from the cuffs of her collar to her high black boots. Every day was a new delight, even as I suspected that Nigel was still texting Andrea what to wear every morning. Thank goodness he was. I ached for her. The closer she got to my own creation, the more I wanted her. Even if she were tardy sometimes.

“I’ve confirmed your meeting at Micheal Kors this afternoon and the reservation for your dinner with your husband tonight,” Andrea said.

I raised an eyebrow long enough for Andrea to realize that I hadn’t asked, then turned my gaze to the packages.

“You have friends, don’t you, Emily?” say I did like how quickly Andrea had accepted Emily’s name for herself. She grinned. “Of course, there’s Lily, she’s been my friend since…” She realized I was looking at her and waiting for her to stop talking.

“People are always sending me things I don’t need. Please give these things to your friends.”

She started opening packages. I knew she’d be ridiculous enough to do it in front of me. I was counting on that. “Lily will love this bag! And a Bang and Olufsen phone, than can be for Nate…” It was sweet how enthusiastic she was about giving things away, albeit things she hadn’t paid for. “What’s this?” she opened the silver box and then she gasped.

The vibrator I’d had made was chrome and very powerful. There were no external signs of its Bluetooth capability at all.

“Yes?” I said. For this to work, I would have to seem quite uninterested. Luckily, I’m good at that. Practice, you know.

“I don’t think I can give any of my friends that,” Andrea said. Perfect. Trust that youthful lack of sophistication. Which isn’t to say I would give my friends vibrators. I don’t have any friends.

“Then keep it yourself. Just get all of this out of my office,” I snapped.

She gathered up her things and left.

Day Twenty-Seven

Judging by Andrea’s text messages, her silly little friends had stopped complaining. Next time they complained again, I might have to send them a few thousand dollars more in gifts, but it was a small price to pay. Maybe next time they complained, she wouldn’t listen to them at all.

Andrea had been particularly hard-working and her attention to the details of my life and job was already better than Emily’s. I sent Emily on an errand, then called Andrea into my office, giving her a particularly burdensome assignment, watching those big brown eyes get wider and wider.

“Yes, Miranda,” she said, lowering her gaze to the ground. Oh, very nice. The only thing better than her watching me is when she can’t do it anymore. Also that she was wearing a flattering Glen check sheath dress from Akris. I do pleasing work.

“That’s all, Andrea,” I said, looking back at the stylebook in front of me.

She wasn’t obvious at her delight when I used her actual name. She went behind her desk in the outer office, then I heard her stepping into the coat closet.

An alert popped up on my computer. She was using her vibrator. I imagined her pale arms against a wool dress, black panties pushed aside, her toes pointed in those Jimmy Choos.

Delighted, I sent a command to redirect the phones for a few minutes. I wanted Andrea to have a nice long time to enjoy how good my approval felt.

Day Forty-Five

Andrea was anticipating my needs and hadn’t missed a detail in three days. Finally, someone met my standards.

I had continued to review her phone on my way to work each morning. Her text messages suggested that her boyfriend liked her new bras and panties. He didn’t know it, but he loved what the suggestions on her phone had done to her sex drive. Oh, you’re very welcome, young man. Enjoy them while you can. But she’s using her vibrator both when I approve of her and when I disapprove of her now. You don’t have long.

That thought left me pushing my own silk panties aside.

Soon enough she’ll be doing that too. I suppose she’s not perfect yet. I instructed Nigel to plant the suggestion that relationships can’t survive a woman’s success. It’s only reasonable. None of mine have.

I had planted the seed. She knew better than to be overtly smutty in the office. But the little hints are there. Just a little too much bending over. One extra button on her blouse had been undone. She’s made her point, now that I had made mine.

Day Fifty — Charity Ball, the Metropolitan Museum of Art

There’s something vulgar in my love of making my two beautiful assistants dress in the same color I am wearing. They didn’t know I’d told Nigel to do that tonight, but the magazine provided their clothes for the fundraiser, so, of course... At the fundraiser, I made them stand behind me so they would fan out like my wide, dark wings.

As long as I’ve been the nominal host of charity events, I never get tired of taking over museums for a gala. That lavish splendor is mine. And I do love to possess things.

My favorite moment was when Ambassador Franklin came to greet me and thank me for his invitation.

The good ambassador had recently replaced his wife with his most recent mistress. My assistants were at each shoulder, ostensibly to supply me with this information. A little drunk with the grandeur of it all, I wanted to purr “Oh Ambassador, how quaint that you only have one.”

I did not do anything of the kind.

It was strange to be in this liminal place, Andrea almost completely mine but not yet. So tempting to reach up and just grab that fruit.

For a while, I stood there at the fundraiser imagining the three of us slipping out to the town car. I thought about ordering the driver to just circle Central Park, then ordering the two of them to undress me and make me cum over and over. Thank God for tinted windows. Eventually, I’d lean back and drink wine and tell them to fuck each other for my amusement. I’d never had sex with Emily before but I was certain she’d do it to please me. As long as I kept her in black Valentino evening gowns, she’d do anything to please me.

But Andrea was the one I wanted, and I wanted her to desire me above everything. Soon, Miranda, soon. But you’ve sworn off short term pleasure this time.

Which isn’t to say that the late night text from Andrea’s vibrator wasn’t gratifying. She was thinking about me too.

Day Seventy — Paris Fashion Week

Andrea had never seen me without makeup before. Most people in my life haven’t. But that’s how she found me on the night my husband sent me a fax, asking for a divorce.

A fax. Appalling.

I could plead that I didn’t know what I was doing. But I did. I ached for touch, anyone’s touch, especially her touch. It was what I had been waiting for. And I didn’t have anyone else.

That’s probably a dish of self-serving tripe. But I have always served myself.

When Andrea sat across from me, her brown eyes wide, I saw a new expression on her face: open desire. She’d found me vulnerable and was showing me a vulnerability in return. I sucked in a breath. I’d wanted to make her. But I hadn’t made anything as beautiful as that. Some things are inborn.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Miranda?”

My smile was tight. I’d thought of this moment a lot, but I hadn’t wanted to be like this. Which is not to say I wasn’t going to take it.

“There’s only one way to comfort a divorcee,” I said. Andrea blushed and looked away. “Take off your clothes and show me how excited you are.” It was a command, but I believe it was a warm command. She seemed to take it that way.

She sat on the coffee table and started to undo her buttons, one by one.

“I love what I’ve become,” she said.

I licked my lips just slightly. “Oh yes?” Being my fucktoy was going to be pleasurable. I’d make sure of that.

“Seventy days ago I was in the office of a famous woman, who is the editor of a famous magazine, and I hadn’t even bothered to google her or pick up an issue.”

Oh, it was so arousing how smart she was. I smiled. “You were completely unacceptable.”

“It wasn’t just my clothes.” Her bra was La Perla, a simple black lace triangle. Summer 2019.

“Your clothes were unacceptable too,” I said.

She nodded, slightly, “I know. I do want to be a writer, and I didn’t know how unprepared I was. I know you’re aroused by shaping me into a resourceful professional who knows her own power. What you might not have known is that I was just as aroused.”

She slipped off her skirt, revealing matching panties and stockings. Had that awkward girl seventy days ago bothered with such things? Surely not. Attention to detail was one of the things I’d created in her, and with such success. Perhaps that was the most arousing thing about this display, which is not to say that dear Andrea wasn’t trying her best.

She stood up and walked over to the closet in her underwear, hanging her clothes properly. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out.

I wanted to stroke my own pussy just watching that, but restraint is one of the qualities that has gotten me as far in my life as I’ve been able to go. My nipples, sheathed in La Perla themselves, beige balconette, winter 2019 collection, were, I’m sure, apparent. Some things cannot be restrained.

The idea that she also had been aroused, not by what I had done to her sex drive, but by the machinations themselves, was indeed intriguing.

She lifted her foot as if to kick off her Prada pumps. Brushed leather, with metal heel, 2019 collection.

“The shoes can stay.”

Andrea let out a moan of arousal.

“Yes, Miranda.”

“Tell me more,” I said.

“I love being this person who notices everything. I love how much I want everything to be perfect. Oh God, when I’ve pleased you…” Her voice whined as it trailed off.

“You’re pleasing me right now,” I said. “Please me more, tell me how hot it is while you stroke your pussy.”

“So hot to be shaped,’’ she moaned, stroking her vulva through those panties. “I find myself checking things and checking them again because it feels so good when they are right. I go home and I read award-winning books because it makes me wet to understand your friends’ jokes at parties.”

“I don’t have any friends,” I said. “But I know what you mean.”

“I want to be a writer… someday. But right now, I love being your assistant. I love that people see me and they know that I belong to you. I know you’re doing something to my phone and manipulating me, and you don’t have to because I love it. I’ll do what you want. Just keep making me better.”

I stared at her for a long moment, aware in the silence of how very wet I was.

“I have to use the phone to implant my instructions and manipulate you,” I said. “Or it won’t be instinctive.” No sense in not telling her the truth at this point.

“Then do that,” she said. “That’s so fucking hot. Call me every hour. I want you to shape me into what you want. Because what you want is amazing and it feels so fucking good.”

“Language, Andrea.” I swallowed an unbecoming gulp. I was astonished. I’d created some of this in her through her phone, but not nearly all of it. As much as I loved shaping her, some qualities are natural, I suppose. Could it really be that she wanted all of this? Could perfection mean as much to her as it did to me? Well, it did now. “Think about belonging to me, and make yourself cum,” I said, never one to let an opportunity pass.

For just a moment, her body wriggled like a trapped thing, then it was all tightness and gasping, her moans begging my name. Her gaze never left my face.

I slipped out of my robe. I craved her touch. She stood up and walked over, not a wobble in her heels, and picked up the robe. I watched her every motion as she walked over and slipped my robe onto a hanger. She turned to face me.

“I didn’t know what I could accomplish before. But it feels so damn good to excel under pressure.”

“You’re going to do it over and over and it’s going to feel better each time, My Dear. Come here,” I said.

She gave a little quaver when I said “My Dear,” then lowered her body into a crawl. I do love her resourcefulness. I craved that mouth on me. I knew I would never tire of looking into those eyes over and over as she made herself cum. She’d been making herself cum while thinking about pleasing me for a while now, and I was never going to get tired of making her do in front of me.

“I hoped this was something you wanted,” she murmured.

“Oh it’s something I want very much, or I wouldn’t have arranged it for myself.” She shook a little as she registered that. “You’re going to be doing a lot of this. I’m going to go to parties with you, and I’m going to be having conversations and watching you, knowing that you’re going to be taking off your dress as soon as you get to the car.”

“Good,” she said.

“Lie on the other end of the couch,” I said. “Display yourself for me.”

She bit her lip and crawled up, obeying me. Oh, it felt so good to be obeyed. Why had I never been able to get a girl to understand that before?

Perhaps because none of the other girls had been Andrea.

I stood over her then lowered my body onto hers. “I’m going to explain how to touch me very carefully,” I said. “And you’re going to obey my instructions.”

And I knew she would.