The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Instructions

Categories: mc bd ds ex mf md

SUMMARY: In public and in private, a perverted game of he-said-she-said cat-and-mouse plays out between a master and his doll.

DISCLAIMER: This story contains explicit and unconscionable sexual activity, and is intended for adult readers only. If you have not yet attained the legal age of consent in your region, of if you have difficulty distinguishing between fantasy and reality, I urge you not to continue.

NOTE: This story was an experimental collaboration between myself and Birddoll, a multi-talented yet shy submissive. Much gratitude to Birddoll for all the encouragement, creativity, and smouldering enthusiasm that made this story happen.

—Trystor

After lunch, her phone rang. A male voice, muscular and firm, told her to meet him after work, on the corner of Charlotte and Pitt. “Before you leave the office,” he added, “go to the washroom stall and touch yourself. Not enough to cum, just enough to get wet. Take a picture of your wet fingers. Put your cell phone in your bra.”

She stayed on the line for thirty seconds after he hung up. His voice was familiar. She felt an itch between her legs. She composed some texts in order to cancel her evening plans. When her friends inquired about the reason, she texted back vaguely: tired, unwell.

A quarter of an hour before she clocked out, she stepped into the farthest washroom stall. The nearer stall was occupied; she waited, squirming, till the washroom emptied out. Then she tugged down her skirt and began to jill herself. She knew she was already moist—the dark patch on the lining of her skirt confirmed it—but she wanted the Man on the Phone to see the proof.

She pried apart her labia and slid two fingers up and down. The scent of musk coiled up into her nostrils. Gently at first, then more and more urgently, she teased her lips with upward strokes until they puffed out visibly from her snatch, red fruit in a brown forest. Once or twice, she accidentally brushed her clit, gasping.

She thought she might be close to cumming but that wasn’t allowed, so she finished the business by sliding two fingers deep inside her pussyhole. She withdrew them, reluctantly, and held them up to the light. Strands of milky juice hung between them like a sordid spider’s web. She fished her phone out of her purse, awkwardly, and snapped a picture. Then she wiped her slimy fingers on the toilet paper roll and got dressed, remembering to tuck her phone into her bra, as instructed. It was almost time, so rather than be late, she opted not to wash her hands. The scent of her own excitement followed her through the office, down the stairs, and out into the street.

* * *

He’d been thinking about her all morning. The smell of her, the feel of her, the sound of her. She didn’t know who he was—not really—but he knew her. The scopolamine spray he used each time they met kept her from remembering—the mist that made her pupils the slightest bit larger, her breath the tiniest amount faster. It turned him on every time he sent her away with instructions to forget the encounter. More instructions to do as he says when she hears his voice.

Adjusting himself, he furtively checked the coffee shop to make sure nobody was close. The waiting was part of the fun, but it was nearing lunchtime and he knew he couldn’t last much longer. It was getting uncomfortable, and he pushed his hips minutely to feel the jean zipper press against the line of his cock, hard against his stomach.

Stifling a moan, he checked the clock again. Pulse racing, slight fingers reaching for the phone, he reviewed the instructions he had planned for her today. He dialled quickly. His breath caught when she answered. He squared his shoulders and put on the persona like a cloak—assertively commanding she show him evidence of her desire for him when they met in a few hours.

He hung up and tried to return to work, but his cock kept pushing urgently against his jeans. This project wouldn’t finish itself. But thoughts of her kept intruding, pushing productivity away. He wanted to see her realize it was him, catch the surprise in her eyes, and watch as she struggled, then realize she was unable to control her desire. The ache to make her do ever more depraved things was almost overwhelming.

Her total submission was making him her slave. He wondered which of them was further gone.

He finally managed to get some progress on his project before five. He even lost track of time. He didn’t know what made him look up—the door’s bell had been ringing all afternoon with constant cafe traffic—but then the smell of her reached him on the breeze. God, she must be soaked in her own juice to smell like that from here.

He cursed under his breath, but she hadn’t seen him. This wasn’t their meeting place, and he ducked further in his chair, hiding behind his laptop as he watched her pick up two hot drinks. He knew one of them would be his favorite, having implanted that command early on. With her back to him, he was able to furtively pack up and slip out the back door, hoping she didn’t notice as he walked briskly up the block to their prearranged rendezvous.

As he walked, the persona slipped over him once more. His stride lengthened, his shoulders came back, his head slid back and up, exuding confidence and making people on the sidewalk move out of his way or watch him pass.

A small smile came over his face as he walked to the corner with the alcove, telegraphing his filthy intents for the next hour. She was coming, and she was his.

* * *

Her mind was wandering. She stopped at the corner and stared at the two travel cups in her hands. She couldn’t quite remember buying them, but at least the smell of latte was now stronger than the scent from her fingers.

The lights changed, and traffic rolled past. The heat from the lattes seeped out through the cardboard, singeing her fingers slowly, by degrees. She thought about taking a sip from one of the cups, but she wasn’t sure which one was hers, and which was...someone else’s. On her thigh, she felt a thin, warm trickle of juice. She shifted from foot to foot, squeezing her thighs to try rubbing it away. She felt as if people were staring at her.

Or else just one person. Yes. The hairs on the back of her neck. The pulse and clench of her vulva. Someone was standing behind her, savouring her shame. She wanted to walk away, or maybe turn around and throw hot coffee in his face. She didn’t move.

“Are you wet?” Came a voice from nearby. It was the Man on the Phone.

“Yes,” she answered, helpless. Her hands were full and she couldn’t turn around. She thought fleetingly of calling for help, but who would she call? What would she say? And anyway, she couldn’t get to her cell phone, because he’d told her to keep it inside her bra.

He moved closer, till she could feel his breath against her ear. He reached around her right shoulder and fished inside her blouse until he found her phone. She felt herself flush crimson, thinking of the passersby, the people in cars. Anyone could see them. She was breathing too fast.

Once he had her phone, he stepped away again. “What is your access code?” He asked, and she told him. A pause. She knew that he was looking at the picture from the washroom, her fingers sludgy with lust. She was still hyperventilating.

Then he pressed himself against her again, this time with his prick against her ass. Reaching over her shoulder again, he held her camera in front of her face. She swallowed. The screen showed a different photo. It showed her—not just her fingers, all of her. She was naked, on her knees, gazing up towards the camera. Red lines wrapped around her arms and legs, as if she’d just been released from bondage. Her mouth was stuffed with cock.

“Do you remember this photo being taken?” Asked the Voice.

“No,” she whispered. Her mouth had gone dry. She kept staring at herself in the picture. The pupils were large, the eyes lambent and wet with a slavish adoration that she’d never seen in herself. Never.

“Do you know whose cock you’re sucking?”

She swallowed again. “Yours,” she replied. She could feel that same cock, pressing insistently into the groove between her asscheeks. Even through many layers of clothing, she thought she could feel it tensing, like a snake about to strike.

“That’s right.” He turned the phone off, and slid it back into her bra, lingering in there long enough to find and pinch her nipple. “And do you know where that cock is going to be, very soon?”

“N-no,” she said truthfully, though her mind was flooded with potential answers.

“That’s fine,” said the Voice, “you don’t need to think. Just obey. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” she said, with relief. That felt so much easier than trying to puzzle out the situation—separating her ideas from her needs, sorting right from wrong. She told herself that, if she simply did as she was told, then everything would become clear.

As clear and pure as that expression she’d seen within her own eyes, in the photo. Yes.

“Very good,” he said, and stepped back. “Now, turn around.”

* * *

He set up in the alcove, carefully arranging his open backpack to allow access to his toys, but keep them hidden from passersby in the darkened corner. He intended to make her feel like she was exposed to the world, but didn’t want to get arrested. That, surprisingly, wasn’t on his list of fetishes. The cool of the concrete wall oozed into his backside as he settled in to wait, trying to look as if he’d always been there despite his hurried dash out of the coffee place.

The lights changed, and pedestrians began amassing at the corner, waiting for the walk signal. He looked up to see her coming towards the milling group with a vague look on her face, almost walking past him. He whispered a quiet command and she stopped just before the corner, hands fidgeting with the lattes, eyes darting around the square.

He took a deep breath, and as the lights changed again, he spoke, louder this time. “Are you wet?”

Her whole body stiffened. He knew she was panicking, but he also knew she would obey. He waited, eyeing her up and down, eyebrow rising at the telltale glisten on her thigh, cock throbbing at the view of her ass, until she answered, inevitably, “Yes.”

He knew she felt exposed, but he’d checked out all the angles on the alcove and knew that the shadows were hiding what the glare from the lights weren’t blinding against. Unable to wait any longer, he molested her to get at the phone he knew would be in her bra. He loved this part. Getting to show her the depravity she was capable of made his balls ache with need.

Clicking through her phone, he quickly texted himself the latest photo. He’d cum to it later. For now, he was looking for something else… oh yes, there. He took a moment to enjoy the memory of that day, letting her wait while he savoured it, flipping through the hidden folder to find the picture he wanted.

That day, she’d been pushing back hard, fighting the drug and forcing him to keep dosing her. He’d wanted her to be cognizant of the depths he pushed her to, but not so conscious that she fought. The scratches on his chest had made him wince as he waited for the latest dose to take hold. He’d had to bind her in the middle of the room and gag her to keep her quiet, and even so she was trying to writhe against her bonds. He would have to check his supplier; was the batch bad?

He’d walked around her, bound in wide ribbons of silk wrapped up and down her whole body, arms to her sides and ankles spread wide for her juices to dribble down her legs, staining the silk. The spaces between the silk bands were soft flesh, and he’d trailed his fingers down her breasts, along her stomach, and down her ass. She’d squirmed and moaned into the gag, but the silk was strong. Her eyes had been wild; the drug wasn’t ready still. His impatient fingers had slid between her ass cheeks, trailing past her anus and down to her slick, hot vagina—held open and vulnerable by the silk. Her body had begun to shudder and she’d suddenly let out a big breath through her nose, the gag muffling a moan. He’d moved his fingers away to check her pupils and was relieved to see that the drugs had finally taken hold. She was still wild, but now those eyes were begging for more of his fingers, instead of trying to get away.

“Are you going to be a good doll?” he’d asked. Her willing moan and slow head bob had made his shoulders ease. It was better when she was compliant; although he’d been worried that last mist had been too much.

He had rewarded her good behaviour by removing the gag for a deep kiss, and letting her have her hands back to wrap loosely around his neck. It was better when she freely touched him, and better still when she knew she shouldn’t. He’d really have to get that dosage fixed—she had been almost boneless under the silk, and he didn’t want to knock her out—or worse, scramble her brains. He wasn’t done playing with her yet—not by a long shot—and he didn’t want her to be so out of it she sought medical attention.

Then he’d dropped to his knees, letting his tongue play in her pussy while her head lolled. Slowly, she’d moved her hands to his head, and slowly, as she eased further into the suggestive yet passionate state he liked keeping her in, had tried fucking his face. The silk bindings kept her immobile, tethered to the ceiling and floor pegs, and it had amused him to pull his face back just beyond the reach of her straining pussy. Eventually, he’d cut her from the ceiling, leaving her feet wide and bending her onto her hands and knees so he could fuck each of her holes. The silk bands cutting wide paths into her flesh looked exquisite, so he’d made her give him her phone code so he could take photos. He’d put them into a semi-hidden folder for later use.

Now, as the memories of that afternoon came flooding back, his cock, which had drooped slightly during the practical set-up in the alcove, was straining to be used again. He ground it against her juicy ass, while showing her the proof of how she loved being face-fucked. As the shudder of self-recognition came through her body, his eyes closed slowly, cock throbbing even harder. He was beginning to leak pre-cum, he could tell.

After making her confront her own act of deep-throating, he returned her phone, marveling at how hard her nipples were. He watched her fight to answer his questions, feeling the inner struggle up against his whole body. He could tell when she had submitted to the pre-loaded commands he’d programmed her with, and finally, told her to turn around.

He backed away deeper into the shadows of the alcove as she turned, hiding his face for just a moment longer while she was still in the light. Watching her realize what was happening to her always made his cock as hard as marble. The backpack on the ground dug into his calf, and he mentally promised himself everything if he could wait just a little longer.

A long finger beckoned her closer to him, lattes still trembling in her hands. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she looked up and made eye contact. Her lips parted slightly in recognition, but he uttered the control words before she could drop the hot drinks in panic, and she quietly acquiesced, handing him his cup and automatically letting her free hand drift to the front of her skirt to raise it for him to see. She never wore panties on Tuesdays—he was sure she didn’t remember why—but he was glad he’d given her that command as he saw her freshly trimmed bush sparkle in the light from behind and between her legs.

Here expression was intoxicating. She knew who he was, but she was forgetting simultaneously. It turned him on, and he reached out and touched her cheek softly, letting one finger slide into her mouth. Her eyes closed and her fingers found her clit. He was sure from behind it just looked like they were sharing a coffee and a friendly moment amongst friends, but he knew that she was imagining that everyone could see her cunt and that she was on display for all. He knew, because he’d left that paranoia—and the electric connection to her throbbing labia—as a suggestion connected to these particular control words. She had an exhibitionist fantasy, he’d learned, but was too afraid to succumb to it. He liked his doll wet though, so it was easy to give her what she wanted, since it resulted in what he needed—her juices and her subservience.

He took a drink of his latte and pulled his finger from her mouth, smiling as her tongue darted out for more.

“What do you want, Doll?” He said the trigger words quietly, reaching behind him for the toys.

“Whatever you ask of me,” she breathed, eyes closed as she completed the programmed sequence. Below the lifted skirt, her fingers slowly circled her clit as she nonchalantly took a drink of the coffee.

“Good doll.”

She jumped, eyes flipping wide open, when the cool steel cock slid past her probing fingers to angle up into her sticky cunt. “Don’t move,” he commanded, and she stood still, whimpering, as he threaded the curved dildo deep into her. He snuggled it into her depths, then commanded her to pull her ankles together. As her thighs took charge of holding in the steel rod, he guided her fingers away from the thick clit and dropped her skirt to hide the invasion.

The secret was hidden, but it made his cock ache to know it was there.

He told her to turn to the side, commanding her to keep that rod inside of her no matter what happened, and to keep casual with her coffee.

Despite his own shaking hands, his voice was strong when he asked, “Are you wet, Doll?” Her “Yes” was moaned into the coffee cup and he took the opportunity to take the second toy and push it against her ass. He could tell she wanted to resist but a whispered command reminded her that she wasn’t to move. “Relax, Doll. I’m going to put this plug into your ass,” he pushed on it to accentuate his point, “and then we are going to walk down this street, and you are going to keep this plug tight in your ass, and that dildo tight in your cunt, and no one will know but me. You are not to cum until I say, and if you don’t behave properly, I will not allow you to cum at all.” She whimpered with restrained delight and panic. “Do you understand?”

The steel butt plug did not need lube, since he had been circling it against her very wet snatch while talking. He drove it home just as she yelped, “yes!”

His hands spent a minute stroking her nether regions, feeling the steel protruding, staying cool against the flaming heat of her hot pussy. Reluctantly, but with a taut breath of anticipation, he withdrew his hands so she was freestanding and violated with several pounds of metal.

“Let’s go.” He picked up his backpack and walked away, confident that she would follow.

* * *

When she recognized him, everything shuddered back into focus for a minute. They were standing together, in an alley; she was turned on; he’d just been touching her, under her bra. None of it was right. But all of it had happened before, and more than once.

She began to panic. She would run, she decided; if she dropped the coffees and just ran, yes, now, ran out into the street and screamed, then she would cover up the sound of his voice, and she’d escape. This awful, animal lust mounting inside of her—she could face that on her own terms. Run home, lock the doors, fuck herself blind. Then call the police. Her plan.

“How blessed am I in this discovering thee,” He recited quickly, before she could move.

She blinked. He’d never been much for poetry. While she tried to figure out what he was up to, her hand reached out, offering him one of the coffee cups. It was a pretty line. She’d studied Donne in college. She tugged up her skirt and adjusted her hips, flaunting her pussy.

She blinked again. She’d had a plan a moment ago. Now it was gone.

He touched her cheek and let her suck on his finger. Behind her, the sound of the street was so loud, she could feel it on her skin. Her bare thighs. She flushed deeply, thinking of all those pedestrians, slowing their pace to linger on the spectacle. She debased herself some more by stroking her cuntlips and clit.

Soon he said something else, and then a cold, rigid pleasure invaded her twice, and yes she was wet. He needed to know that; it made him so happy when she had slippery fuckjuice coating her doll-holes. And she doll-gasped and doll-walked and did not cum, not cum, step after step, down the sidewalk filled with eyes.

Time was passing, but only outside of her electrified doll-body. For long minutes, she thought about nothing except each next step, clenching her thighs and balancing her coffee which by now was cold in her palm. Why had she bought it? She felt a bit sick and silly, as if she were high. She followed the path set by the man three paces in front of her. From behind, he reminded her of someone.

They tossed their coffees and got onto a bus. He paid her fare. It was too crowded to sit, so she and the man stood together, pressed on all sides by commuters and teenagers, texting. The bus lurched forward, and the jarring motion made her realize, or else remember, that she had something inside her. Two somethings, pressing heavy into one another through the flesh that kept her holes apart.

With a surge of panic, she gaped at the man beside her. She knew that they were his violation, these torture-toys. She was also horrifically certain that he could make her touch them, right here, on the bus. A word from him, and she’d start pumping the dildo in her pussy like a crazed whore, or else twist the butt plug till its tiny nubs rubbed her ass with hot sex-pain. She saw all these actions in his eyes: he could make her do anything. He was eager to abuse his power.

“H-how—you—?” She managed to say.

“To enter in these bonds is to be free,” He murmured into her ear.

Instead of finishing her thought, she inserted two doll-fingers into her doll-mouth. He smiled.

Her new and only thought: do not cum, not cum, not cum, not

* * *

His pleasure at watching her squirm on the bus was obvious against the front of his pants. She’d been ordered not to cum but he was the one having trouble keeping control. He thought about debasing her further in public but didn’t want to draw too much attention. He lived here, and so did she.

He began fantasizing about taking her to a city where nobody knew either of them so he could show her what she was really capable of. He got so distracted that he nearly missed their stop. A few whispered words and she followed him blankly, eyes wide and not-quite-vacant, tripping a little on the stairs but righting her steps with a whimper. He smiled, knowing what was inside of her and pleased that she was behaving so well. What a good doll.

Ordering her to go first, he took the opportunity to play with the steel knobs as she went up the stairs before him to his apartment. He enjoyed her little gasps and stumbles. He’d carefully set up the playroom earlier and was eager to get her installed for the evening. She entered quickly and after a few quick commands she was naked in front of him, panting at her own desire, the frantic bending to get undressed causing the metal inside her to shift into new crevices, create new sensations.

He left her standing, hands locked behind her head and feet shoulder width apart, while he went to put away his backpack and tidy up the kitchen. The waiting was as delicious for her as it was for him, he knew, so he dragged it out almost a quarter of an hour before he returned.

He could see evidence of her need on every inch of her body. Nipples taut, pulled up by her elbows in the air. Lips parted, shallow breaths. Darting eyes. Damp thighs. He took a moment to circle her, inspecting her pose and her desire.

“Is my doll wet?” he murmured, enjoying her gasp as he tapped on the nub of the butt plug. Grasping it, he pulled it out of her slowly. “Whose doll are you?” he asked, tingling when she breathlessly answered “Yours!” The plug made a small pop and was out. He circled her gaping hole with a finger and pushed another up into her cunt beside the long steel rod he’d left in there. It had been nearly an hour; she was so good not to cum. So good. She felt amazing under his hands, hot and slick, and he moaned with pleasure.

Butt plug forgotten on the floor, he pressed the length of his body against hers, grasping her nipples from both sides. Her head lolled back against her hands, until he took her shaking elbows and lowered them. A quick finger twitch on her clit nearly sent her to her knees but she stood strong and obedient, and he was proud. He’d programmed her well. She had learned to stay wet and stay on the edge, and it pleased him to know how good he could make her feel.

But now it was his turn. His cock was relentless, and with a quick series of movements he set his skin free and propelled his doll towards a low, narrow lounge chair. Sinking her ass into the deep recess and settling the back of her knees on the upraised curve, he arranged her arms hanging straight down on either side of the chair and commanded her not to move them. She looked up at him trustingly as he placed a small pillow behind her neck, and his pulse raced seeing her helpless like this.

“Open your mouth.” She obeyed, and the offered orifice was almost too much. He straddled the chair and was pleased to see he’d got the height correct; his solid cock was right in front of her open mouth. She knew how to suck a cock, but he wanted to fuck her passive face. Looking level into her eyes, he plunged into her. She took every inch and her eyes never wavered from his as he thrust deep, claiming the back of her throat with the head of his cock.

“Such a good doll,” he breathed, “I think I’ll keep you forever.”

* * *

“...good doll… keep you forever.”

It wasn’t a trigger phrase, nor an instruction. She felt a surge of pride at the first words, but the second words were cryptic and troubling. Slowly, unnoticed by both of them, she began to wake up.

She was a frozen receptacle. He thrust his hips back and forth, his cock sliding thick into her wide, wet mouth. Each time its head pressed against her upper palate, he would grunt and groan. The deeper he went, the more she wanted; she kept craving his sounds because she knew it meant she had a good doll-hole. She was proud of making him so hot and hard.

But she was troubled. Something stirred. “...keep you forever.” She looked up at his face, straining and sweating. He looked familiar. She found it strange that the man who would fuck her face, and pose and program her until she was a mindless happy sex-doll—that he could also be somebody else? Someone she knew? She wasn’t sure she wanted to figure it out.

His groans changed timbre, and he pulled out abruptly, clutching at the base of his shaft as if it pained him. She began to panic. Had she hurt him? Then she half-remembered an ex-lover, someone from her past, who would pinch himself like that to keep from cumming too soon. She’d found it curious, amusing. Why not just cum?

But then, she remembered one of her most basic commands. She couldn’t cum, not until he said so. Her pussy clenched around the metal rod he’d put inside her. That was in the alley. And then they’d been on a bus. And now…

“Whose mouth is this?” He asked abruptly, placing the fingers of his free hand on her lower lip. She realized she was hyperventilating.

“Yours,” She said meekly.

It was the right answer. He let her suck on his fingers, which filled up her mouth even more than his prick had done. She did not move a muscle, even her tongue. And when he began to pose her differently, preparing her for another violation, she was pliable and dumb. She knew that if she let him take her in all of her doll-holes, then he might let her cum. She wanted that more than anything.

But yet. “...keep you forever.” She shuddered, very slightly. She knew who he was.

* * *

It was amazing to have her like this. Again. He gasped out his forever want of her. Thrusting into her mouth and looking into her eyes, just the way it used to be. Before she’d wanted to be subsumed. Before he’d agreed. Before…now. God, that gaping hole. She still loved him, he knew it. She was just…confused. She wouldn’t let him move back in, wanting to keep her memory completely free, feeling totally violated. Ungh, he was going to cum. No, not yet…not yet. He needed to remind her of why they’d got married. He needed her to remember. She’d promised. It was so fucking hot to have her like this, like a stranger—but he wanted his wife back.

He had a plan.

Shocked at how fast the sensations snuck up, he pulled free of her mouth and grasped the base of his shaft. He wanted to prolong the experience, so he physically held it back. As the urge to cum subsided, he found himself entranced by her mouth, still open, now empty. He put his fingers in, wanting to claim her even more completely. Finger-fucking her mouth was entirely erotic; it had always been her favorite thing. The contract they’d signed had included it as part of the deal, in fact. He tried to finger-fuck her as often as possible, because it made her so happy. He liked her happy. He loved her.

Pulling his fingers out, he began posing her anew—this time, leading her to a high, soft ottoman and pushing her to her knees before it. Arms spread out past her ears, ass high and holes exposed, steel rod protruding. His breath caught at her vulnerability.

Okay, so maybe he was having a little fun, too.

* * *

She was posed upon a round, red ottoman with her ass aimed up. As he made the adjustments—he was always careful to make sure that she was comfortable, even when he was poised to inflict humiliation or pain—her eyes took in a row of objects on a nearby countertop. There was his cell phone charging cradle, and a tray containing old keys. One of the keys was probably to the house where she now lived alone; she’d had the locks changed, back when they were fighting. Before the arrangement.

He was standing behind her, spreading her ass-cheeks. She had mere seconds before the next command came. Her eyes panned across the rest of the counter, and she saw it: a thin glass spray bottle filled with brown, opaque liquid. It could have been a bottle of cleaner, or cologne. But she knew what it was. He’d used it on her before.

Scopolamine.

“I’m going to fuck that glorious tight pussy.” His voice was a steel trap on her mind. “But I see that it’s occupied. Reach back here, love, and move your rod into your ass for me.”

Her thoughts curled in, like scorched paper. Her anus clenched with need. She’d never liked anal play; even though she’d known it was a fetish of his, she refused to let him fuck her ass throughout their marriage. Finding anal porn on his browser history had been a sign of just how badly things had deteriorated. But then she’d found the other porn—clips of hypnotized slaves and girls dressed up like dolls—and she’d realized that maybe there was a chance, however sick and twisted, that they could patch things up.

“Did you hear me?” He asked. She blanched with terror. She’d been letting her thoughts wander, instead of responding immediately to his instructions. He was going to get suspicious.

“Yes, sir.” She balanced her belly on the ottoman, stretched her hands back across her thighs, and reached for her cleft. She had to act quickly and without hesitation, or he’d use another activation phrase. Then she would forget everything, all over again, and she’d never get a chance to…

...To what? This was the most conscious she’d ever been during their post-hypnotic encounters. By now, she was accustomed to being his unthinking servant, his simmering lust-doll. Now, the arrangement was clear in her mind. She remembered him crying, pleading, wasn’t there some way they could be happy together. And she remembered feeling pity, and recalling those mind-control videos—some of which had given her an unexpected jolt of arousal too—and then suggesting, oh-so-carefully, “What if you could hypnotize me into being happy again?”

And now she was prone and naked, and straining as she made the muscles in her pussy push a dildo out, just another inch, till she could grab it, hard and sticky, and then place its point against her anus. She was fumbling; he must have seen her struggle, but instead of speaking another trigger phrase, he reached out and gently steered the metal tip for her, then helped apply the long, slow pressure it required.

The butt plug had been different. This was more than just a slight invasion; it went on and on, until she felt pinned by the unyielding thing—more helpless with its weight inside of her than she had ever felt under his verbal commands. But she thrilled at it: complete submission, from the inside out. She’d never liked anal sex before; now here she was, conscious and aware and craving every inch of it. What had he turned her into?

He took her hands and led them back, away from her cheeks, till she was able to place them on the floor again. He pressed his cock flat against her holes. It was as rigid as the metal rod. She knew what would happen next.

Except she also knew she had a choice. Her eyes flickered over to the bottle of scopolamine. It was almost within reach.

As he adjusted his prick for entry, she smiled to herself. She had a plan.

* * *

He slid his hands down the curve of her back, glorying in the feel of her skin. His nimble fingers spread apart her ass cheeks and his thumbs lifted the exposed tail of the dildo, clearing the way for his cock to find her pussy. There was a twitch in her left shoulder as if she was about to move against orders, but as he drove into her hole she went limp.

The moans coming from his throat were driven from his knowledge of how deeply he owned her. Each time his cock thrust into her, he felt the steel rod violating her ass. It pushed down upon him and wrought more strangled sounds from him.

Her shoulders kept twitching, but he knew she was a good doll and would stay where he put her. He closed his eyes and slammed her with abandon. Her cunt-flesh danced around him. He kept getting harder, and he he kept losing control of himself. Controlling her drained him of his control and he loved it. He loved it. He loved her. “I love you,” he gasped, and he came unrelentingly.

* * *

She felt his cumjuice filling up her cunt, and knew this was her chance. His mind would be blank from his climax, his body not his own. As soon as he shuddered out his last jet of spunk, she shoved her hips backwards, hard enough to send him stumbling away. She felt his dick slip out and experienced a primitive jolt of loss. Nothing in the world felt better than having him inside her like that. It took all her willpower to reject it.

He would recover quickly, she knew, and as soon as he could speak, he’d put her under again. Even this small act of rebellion could incur hours of brainwashing. To avoid it, she had to slow him down, using whatever came to hand.

She fell back into a crouch on the floor. He was behind and above her, making her more vulnerable than ever. But her hand found the discarded steel butt plug, and she gripped it tightly.

He started to speak. “As s-souls...as souls unbodied—”

She spun around and struck his ankle with the butt plug, just behind the bone. He yelped and collapsed. Once his face was in range, she hit him again, this time in the temple. He shrieked and covered his eyes.

Now. Dropping the impromptu weapon, she stood up and lurched across the room, towards the side table. On her first step, she realized with a shock that the dildo was still in her ass. Her steps made it crash about in painful directions, but there was no time to remove it. She winced and kept moving.

“D-damn it,” she heard him sputter, “What the fuck—?” She did not turn around. Her eyes were on the goal: the brown bottle of scopolamine. With a lunge, she swiped it off the table.

“What—wait, no, baby, Jesus, no—” She held it out like a crucifix as she approached him. He looked so vulnerable, now, with his cock shrinking visibly and a raw bruise rising on his temple. She caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror, nude and sweaty, and felt powerful.

He stumbled over the words. “As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must—”

She sprayed the brown stuff straight into his mouth.

He hacked and coughed. She had a moment now, she hoped—a minute, maybe, before she’d have to keep fighting for what she knew was necessary: a permanent change to their arrangement. But since she had that minute, there was another thing she needed to take care of first.

Standing over her ex-husband, her ex-master, she spread her legs and made herself cum.

She’d been on the edge for so long, it took less than half a minute. Her pussy was deliciously swampy from both their juices, and her clit was huge with need. One hand kept holding the bottle of scopolamine, trained on his face, while the other worked furiously upon her swollen bits. As she erupted in screams, she felt the slender dildo glide out of its hidey-hole.

Stars and blobs danced around the edges of her eyes. She dropped to her knees, spent. He was sitting on his naked ass, a few feet in front of her. Both of them were breathing fast, but for different reasons.

Labouring to catch her breath, she leaned forward, steadying herself with one hand on the nearby ottoman. The other hand still clutched his bottle of scopolamine, but as her thoughts recollected themselves following that orgasm, she could tell that she didn’t need the bottle anymore. His pupils were wide, his eyes darting wildly. He was dosed.

She leaned in close enough to smell the chemical on his breath. It made her dizzy all over again. Taking his cheeks with both hands, she locked eyes with the man she’d once loved, the man she’d begged to be made to love again. She waited till his drugged, submissive eyes found hers, and then she uttered her one and only command.

Keep me forever.

She kissed him as deeply as she could. The drug settled into both their tongues as they entwined.