The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lauren,

by Sevenfactorial

5/2011

1.

Lauren smiled as she read the heading of the website. “Slave Academy,” it said in great golden letters which sparkled and moved against the background in an animation loop. Below were links to video “lectures” that promised various levels of “training”.

Her heart was cynical as she glanced over the page, with its flashing links to various porn sites and dubious looking software downloads. Still, she couldn’t suppress a little thrill of excitement—submission was her biggest turn-on. She knew that the things that gave her the biggest rush were a little too extreme to work out in real life. Still, websites like the Slave Academy helped her pretend.

With her pointer over the blue link entitled “Slave Lesson 1,” she took a deep breath and clicked. A barrage of warnings and end user license agreements appeared, and then another page came up, which required her to register. She thought for a moment and chose the login name “slavepuppy1”. She had no choice but to enter a real email address, but she used an account that was dedicated to registering on websites. Finally, she clicked on a big blue button that said “Proceed,” in red letters.

A video file loaded in her browser. An animated icon of a pocket watch swung back and forth. Lauren managed a wry smile. After a second or two, the face of a beautiful young woman appeared. She was heavily made-up, with dark eyeliner emphasizing deep blue eyes. The lips were coral red, and the white, lightly freckled skin was flawless. Her hair seemed to be a natural ginger, though it was darkened with something, and bound tightly.

“Welcome, slavepuppy1,” the woman said with a confident voice as she smiled lightly at Lauren. For a moment Lauren thought she had been brought into a video chat. “Hello?” she said, and waved her hand over her darkened webcam. The woman ignored her, and continued to talk.

“We’re now initiating your first hypnotic sequence,” the woman said, smiling.

Lauren focused on the woman’s face and began to watch the movement of her fascinating mouth.

Some time later, Lauren realized she was staring at a motionless screen. She sat up with a start and checked the clock in the bottom right corner. “Holy crap,” she mouthed silently. The clock showed that thirty minutes had passed.

The screen was blank except for a single bit of text in the center, which read “Review lesson 1.” She slowly moved the pointer to the link and, after a moment’s thought, clicked. The woman’s face reappeared, and for an instant she was silent, penetrating Lauren with her endless blue eyes. The woman said, softly, “What are you, bitch?”

“A dumb slut!” Lauren stated loudly. She slapped her hand to her mouth. She had spoken without meaning to. Oh god. She looked to the door with her eyes wide, wondering who had heard. There were footsteps in the hallway and a dark shadow appeared under the door.

“Lauren, what are you doing in there?” her mother asked from the hallway. Lauren’s face turned crimson.

“Nothing! Talking to Becca Cheever!” she said, making it up in the moment. Her mother paused.

“Who’s a dumb slut?” her mother asked.

“I am!” Lauren’s brain volunteered, but this time her mouth stayed shut. Her eyes closed and she felt the beginnings of tears. “Nobody,” she said.

The door opened. “Lauren Peebles, who do you think you’re talking to?” her mother asked sternly. “What are you looking at?” The older woman pushed her way into the room.

Horrified, Lauren turned to the computer, and saw that the woman’s face was gone, and the screen now said “Review lesson,” as it did before.

“I’m doing...some self study Spanish lessons.” Her voice was trembling.

“I thought you were talking to Becky Cheever?”

“I was. We were talking about the Spanish lessons. She’s taking them too.”

“Oh,” her mother said. “Well, be careful what you say about others darling. Who were you talking about?”

“No one,” Lauren said. “We were joking about a translation.”

“Hmm,” her mother said. She raised her eyebrows and left the room.

2.

When her mother was gone, Lauren closed and locked her door, and then lay on her bed. What had just happened? “I mean besides my mother almost busting me looking at porno?” she thought. She tried to remember the feeling of the woman’s voice. It had prompted her, and she responded by reflex. She hadn’t had any choice, it was just like sneezing when her nose was tickled, or kicking when her knee was thumped. Adrenaline surged in her belly.

“That was...amazing,” she said to herself. Without quite realizing it, she wanted to smile. In nervous excitement she clenched her fists at her sides and banged her heels on the bed. Who could she tell? Anyone? Could she tell Becca, her best friend? Brad, the boy who had asked her out? No, definitely not Brad. In fact she didn’t think she could tell Becca either. They talked about boys and some fairly graphic things, but bondage and hypnotism were beyond the pale. Lauren wasn’t about to tell her and face the possibility of Becca classifying her as a freak.

That left exactly... nobody. But she had to tell someone! She turned her face to the side and shouted into her pillow. The fabric muffled the sound, and the room and the house were as quiet as before.

At school the next day, Lauren thought constantly about the website. Her history class was over in a flash as she tuned out the teacher and spent the entire period day dreaming about the woman’s face. What commands had she given? Which ones had Lauren obeyed without thinking? She squeezed her thighs.

Math, on the other hand seemed interminable, and completely incomprehensible. All she wanted was to get back to her room so that she could look at the site some more, and possibly Jill herself off at the same time.

At lunch, Lauren sat with Becca. “What’s up, slut?” the girl said by way of salutation. Lauren froze, but held her composure. Becca had a way of calling her outrageous things in public.

“Not much. Today is kind of a drag I guess.” Becca’s intelligent eyes took in Lauren’s face for a moment.

“Why? Is something up with Bradikins?” Lauren grinned lamely.

“No, he’s fine.” Lauren had only seen Brad for a moment in the hallway earlier. They had shared their usual hurried greeting. He would never say anything sincere to her when Gary and Rick were around.

“Yes, I can see that the mention of his name still has the effect of putting that goofy smile on your face,” Becca said, chomping a french fry. “What’s up then?”

“Nothing, I guess. Well, kind of something. I saw something strange on the internet last night.”

“No! On the internet!?” Becca said, her light eyes widening theatrically. “Well, what was it?”

“I can’t really explain it. I guess... I think I’ll just have to forward it to you.” Lauren’s heart pounded in her chest. She disguised her alarm by taking a sip of water. Was that what she had meant to say?

Becky’s brow furrowed for a moment as she chewed. She worked her jaw in an exaggerated way, as if she were ruminating. “Wait, is this about that thing you sent me last night?”

Lauren accidentally dropped her fork. “Uh, you’ll um... what was that again?”

“You’re such a ditzy bitch,” Becca said, smiling. “You sent me a link to some hypnosis website. Don’t you remember?”

Lauren swallowed. She had a tremor in her lower lip. “No, I, um, I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

“Yeess,” Becca said, as if she were explaining something to an imbecile. “Maybe you don’t remember because you were under hypnosis.”

Lauren laughed at this, a little too loudly. People looked over from nearby tables. She curled her toes inside her shoes. “No, I don’t think that was it. Did you, um, did you look at it?”

“Yeah, but it was just a blank screen. I was pissed at you, actually, because for awhile I thought the link had reset the clock on my computer. Turns out it was fine though.” Becca said this half into her lunch tray. When she met Lauren’s gaze she looked curiously back. “What?” she asked, her mouth full of french fry.

“Nothing,” Lauren said. She moved her hand on the table. There was a splotch of moisture beneath it which evaporated into the lunchroom air.

3.

Lauren listened to the house as her computer booted up. Her mother and father were still at work, and the housekeeper had gone home. The only sound was the tick of an old fashioned grandfather clock her mother kept in the parlor, and the rare swish of a passing car on the road outside.

She brought up her web browser and typed in the name of the website. “Slave Academy,” once again danced across the screen in yellow letters. She realized that her tongue was dry.

Below the heading, there was a list of the “Slave lessons.” The first one had been changed from gold to blue. Slowly she dragged the mouse pointer over the link to the second lesson, “Slave lesson 2.” She waited as her heart pounded in her chest. Her crotch was soaking. She considered sitting on a towel, but thought better of it.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said to herself. The clock continued to tick.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this.” Her hand was trembling.

She clicked.

The screen darkened. She was prompted for a username and password, and she typed in “slavepuppy1” and then the password she used for all of her accounts. The screen went black again for a moment. This time it was a young man rather than a woman who appeared. He looked to be about twenty five, with a strong jaw and a little scruff around his face. Lauren instantly found him attractive.

“Hello Lauren,” he said in a deep kindly voice. She was surprised he knew her name. What was up with these videos? Then he said something she didn’t quite catch. Lauren thought she heard herself moan before she lost consciousness.

When she woke, her eyes were already open. She realized she was looking at the pale contours of her legs on the chair. Lazily she noticed her pants on the floor. When had she taken those off? The computer screen was showing her screen saver, a small kitten chasing a ball of blue yarn in choppy animated pounces. Her throat was drier than before. The light coming though the window was gloaming. She shook her head in confusion, trying to clear the cobwebs.

She stood up and walked to the kitchen to get some water. Her thighs moved slickly against each other. She noted, absently, a line of fluid that ran along the inner part of her leg, turning left at the kneecap, and ending in a droplet on her outer calf. “Hmm,” she said.

She turned on the kitchen light and stood on tiptoe to retrieve a glass from high in the cupboard. She turned to the sink and filled the glass, then leaned against the counter and savored a long drink. In the large windows, against the darkened world outside, she noticed her reflection.

She had on red lace panties. Her lips were parted. Her eyes were too dark to see. “I wasn’t wearing these before,” she said, feeling the fabric. The bra was matching. She cupped her lace covered left breast in her palm. She hefted it experimentally. “When did I put this stuff on,” she thought.

Were they big enough to heft? Her tits? “I’m not thinking right,” she thought. Licking her lips, she tasted lipstick, and saw it on the rim of her glass. It looked scarlet. Looking again at her reflection she saw what must have been eye shadow. Her hair was curled.

She was wearing the panties that she and Becca had bought before homecoming last year. They had made a forbidden visit to Victoria’s Secret together. Briefly she remembered coming out of the dressing room for the first time, and Becca looking at her wearing just these things, scrutinizing her. Standing in front of the triple paned mirror, looking at herself. Trying to look adult and critical of her near nudity. Becca critiquing her from the front and the side. Becca wearing panties of her own.

The garage door activated. She listened to the rising door, and then the progressively higher whine of the tortured spring as the door closed. Her heart thudded. Her body didn’t respond. She seemed trapped in the slow-motion time of a nightmare.

The door opened in the kitchen. Her father walked in and smiled at her, hanging his keys on a wall post. Then he looked at her again, and his eyes moved from her toes to her reddening face. Her feet felt bolted to the floor.

“Whoa!” he said. He jokingly raised a hand to his eyes and covered them. “Did I interrupt some kind of fashion show?” She stepped toward him. “Don’t tell me Becca’s around here wearing the same thing.” His eyes scanned the hallway.

“She’s not,” Lauren said. “We’re alone.” Her voice was leading her. She tried to move in the direction of her room, but found herself stepping closer to her father. “What must I smell like?” she thought. Then she realized she was wearing perfume, from the bottle that smelled like jasmine.

“Well, why don’t you go change clothes sweety. Where did you get that stuff anyway? Did I pay for that?” He moved around her to the refrigerator, loosening his tie. The muscles in her thighs spasmed as she tried again to leave. Instead her body slowly turned to face him.

“Your mother will be home soon,” he said, casually. Lauren realized she was making him nervous. He turned to her again, a plastic container of orange juice in his hand, his face still smiling. Without thinking she reached and simultaneously pulled down both cups of her bra. The shock of the act filled her lungs with air, but then she was frozen, her cheeks on fire. The air in her lungs only pushed her breasts out further. Her vision swam with blackness. She imagined her face was a grimace, but her reflection showed only a blank smile.

She felt the spray of cold liquid as her father spit out a mouthful of orange juice. A large film of it splashed shockingly against her right breast. Her body remained frozen. Her eyes were fixed to his.

His face looked hurt and confused. Beneath that, though, she thought she could see something else. His eyes went to her crotch. Then her hand was there, pulling the fabric away. Her fingertips told her the skin was smoother than it should have been. Too smooth.

“Jesus Christ!” her father said. The orange juice bottle fell onto the floor with a conking noise. His face was as red as raw steak. “Clean that up!” he shouted. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Instantly she fell to the floor. She grasped for his trouser leg, but he pulled it away, and she was left sitting in the cold liquid. The door to her parents bedroom closed.

She waited for him to reemerge, but he never did.

Her legs shaking, Lauren stood up and got the roll of paper towels.

4.

Lauren ate dinner with her parents in sweatpants and a tee shirt. Her father hadn’t mentioned the incident in the kitchen to her mother. She was certain of this, because if her mother had been told, the resulting explosion could would have been audible from anywhere in the neighborhood.

Still, conversation was terse. In the silence, Lauren found herself wanting to push a hand beneath the band of her sweats. She kept her left hand on the napkin in her lap, sometimes pressing it into herself. The urge was incredible.

“So, what did you two do today?” Lauren’s mother asked. A pregnant silence pressed on the room.

“Not much,” Lauren interjected. “Just, you know, school.”

“I see,” Henrietta said. She took several mincing bites of broccoli. “What about you then Mark?”

Mark’s eyes did not rise from his plate. His eating was listless. “Work,” he said.

“Fantastic,” Henrietta said.

Across the table, Lauren saw her father watching her. His expression was no longer angry, though it wasn’t pleased either. He looked like he was trying to figure something out. Warmth blossomed between her legs.

“Could you pass me the potatoes hon?” her mother asked.

“Sure,” Lauren said.

Then it occurred to her to say something. She tried not to say it, but resistance was useless. She felt like her voicebox would burst unless she freed the words. “I feel,” she said in a loud but controlled voice, “so sexy.”

She looked at her mother, whose fork was frozen between her lips.

“Really?” Henrietta said.

5.

When the bedroom door closed, Lauren sat on her bed.

Her hand soon found way beneath the band of her sweatpants. She was pleased by the new smoothness.

“Why hasn’t Dad said anything?” she thought, her face reddening. Remembering the afternoon made her dizzy with anxiety. It also rang bells in her stomach and clit. “Something is wrong with me,” she thought. “Something is really...” she stroked herself, “...really wrong.”

On the brink of orgasm, she felt compelled to pull her hand away. Her eyes went to the computer, and the bouncing kitten. She rose, transfixed by the screen.

When the screensaver deactivated, there was a single link on the page. It said, “Review lesson 2.”

This time it was the woman who appeared, smiling. The woman was radiant. Lauren found her even more beautiful than before.

“Who do you want to fuck, slut?” the woman asked.

Lauren swallowed and waited for her body to answer for her, but it didn’t. She looked at the screen, her pulse racing. “Anyone. Whoever you say.”

“Good whore,” the woman said, still smiling. The praise plucked a pleasant chord in Lauren’s brain. “Pants off, please.” Lauren shimmied out of her pants and panties. “Great. Fingers in now.” Lauren noticed the blue activation light of her webcam.

Lauren slid her middle finger into herself and curled it upward, moving her fingertip lazily along the delicious nervy bundle as she waited for the next command.

“Did your father fuck you this afternoon?” Lauren felt herself tighten for a moment.

“No,” she said.

“It wasn’t for want of a chance,” the woman said.

“No,” Lauren said, blushing.

The woman was typing. “We just need to give him a few lessons of his own. He’ll be treating you like a whore by the end of the week.” The woman smiled as her eyes returned to Lauren’s “You know what else?” she said.

“Everyone will?” Lauren guessed. The woman held up two fingers and Lauren slipped in another digit.

“That’s right,” the woman smiled brightly. “Now, where’s the girl who never thought her fantasies would come true?”

Lauren’s eyes were glazed. She detected a rhythmic sound coming from the computer speakers and realized her fingers were plunging in slow time with it.

“What are you...doing to me?” Lauren asked.

“Making you a slut,” the woman said.

Lauren thought. Her mind was fuzzy. It was hard not to think about the fingers swirling inside. Each one felt so good. Lauren found herself visualizing two perfectly lean men hammering her with long cocks. “Why?” she managed.

“Because,” the woman said, “sluts like you are worth a lot of money.” The news pushed Lauren closer to orgasm. “But that’s not any of your concern. I’m spoiling you by answering your questions. What is your function?”

“To get...fucked,” Lauren said. Her breathing was becoming a pant, that sounded in time with the fingers in her wet core.

“Good bitch,” the woman said. She held up three fingers. Lauren moaned as she inserted her ring finger into her pussy, and pumped it along with her index and middle fingers. She was impossibly slick. It was staining the chair. “Move back so the camera can see your pussy. ”

Lauren scooted the chair clumsily with her left foot.

“Show us, slut,” the woman said. “We don’t want to crane our necks.”

Lauren stepped out of the sweatpants around her ankles one leg at a time. She raised her legs and hung them over the arms of the chair. In a mirror in the corner of the room she could see her complete exposure.

“What are you?” the woman asked.

“A stupid bitch,” Lauren said, as if reading some invisible script.

“That’s right.” The woman held up four fingers. Lauren obliged her. “What other kind of person would be doing what you’re doing? You’re fucking yourself for strangers on the internet. You’re clearly getting off on it. Look at how wet you are. You look like a broken fire hydrant.”

“Yes,” Lauren said. Her face was flushed.

“Yes Ms Isabel,” the voice corrected.

“Yes Ms Isabel,” Lauren said.

“In one minute, you’re going to put your whole hand in that wet little box, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Lauren said. A thrill ran from her stomach to her vagina.

“What kind of a woman fucks her whole hand and puts it on the internet?”

“A whore.”

“But not just any whore. What kind?”

“A stupid kind. The ... a stupid bitch,” Lauren choked. Her vaginal walls were beginning to spasm. Fluid ran down her legs and dripped onto the carpet beneath her.

“Do you want your mother to see you like this?” the woman asked.

Lauren’s eyes widened. “No,” she said.

“No?” Ms Isabel asked.

Lauren was viscerally disappointed in herself. “I mean, Mistress Isa...Ms Isabel, not, um, not unless...”

“Not unless what, cunt?”

Tears formed in Lauren’s eyes. “Not unless I ... have to.”

“Unless I tell you to.”

“Yes Ms Isabel.” Waves of heat were coming from something impossibly deep inside her.

The woman smiled. “Five fingers now, Lauren.”

Lauren hesitated only for an instant before pushing into herself with the whole of her hand. It moved in slowly, and she could feel something tightening painfully. Still, she was feeling delicious pressure on the inside, especially against the top of her vagina, beneath the belly button. The progress halted when she got down to the joint of her thumb.

“Ah, that’s always the hardest part,” Isabel said. “You really have to want it. Only the sluttiest bitch can get her whole hand into her fuck hole like that. Don’t you want it inside, Lauren?”

“Yes!” Lauren said. She was lubricating wildly and bucking against herself, but there was some tightness inside that she couldn’t overcome.

“Then do it. Your body is mine, and I’m telling you to get that hand into that hole NOW!”

The force of Isabel’s voice seemed to push against Lauren like a wind. Energy poured into her like electricity. She needed to discharge. She needed to obey. With lips pulled back, she forced her hand, and the thumb joint slid inside. There was immediate relief and warmth as she sank into herself up to the wrist.

“Now CUM,” Isabel commanded.

Lauren shook uncontrollably as her whole body seemed to spasm. A tremor that began in her belly spread like wildfire to her arms, fingertips and toes. When the waves of pleasure began to hit, she pitched forward in the chair and nearly fell to the floor. Pneumatic sounds came from her vagina and moisture welled from somewhere, ejaculating copiously onto the chair, desk, and computer screen. Lauren fought not to scream, but the sensations were too powerful.

A few moments later there was a timorous knock on the door. “Is everything okay in there sweety?” Henrietta asked. Lauren had settled onto the floor. Her orgasm had literally pushed her hand out of herself. Now she knelt, looking up at the face of Isabel, her body glowing with satisfaction and purpose.

“Yes,” she said. “Everything is fine.”