The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Late afternoon sunlight burned a bright deep orange in the room, fiery proof that sunset was coming. And that Christina would soon awaken.

Even in her sleep, lighter by the moment, she could feel herself stirring down low. Her pussy always woke up before she did. Ever since she’d moved back home, that’s how it had been. Wake up horny. So horny.

So. Fucking. Horny.

And why not? What did it matter? She didn’t have anything else to do, right? Didn’t need that fast-track job or that obnoxious house on the bay or even her swanky office threads, did she? Christina knew she had more money in the bank already than most adults did after a lifetime of careful financial planning. She was set. She could quit.

She could fuck herself and fucking wallow. And so she did.

Because her life was over anyway. Stef was gone. Her wife. Her mistress. Her love.

First it was the investigation, the damn SEC audit and all the fucking lawyers. Then it was the slam-dunk trial and the sentencing and how The Fuck did it all end in divorce anyway? Whose idea was that?!

Stef’s, of course. Christina felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking the simplest of ideas against her, but she couldn’t help it—divorcing her wife of less than two years had been the worst loss of her life, and the young beauty still could not figure out why Stef had wanted it that way.

“Trust me,” her wife had purred into her ear, that last night together. “Just relax, Little Thing, and trust me....”

Christina’s best guess—it came down to money. Somehow, some way. She was the brains behind acquiring new accounts, not managing them, and she knew she’d never swim in the financial depths that Stef could dive into so easily. That was part of what made them such a great working team for the bank, and in the beginning that was what kept them working such long, exhilarating hours so closely together.

It had only been natural that a valuable chunk of her time collaborating was spent on her knees. Between Stef’s thighs. Tasting the sweetest treasure.

Now, without all that—losing the work, losing the lovemaking, losing the woman of her dreams—Christina felt more empty and alone with each passing day. The only thing that helped her cope was pleasure. Fucking herself. Making herself come. That was all she wanted. She craved orgasms more than air, more than food, more than life.

Orgasms became her life. And why not?

This particular evening, though, something was different. The light? The heat? The room had changed.

Suddenly she knew. It was her phone.

There it sat, plugged into its charger, lonely and dusty upon the bedside table, drowsing away in a patient electronic vigil. All Christina’s contacts were deleted or blocked now except for two: her mother and her mistress. Her mother used to call or text around lunchtime every day, to find out if her sad little girl was awake yet and returning to normal. But more recently she’d given that up, which suited Christina just fine.

Stef, though, had not yet called. Not texted. Not anything.

But somehow, some way, Christina knew that was about to change. She rolled onto her side and opened one bleary, sleep-encrusted eye to gaze at her slumbering little device, as she automatically slipped one hand down between her legs, fingers feeling for just the right spot.

Something. Something was about to happen.

Christina waited, drifting, recalling Stef’s calm, controlled words. As the arousal continued to rise within her, as she felt her nipples tighten and her pussy swell with heat and begin to seep its sweet juice, she closed her eyes and allowed her fingers to drift lightly over her naked skin... remembering....

“Don’t worry, Little Thing,” Stef had purred that last night, “I’ll stay in touch. Why don’t you keep your phone close? All the time. Always. Because that’s how I’ll return to you someday. Someday....”

Christina had been naked and tied to the long padded leather table she loved so much. It was warm and soft and hugged her slender bare body so sweetly. Her arms were extended above her head upon the table, cuffed at the wrists and secured to the rings hanging off the corners with short strong ropes. Her feet rested far apart, the cuffs on her ankles secured to their own rings on the corners at that end of the table as well. Her long, soft auburn hair was tied in a thick braid that extended from the top of her head, ending in an intricate knot with a blunt-tipped stainless steel hook speared through it, attached to a light chain that pulled the braid forcefully upward at a 45-degree angle, the other end of the chain attached to the edge of a frame that dangled a few feet above the table.

“I need to wait,” Stef murmured into her young wife’s ear, licking it with the tip of her tongue, “for the right moment to call. So it might take a little while, OK? I need to wait until a very special someone comes to see me. Before I can call you I need her to listen to me for a bit. Does that make sense, Little Thing?”

Christina couldn’t nod. She could barely even acknowledge the words had penetrated her mind at all. At best she could blink—just once—which she tried her best to do.

Her mouth was spread wide open with her favorite spider gag, the rubber-coated metal ring extending deep into her maw, settled around the base of her tongue. Drool constantly backflowed into her throat, and with the ring restricting her tongue’s natural swallow-assistance, she found herself constantly on the verge of asphyxiation. It took all of her concentration to swallow and breathe, and that allowed Stef a much wider range of pleasures to inflict upon her young wife’s immobile, nubile body.

Christina’s nipple rings had long ago that evening been caught and pulled upward by a pair of small stainless steel carabiner clips, each of which were attached by light stainless steel chains to a retractable hook set in the center of the table’s hovering frame. Her small, perfect breasts were constantly on the verge of agony, her nipples stretched and tight, and Christina had to keep her back arched and her chest heaved as high as she could to avoid the worst of the pain. But she did it. She didn’t even think about it. All her concentration centered around the spider gag and the sweet thick drool it made her choke upon, over and over, as she desperately fought to swallow.

Inside Christina’s dripping, sloppy vagina sat a pair of extra large steel balls, each a little bigger than a billiard ball. They were smooth and perfect and stuck together by a clever magnetic attraction between the two smaller, heavier metal balls that clanged around musically inside their host orbs. Her job was to keep the balls inside, to keep herself clenched and not let one pop out.

Stef held one end of a long double-ended dildo, slightly bent in the middle. She slowly fucked Christina’s hungry ass with the other end. Every now and then she pushed the fat firm tip up hard against the thin wall of flesh separating Christina’s rectum and vaginal canal. Bouncing the balls. Banging them this way and that. Against her cervix. Against her spongy, sweet g-spot.

Stef wiggled the dong and bashed at the balls through her young wife’s rectal wall with a thrilling combination of spontaneity and violence. Those moments, of course, sent the poor happy girl into strong mewling spasms of joy. And then spluttering, coughing panic. And then tears.

Because the choking and coughing made it hard to keep her pussy under control. She’d suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to push, to bear down and eject the huge spheres. But if she did, the game was over and she would be punished. Her feet tickled. Her armpits stroked with Stef’s light teasing fingertips. And then she’d piss herself. There’d be no way she could stop it. And that would bring on the real torture.

But really, they both knew it: that was the best time of all.

“Don’t you think,” Stef was saying, “that it’ll be best to just move in with your mommy and wait for my call?” She pulled the dildo almost completely out of Christina’s loose, slick asshole, then paused. “That way you won’t miss it, right? You want to be sure to get my call, don’t you?”

Before her young wife could gurgle a reply, Stef jiggled the dong up and down a little bit, then plunged it back deep inside.

Christina moaned thickly and tried to blink like a good girl, but the thick rubber filling her up again so suddenly and so fully made her lose track. Unable to control herself, she bucked her hips and came in a haze of mixed sensations, squeezing her eyes closed and desperately focusing on swallowing the drool that was so close to drowning her.

“Oh my, that was unexpected, wasn’t it?” Stef chuckled. She angled the dildo upward and scraped the tip hard against the balls above it, feeling them through the rectal wall, moving them along closer and closer to the exit. Christina grunted in panic. Her whole pelvic floor clenched and shuddered, resisting all movement.

“That’s a good Little Thing,” Stef whispered. “You’re my tough strong girl, aren’t you? And so smart! You can come and come and come so hard, but you never forget your job, do you? You never want to disappoint me, not ever....”

Her mistress whispered it again, Christina’s special name, “Little Thing... my sweet Little Thing...” breathing it over and over into her ear as she worked the dildo back and forth inside her young wife’s sloppy, sensitive rectum. “Little Thing...”

Every time she heard her special name, Christina felt a surge of joy mixed with a blushing, humble pride. To be so treasured! To have a special name! Those emotions bubbled up within her in an instant, electrifying her entire body, focusing her mind, and carrying her along within a hot healthy rush of gratitude—all of it focused on her mistress. She was filled with an overwhelming urge to do whatever she could to make her mistress happy. Just to hear that special name again.

Just to be.

For Stef.

Forever.

But now, a divorce? How she be so cruel?!

Later that same evening, as Christina’s body lay squirming, still bound upon the table, back still arched, sweating heavily, covered in splatters of dried red wax, Stef finally snuffed out the candles swinging over her from their swaying three-point fixtures, secured by more light stainless steel chains stretched across the frame that always loomed....

Wax covered Christina’s face, except where Stef had scraped open tiny holes above her young wife’s flared nostrils. Wax halfway filled the space in Christina’s mouth, still forced open by the gag. Wax covered her sore, stretched tits. Wax covered her sloppy, desperate cunt.

Stef purred into her young wife’s sensitive, moist ear, half-filled with red paraffin goo. Words of love. Words of encouragement. Words of praise.

Words. Like magic. Moving her. Changing her. Making her.

Then there were words Christina couldn’t quite understand. Sentences that never stopped. A murmur. A whisper. A message told in the quiet tones of control that soon made the sweaty girl shiver all over, coming at the sound of her lover’s beautiful voice. Christina’s eyes, plastered shut by the wax, saw blooms of bright color behind her sealed lids, just as her body reached its newest crescendo.

A vision of her cell phone loomed strongly in her mind. She saw it in her hand, her fingertip flipping through her contacts, deleting... deleting... until only two remained. She saw it in her hand, her fingertip swiping through choice after choice after choice, dildos... vibrators... butt-plugs... until hundreds of her abundant dollars were spent, shipping overnight to her mother’s house. She saw it in her hand, her fingertip tap-tapping, deleting... deleting... until only the porn apps remained.

Her phone. In her hand. On her night stand. At her hip on the couch. On the counter by the sink while she peed. On the cutting board by the fridge while she rummaged for a cucumber thick enough, long enough to satisfy.

Her phone. Her link to home. To her heart. To Stef.

“... Constant... Craving....”

Oh. There could be no doubt of that!

The most perfect (and, therefore, perhaps the most clichéd) paean to lesbian longing of all time—in the form of a tinny, silly ringtone—burst to life. An instant later the deep-toned buzzing of the phone’s vibration rattled all the way through the night stand, down into the floor, and back up through the frame of the bed. Christina rolled instantly onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow, reaching out.

Her eyes not quite focused, her heart pounding, her adrenaline surging, Christina’s hand missed the mark and knocked the phone onto the floor.

“FUCK!” she screeched, and dove out of the sheets and onto the silky-smooth cherry wood boards. Her wrist and elbow instantly bruising, her naked breasts squashed beneath her, one knee bashed against the bed frame, a shoulder jammed and scraped against the leg of the night stand, the young woman finally managed to scoop up her excited phone and, in only two tries, pick up the line.

“I’m here!” she panted, “I’m here!”

For about five seconds, as she fought to control her breathing, listening intensely for a response, Christina found herself forcefully confronted with a phenomenon many have heard about but few have truly experienced: deafening silence.

What was happening? Had she picked up too late? Was the call gone? The moment lost?

Oh fuck! OH FUCK!!

But then...

… a sigh... long and low and lingering, a mouth close to the phone, heavily breathing into the tiny mic...

… a moan, in the distance... and another, then another... before the sigh even died away...

… another woman, moaning, groaning, far far away from there...

… and right there, right then, came another sigh...

… then another faint moan...

… and the squishy sounds of love....

Then the call died.

Christina scrambled into a kneeling position, naked on the floor, staring at the phone in her trembling hands.

Stef’s ringtone. Stef’s number.

Stef’s sighs.

Stef’s... new lover?

Christina raised the phone in front of her bleary eyes, her finger poised to dial. Should she call back? Was that really a signal drop or did Stef end it on purpose? She’d never told her young wife to make a call, herself. That, in fact, seemed obviously a bad idea. What if it rang out loud in the prison and the guards found out she had her phone? That wasn’t allowed, right? Stef could get in trouble!

So down went the finger. Down went the phone.

Christina uncurled her hand, balancing the little device in her palm, the back of her hand resting upon the top of her tight, quivering thigh. Soon her entire body shook with sobs. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks. She fought for air in great, deep gulps, as snot ran freely from her nose and her sleep-tussled hair stuck all over her wet, sloppy face.

How long she knelt there weeping, Christina couldn’t tell. Eventually, inevitably, she rocked her knees a little farther apart, spread her thighs a little wider, and began to touch herself.

Her pussy didn’t care what her head and her heart were fussing about.

For the first time since she’d moved back home, she masturbated with only her fingers—and only the fingers of one hand. The other kept a light hold on that little rectangle of electronic hope. Her eyes unfocused, her thumb at her clit as four fingers plunged inside her needy, soaked hole, the young woman gazed, unfocused at the black screen, smudged with the dried remnants of her snot and tears.

She came over and over, until finally she realized she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. They had fallen asleep. The young woman flopped awkwardly onto her side, away from the bed, still clutching at her phone and searching with one hand for some kind of deeper, better way to feel.

She numbly, instinctively stretched herself out straight. As her legs slowly came back to life, with all the prickling agony that her nervous system could provide, Christina rolled onto her back and gently lay the phone down upon her chest, upon her breastbone between her small, sweaty tits. She could feel her heart pounding up out of her, shaking the phone, sending it into a small rocking rhythm as she breathed and let the blood flow back to normal, back to resting.

Back to waiting.

The phone in her hand never rang again that night. But at least, on her back like that, she could use both hands while she kept her horny vigil. And she found a couple toys under the bed, too, which helped her pass the sad time with at least a little more semblance of fun. As her pussy scraped off the dust from the pink-and-purple dragon dildo, Christina managed to lose herself, bit by bit, once again, to her body’s overwhelming urges.

And so she shook through more orgasms. Drifted back to familiar territory.

Wondering. Doubting herself. Trying to explain it all away. Trying to deny. Trying to avoid. Trying to forget.

Maybe the call had never happened.

Maybe it had just been a dream.