The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The morning had drifted past her in a haze of sunshine and sucking.

Later, they’d sat on a wall, under the shade of an apple tree. One of the other girls, Monique, had brought them slices of bread, cheese and fruit, a jug of elderflower cordial and glasses of ice.

Bella didn’t know if this was the way all the staff of the Chateau spent their afternoons, or whether it was a treat for girls who had been pleasuring the guards. Either way, it had been wonderful to eat outside in the fresh air. The simple pleasures, her father would have said, although his simple pleasures were more like the golf course, and classic cars, and glasses of cognac.

It was warm, even in the shade of the tree. The sky was still cloudless. Her rubber uniform was still tight and hot, but she was getting used to it. The tightness was good, wasn’t it? Tight against her breasts. Tight over her belly and her ass. The latex thong, tight between her legs. She liked the way the breeze felt against the rubber and against the bare skin at the top of her thighs. She liked the way the stockings felt when she crossed and uncrossed her legs, the rubber slipping and sliding.

She liked the scent of Helene’s body, and the way it had felt in those brief moments when they brushed against each other.

It had all been a little strange. Well, more than a little. Sitting and chatting with Helene, and wearing things that, a couple of days ago, she would have happily condemned as slutty. The two of them were dressed up like pornographic versions of French Maids. Talking about France and England. Tourist stuff. Helene was from Marseille, but she’d been to London.

“Too cold there,” said Helene. “Always, it’s raining.” They were speaking to each other in English still; Helene’s English turned out to be quite a lot better than Bella’s French. She brushed a crumb from Bella’s lips, and giggled when Bella opened her mouth to suckle on her gloved finger.

The rubber, so smooth against her tongue, and the lovely, synthetic taste of it, made her shiver.

Yes, strange. There was a wrongness about the whole situation. Except, while it was there, like a background noise, the reasons slipped away when she tried to think about them. When she felt this relaxed, even the idea of anxiety was impossible to hold on to.

Birds sang. The smell of lavender bushes breezed across the terraces. The scent of the rubber they wore drifted through her mind. Simple pleasures.

There was one simple pleasure that she was still missing. When she opened her legs again, and casually dropped her hand to her thigh, Helene was quick to lift it away.

“Always, you want to touch yourself? Only Madame la Comtesse can allow you. You know it already.”

“I’m sorry, I just feel so… Doesn’t it make you … I mean, don’t you want to?”

“Always,” Helene laughed, “but it’s better to be obedient. That’s the best of pleasures. Madame will teach you.”

“Obedient…” Bella whispered.

“You’re learning it. Your friend, she doesn’t understand yet. But she will.”

“Oh God! Kate! Where is she?” Bella had left her sleeping, hours ago, and hadn’t thought of her since. What kind of friend did that make her?

“She’s with Madame,” said Helene. “We’ll see her later. It’s ok.”

The agitation seeped away into the cloying warmth of the collar around Bella’s neck.

“Oh… then I suppose that would be… ”

“Eat some more.”

When they’d finished, Helene took her back inside and they set to work in one of the hallways, sweeping the floor and dusting the vases and sculptures, and cleaning cobwebs from tapestries. It was hard work, she supposed, but ok for a change. Sometimes people went on holiday and worked, didn’t they? She supposed that was what she was doing now. Some people did it for their Gap year. Not dressed in rubber, though. Oh, but that felt so good. She didn’t need to worry about it, did she? This was a holiday. Like Helene had said, it was all ok. Relax.

Harder than the dusting and cleaning, was the task of not touching herself. She found new delight in standing with her feet crossed, and pressing her legs together, and bending over so that the thong pulled tight between her ass cheeks and slid through the wetness between her thighs. There were lots of excuses to do that.

At the far end of the hall there was an arch, and beyond that, another corridor. From time to time, she would see maids, or guards, appear there on their way to some other part of the Chateau. They were always clad in shiny black and often leading naked, or nearly naked, girls. Sometimes the girls wore only collars, and sometimes more elaborate restraints. It gave her a strange, tingling, breathless feeling when she saw them. None of them looked her way.

Along the length of the hallway there well several doors. Sometimes, they would hear sounds emanating from behind them. The clicking of heels on stone tiles, brusque words in French, and occasionally smacking, cracking noises and the answering cries.

Towards the end of the corridor, one of the doors was open. As they approached, Bella realised that the noises coming from that particular room were the sounds of sex. Moans, and gasps, and the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin.

They looked at each other. Helene must have seen the mischief in her eyes.

Bella edged across to the doorway, to look in. She felt Helene lean in behind her, head tilted to look over her shoulder. Wrapped in her own uniform, Helene’s body was cool and soft. Her breasts rubbed against Bella’s back. Why had she moved so close? It felt nice, though. A sort of melting feeling, that almost made her want to close her eyes and lie back.

Almost. The scene beyond the doorway made her eyes widen.

It was a neglected room, with crumbling plaster and a bare, unvarnished floor. There was a small, leaded window and a single electric light, dangling from a worn looking flex from the ceiling. A space that was long out of use, she thought, but now it had found one.

Two of the guards were having … they were fucking a girl, someone that Bella hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t one of the maids, but she looked to be a similar age to Bella and Helene. She had some kind of uniform on, but not like the ones that they were wearing. It was kind of military looking, but in some disarray. She wore a cap, lopsided, and a glossy black jacket, unbuttoned and hanging open. She was naked underneath. Her shiny, vinyl-looking skirt, was pulled all the way up. Bella could see everything.

God, they really were fucking her. One of them lay on what looked like a reclining chair. In fact, it looked like a dentist’s chair, except with leather straps hanging off it. The girl straddled him, bent forwards with her hands on his shoulders. Her breasts swung freely inside the jacket, brushing against his face. His cock was pistoning up into her pussy. Or she was bouncing herself up and down on it. Or both.

The other guard stood behind, with one foot raised onto the edge of the chair. He was straddling her, and he was fucking her from … Bella gasped … from behind. She could see his cock, protruding from his leather breaches and pushing deep into the girl’s ass. With each thrust, he was careful to slide all the way in, making her take the whole length of him. Lubricant glistened on her two quivering globes.

Again, and again. The man’s teeth were gritted, and the intensity of the feeling was mirrored on the girl’s face. Her eyes were wide and rolling, but somehow, her lips stayed pressed together, as if they were sealed with invisible duct tape.

Bella didn’t know how the girl was managing not to cry out, but there was no doubt that she was enjoying it. She was pushing herself back against the two cocks, pushing hard.

“Do you like to watch?” Helene whispered.

“No … I’m just …”

“You’d rather be doing it. They’re fucking her hard aren’t they?”

Bella tried to suppress a moan in response.

“Is that how you like it?”

“I … sometimes,” she bit her lip. “but not … not with two …”

“Two is good,” Helene said. “Three is my favourite.”

“How … how do you …”

“In the pussy, in the ass, and—“

“No, I mean how do you get them to … fuck you. None of them have touched us like that, have they?”

“The guards? Not unless Madame orders it. Sometimes her guests like to watch a girl … obey. Just as this one obeys. More often, they want to take her themselves.”

Bella found herself imagining the pressing weight of those muscular bodies. Being held firmly, and taken hard. A desperate, urgent need, being fully satisfied. She imagined being instructed to fuck, and complying. Doing whatever she was told. She bit her lip again.

“Is that the only way? When Madame has guests?”

Helene paused before answering. She put her mouth to Bella’s ear and whispered.

“There are always guests. But if a girl was very hungry for it, she could go to see M. D’Apacher.”

“Who’s he?”

“Madame’s chef, and her chemist. He likes to try new—”

There was the sound of heels, coming down the corridor in a rattling staccato. The Comtesse. She was wearing a long red dress. She was walking towards them.

Helene and Bella tried, unsuccessfully, to look both innocent and busy.

“What are you two doing?” the Comtesse asked, in English. “Ah.”

“Madame, I …” Helene hesitated. “We had just—“

“I can see. Everyone is so easily distracted today.” She glanced through the doorway, and shook her head.

Helene started to edge away, reaching for the feather duster that she’d propped inside a flower vase. Bella pulled down on the hem of her skirt, and tried not to meet the Comtesse’s eyes.

“Face the wall. Hands on your heads.”

They obeyed.

“Legs apart.”

The air was cool on the inside of Bella’s thighs after pressing her legs together so tightly.

She felt the Comtesse lift her skirt, and tuck it into the band of her apron. Then, the latex thong was pulled to one side, and the woman was touching her. The tip of one beckoning finger was teasing between her pussy lips.

“You’re a bad girl. Naughty. That’s how you say it in English.”

Her finger was gliding through the wetness now.

“Aren’t you?” It hadn’t seemed like a question.

“I … yes, Madame.”

“Mmmm. Do you like what I’m doing?”

She angled her finger upwards and began to slide it in and out.

“Ohhhhhh…”

The finger was withdrawn, and Bella moaned in disappointment.

“When I ask, you answer.”

“Yes, Madame. Yes, I like it.”

But the Comtesse stepped away, to stand behind Helene. Bella couldn’t see without turning her head, and she’d been told to face the wall. There was a thrill that came with obedience. The noises that Helene started to make told her everything, anyway.

“Helene likes it too, although I’m told that she’d rather be on her knees. Keep still, Helene.”

The other girl tried to keep her feet planted and unmoving, but the Comtesse’s ministrations were making her legs shake. The sharp heels of her shoes vibrated against the stone floor.

“Keep still. Would you rather feel my fingers in your asshole?”

“Ahhh…” Helene gave a long drawn out gasp. Was she … surely the Comtesse wasn’t doing her like that now? “If it… if it pleases you Madame.”

The Comtesse chuckled. “You know what to say, don’t you Helene? You don’t want to join Collette for her re-education. But sucking; that’s what you like the most, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Madame,” Helene said, softly, “I like it most of all.”

“So tell me,” the Comtesse glanced at Bella and then back at Helene, “did she suck well this morning?”

“Yes, Madame, like a … Oh Madame, I…”

Bella could hear the rapid, wet, fluttering of the Comtesse’s hand between Helene’s legs.

“And swallowing? Did she swallow?”

“Each… each time, Madame, with hunger. Oh Madame, s’il vous plait, laisse-moi… j’allerais…”

“Good,” said the Comtesse. She pulled her fingers away, and shook them. Bella heard drips. Helene made some desperate, gasping, sobs of disappointment, but she didn’t move, or turn her head, or say anything else.

The Comtesse stood behind Bella again, wiping her hand on the back of Bella’s skirt, and then stroking the skin on the inside of her thighs. She did it in an idle sort of way, as if she wasn’t really thinking. She carried on talking to Helene.

“You’re a good teacher Helene. I think that you should deal with M. Castodou’s needs this evening.” Her fingers travelled further up Bella’s legs. “His wife is becoming more … flexible, but it will be good for her to see your expertise and to have an example. I imagine that he will see that you receive some kind of reward.”

“Merci Madame,”

“As for you,” the Comtesse said to Bella, and she slid a finger all the way inside, up to the knuckle.

“You like being treated like this?”

“I… Yes, Madame”

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes. Oh God, yes.”

The finger slid out. Now it was just the fingertip again, maddeningly gentle. She tried to push back against it. Now it was gone.

“Obéissante,“ the Comtesse said.

The word made Helene straighten up, as if there was an invisible string attached to the crown of her head. She made a sound, like the ones that Bella had just made, but somehow infinitely more helpless. Because it goes so much deeper, Bella thought. Helene’s eyes seemed to lose their focus, but her body remained upright, arms at her sides, motionless.

Just with a word. What would it be like if someone could do that to you, just with a word? What if the Comtesse chose to do that to her as well? Anxiety boiled up in her, but the collar suppressed it with its own hot, dizzying rush.

“Please,” Bella whispered, “please,” and didn’t know whether she was begging to be saved, or to be enslaved.

“Perhaps,” the Comtesse said.

“Helene, wait here. When they’re finished,” she gestured behind her at the guards, “clean them, then clean her.”

“Yes Madame.” In Helene’s voice, Bella could hear the pleasure of obedience.

“In the meantime, finish cleaning.”

“Yes Madame.” Mindless obedience.

“Come with me,” the Comtesse said to Bella, and led her into the maze of passages and corridors.

Even when she had control over her breathing and her heartbeat again, and even after the sweltering heat in her pussy had subsided, so that she had only a prickling, tingling warmth there (and on her nipples, and on the inside of her thighs), coherent thought was slow to return.

Kate didn’t know how long she’d lain there, afterwards. She’d only been able to draw in exhausted breath after exhausted breath, and drift on the feeling of bliss that the woman and those things, those girls, had inflicted on her. Wet, and furious, and still so maddeningly hot.

When she could think again, she summoned up the outrage that she’d felt before, when they’d locked her in that mirrored room, and again when she’d woken here earlier, naked and bound and … exposed. If the Comtesse or that other woman returned, she would cheerfully have tried to claw out their eyes. If her hands had been free.

Still, the memory of it. She knew that she didn’t want to do those kind of things. She knew it. But the way that woman, and those girls, had touched her … touching wasn’t really an appropriate word for it, but when they’d been doing that, it had been nearly impossible think about anything else. Then, soon, it had been impossible to think at all.

She’d tried to stay in control. God, she’d tried so hard. That woman’s gloved hand. She’d never let any of her boyfriends do that sort of thing to her, but she’d made her so wet. It had been like a chemical reaction to the woman’s touch. In her mind, she’d tried to shout and scream that she didn’t like it, didn’t want to be touched like that, not by a woman, not by anyone.

Of course she hadn’t been able to say anything, hadn’t been able to do anything, and that had only made it worse and … better.

Everywhere that their fingers and tongues had touched seemed to have awoken in a fire; not with a feeling of burning, but more like the wonderful heat of sun on bare skin. It was a heat that made you want to relax and surrender. And the feeling of their tongues, brushing against the stiff points of her nipples, or probing up into her pussy, or … ohhhh … licking in long, moist strokes over her clit. No-one had made her feel like that before.

Fuck. She was going there again. There was no escape from how fucking good it had felt; so intense that the memory was like a physical presence, watching from the shadows of her mind, waiting to drag her back into the dark.

She’d been so close hadn’t she? So close to abandoning her struggles. So close to begging them just to take her. She’d been taken anyway, but she hadn’t broken. They couldn’t make her want it. She wouldn’t believe that, never.

Her limbs ached. She felt like she’d been bound like this for hours. Exposed for them to play with.

She clenched her jaw around the gag and thumped her head back against the leather pad of the seatback. Focus. She’d find some kind of chance. They couldn’t keep her like this for ever, even the Comtesse had admitted that, and there was still no way that they could change her that way; they couldn’t make her want it. She’d die before she gave that bitch the satisfaction.

Someone was coming.

Kate heard the sound of several pairs of heels echoing down the hall. The door opened. Whoever it was came in. Kate tried to strain her head to see, but they were waiting just out of sight. She gave up. There were some more footsteps, more people coming into the room, and then the door closed and the lock turned.

That other girl, Adele, walked casually into view. She cast her eyes over Kate with that familiar expression of amusement and appreciation. Somehow, it was worse than with the Comtesse and that other woman. Adele couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than she was. It would be like one of her friends, walking in on her and finding her … like this. Much worse. Knowing that it was useless, but unable to stop, she kicked and thrashed against the leather straps and the ropes. Her body was desperate to hide itself.

Adele waited for her to settle down.

“How are you feeling?”

Kate looked down, away, refusing to meet the other girl’s eyes.

“How do your arms feel? Your legs? Tired?” Adele’s English was almost accentless.

She stepped away and said something in French to someone else that Kate couldn’t see. She took something from them. A cloth. Coming close again, and putting her finger tips on the chair edge for balance, she began to wipe the soft material over the inside of Kate’s thighs, cleaning off the juices and saliva.

Now, she drew it over Kate’s pussy. It was just a fleeting touch, but Kate had been left so sensitive that it made her whine through the gag.

“Still hot?” Adele said. “It was good wasn’t it? Shhhh. You don’t have to say.”

She stroked Kate’s breast and let her thumb play over the nipple. Again, it was still tender there and Kate made another moan of objection. Adele smiled, gave a gentle squeeze, and took her hand away.

“We have to get you ready.”

She made a gesture with her hand and two tall, athletic girls came in to view, carrying armfuls of black rubber. They laid it on the couch in two separate piles. Did nobody wear ordinary clothes around here?

“Girls like you need to be trained, and this means that you must be,” Adele paused, savouring the English words, ”correctly attired.“

Kate made a loud noise of refusal, shook her head.

“You don’t want to. I know that. So these strong girls could force you,”—she was right, they looked like weightlifters; heavy, muscled and powerful – “but that’s not what Madame wants. That’s why we’ll use a drug again.”

Adele grinned at Kate’s look of contempt.

“You think you’ll fight it again? You’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”

One of the girls handed Adele something that looked like a combination of a dildo and a water pistol. It seemed to be made of clear plastic. Some kind of liquid was sloshing around inside it. The “barrel” ended in a rounded, mushroom shape, like the head of a cock.

“How do you think this will feel, squirting inside you?”

Kate shook her head, defiant.

Adele reached down between Kate’s legs. She seemed maddeningly unconcerned. Insouciance, that was the French word, wasn’t it? Well it wasn’t going to get a reaction out of-

“Nnnnnhhhhh!”

Kate shouted her outrage through the gag, as she felt the tip of the thing, touching her asshole.

The French girl paused, arching an immaculate eyebrow. “Where did you think it was going to go?”

When Kate tried to squirm away (that same, useless struggle against her bonds), Adele just nudged forward. There was a dribble of liquid leaking from the tip of the device; cold, and slick. She angled the thing around, but only with the slightest of pressure. No more than she needed to keep Kate’s full, desperate, attention.

Behind her. one of the girls glowered and said something in French. Adele silenced her with a raised hand, not even looking back.

“You don’t you like it there?”

Kate shook her head, eyes wide, not caring that she was having to plead again.

“No? Well, perhaps you don’t have to take it like that … not just now.” She took one step away, letting the ‘pistol’ dangle from a finger. “In a moment, I’m going to take out your gag. Your jaw will hurt. You can move it around, it’s OK. Then we can talk a little. Yes?”

She bent towards Kate’s head and reached out her hands. Kate felt herself relax in anticipation. Her tongue pressed against the smooth, unyielding ball that filled her mouth. Anything to help Adele remove it. She feared that the expression on her face had changed to something close to gratitude.

Adele paused then, close enough for Kate to feel her breath. There was the fresh, clean smell of her hair and skin, the delicate scent of her perfume and the much less delicate smell of her black rubber dress. Her lips were painted a burgundy colour, flawlessly done, like the rest of her make-up. They were almost brushing Kate’s cheek.

“If,” Adele said, “you shout, it will go back in.”

Kate gave a fractional nod of her head.

“Yes?”

She made a moan of agreement through the gag, and cursed herself once more.

Adele leant closer still, and Kate felt the touch of cool rubber against her own skin and the firmness of Adele’s tightly sheathed flesh.

There was the instant of the buckle pulling tight and then its merciful release. Adele took the ballgag out, but held it, swinging, in front of Kate’s face until she nodded a second time.

“Good.”

Kate said nothing for a while, just swallowed, and tried to release the aching in her jaw. When that began to subside, she asked,“Will you untie me?”

“Soon, I think,” Adele answered.

“What do you mean?".

“It has to be … administered internally. You understand? And so if you’re too tight to receive it in that way…”

“In my mouth,” said Kate, sourly.

“Your mouth?” Adele put on a surprised face. “Is that what you would prefer? I suppose I could allow you. If you persuaded me.”

“Huh. That’s why you took the gag out then?”

“For your tongue?” Adele laughed. “Are English girls very skilled that way? No, just to talk. Tell me that you like what we’re doing—the things we’re doing to you. Tell me how much you love it. How much you want it. Then maybe I’ll let you swallow, and untie you.”

“In that order?”

“Ha! Oui.”

Kate worked her jaw again, licked her lips and then wished she hadn’t.

“I can say it. But I won’t think it. You can’t make someone think it.”

“We can make girls like you do anything.”

“I’m not a slut.”

“Not like your friend, you mean?”

“Bella! Where is she? What have you—”

“Sucking cock. Would you like to join her?”

Bella. They must have done something to her. She’d always been … well … but she would never have … surely? The thoughts raced through Kate’s mind. There was something in the French girl’s face, the way she spoke, even in English. It wasn’t a lie.

Adele was waiting for an answer.

“No.”

“Oh? Because you prefer the girls?”

No question about whether that was supposed to be a good thing.

“I fucking well don’t.”

Adele found that very funny, but her laughter was interrupted by some more sharp words in French from one of the weightlifter girls behind her.

“She is saying that Madame expects us. Perhaps I should just…”

“No! I’ll … I like it. I like to be tied up and … to be touched. There, I’ve—”

“Try harder,” Adele said, gesturing with the pistol.

“I like…” She swallowed. “I like to be…”

“Let me help you.” Adele pulled the trigger. The jet of liquid splattered over Kate’s breasts. It began to trickle down on to her belly. It was slow, thick, viscous. At first it made her shiver a little, but after a few seconds she began to feel that familiar heat where the liquid touched her. Not a burning, just warmth, like sunlight.

“There’s nothing you can do when you’re naked, is there? Bound so tightly that you can’t move at all. Your beautiful legs, all the way open. Your pussy, and your ass…”

Kate gritted her teeth against the slow ripple of heat.

“That’s how you like it. Tell me.”

“I like being naked. Being exposed. Being … helpless.”

“And what do you like next?”

“I… I like being licked. My c- my pussy being licked when I’m tied up and I can’t stop it.” Why had she added that last bit? Fuck. Even when the stuff was just on her skin it seemed to get into her head.

“You like another girl’s tongue between your legs?”

“No! I mean … yes. I like it. I like it with another girl.” Each time she spoke, she tried to say the opposite in her mind, but her thoughts were becoming slippery. She was wet now, down there, as if what she was saying to Adele was coming true.

Another spurt of liquid, splashing her breasts again.

“So pretty,” Adele said, “and you can feel it, can’t you? Madame has had this one altered a little. Each time we get a mixture that’s harder for you to fight. You can feel what we’re doing to you.”

Liquid dripped from her breasts now. Everything slick and wet and the first dribble of it reaching her legs, where they were spread wide and open.

“Oh God.”

“Mmmmm. I think you’d love to be fucked like this. Now, if there was time, I could wait. Eventually you would beg. Ah … you like it when I say that don’t you?”

The air began to feel hotter with each breath, and the heat was inside her, rising up from her chest into her head. Difficult to think of anything but the slick, dripping, heat. Her mind filling up with clouds of scented smoke.

“What are you … everything feels…”

“Drugging you. Get used to it.” Then she leant in again, and put her lips against Kate’s ear and whispered. “You’ll say it to me. Mme F had her fun with you, making you … but you’re going to tell me that you want to obey. Later.”

She placed the tip of the squirt-pistol against Kate’s lips.

“Suck it into your mouth. Yes, good. Deeper.”

The dribble of fluid that was leaking on to her tongue was enough to make her head swim.

She looked up at Adele. Made a noise. A begging noise.

“Shhhhh,” the French girl said, and pulled the trigger, and again, again.

The jets of liquid sprayed the back of her throat, and filled up her mouth. Her vision blurred and darkened.

“Swallow.”

It was too late to think about resisting.