The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The following story is a work of erotic fiction and fantasy. It contains scenes of an adult nature, so if you are under 18, stop reading now. This story contains explicit sexual language and fantasy situations involving the mental and physical control of others. If you are offended by such activities, do not read any further. This is purely a fantasy. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. The author is not responsible for any damage resulting from reading this work.

This story may be reposted or archived provided the following conditions are met: the story is not altered in any way, the story contains my name and disclaimer, and you do not make money from the story directly or indirectly.

Out Loud

by Abe Froman ©2009

My eyes were wide. My heart was thumping. This was what it was supposed to be like, all of it, all the time. It was just so damned stimulating and rewarding at the same time.

“Yes, I agree that in the past, these things, these garments were forced upon women as a means of controlling the way they were to look, with a tacit understanding of they physical effects and limitations, but I contend that today these restrictions are far more self-imposed than outwardly insisted upon.”

We were in the middle of a debate on the inter-relation of fashion and power. I felt like I was really standing my own which for me as a freshman surrounded by juniors and seniors was a thrilling sensation. I was about to jump into some of the research I’d gathered about the gender balance among the editors of the major fashion magazines when I noticed out of my classmates holding out her empty wine glass.

I silently cursed my “new guy” status as I excused myself to get a new bottle, listening to Delia ramble on unopposed in my absence.

As the most recent student to join Professor Mars’ (or Ms Mars, as she preferred) weekly discussion group on power, influence and gender in modern society, I was responsible for preparing, bringing and serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres throughout the evening. I didn’t mind, especially at the beginning, since it had been such a surprise and honour to have been included.

I’d nearly panicked on the day she called out my name at the end of class, telling me she’d like to discuss my latest essay submission.

I’d struggled to sound informed and academic even as I could barely remember the topic I’d chosen in the face of her beauty. She was, and is, a sight to behold. Her clothing was professional, but at the same time her knee-length skirt hugged her tightly, and her jacket opened enough to tempt one’s eyes and mind with the curves secured behind her white, fitted blouse. Her hair, gleaming black, was pulled into a long ponytail.

In the end I must have equipped myself adequately, as she invited me to join the small group she moderated on Friday evenings. She said she could tell from the essay that my mind was open to fresh perspectives.

The meetings were eye-opening. Immediately, it was nerve-wracking to walk in and realize I was the only male member. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Especially beyond her introductory psychology courses, her advanced seminars tended to attract women who tended toward the militantly feminist.

So, here I was, male and young in the middle of a group of older women, all of whom tended to look at me as an enemy in their guarded camp. No one would dare question Ms Mars, of course, but there was no avoiding the fact that I usually took up a different opinion than the majority. It was fun and challenging. I knew that I owed it to the group and to Ms Mars to make sure that I was informed, ready to debate and defend my positions. I also knew that I had to be ready to listen, to read up on the reference materials given, and to have a mind that was open enough to actually take in the arguments of others.

At the first meeting I’d known that I was to bring the sustenance for the group, but not that I was also expected to constantly serve it. It was a unique experience, to say the least, being at the beck and call of a group of young women, some of whom who were beautiful and others butch in way that makes lesbian clichés get established in the first place. At least I knew better than to complain about it.

It was particularly strange for me as I had been waited upon myself for as long as I could remember. A tragedy when I was very young had robbed me of my parents. Their love and care had been replaced by the provisions of their substantial fortune. It was a closely guarded secret at the university, my first real change at a new life without the looks of pity, but I had been raised and cared for by very capable guardians to be as ready as possible to begin a life cushioned by wealth.

A normal childhood had been taken from me, but in its place I learned a new self-reliance. I was on my own, from then to the end. My parents had made my life possible in so many ways, but now no one was in charge of it but me. The nurses, teachers, and guardians had all cared for me, but I was family or kin to none of them.

No members had been invited to the group since I had so I was perpetually the new member and never had the opportunity to pass on my chores of planning, preparing and serving. The more I got my feet under me as a member of this club, the more it began to frustrate me. Even with this task, I could never forget the honour of being included. These evenings were easily the highlight of my university experience.

Those meetings were also the forum where I got to know Ms. Mars, if any student ever really did. I’d first met her just a few months earlier, though I’m not sure if walking into her entry-level Psych class and nearly letting my coffee and laptop fall to the floor in amazement quite counts as “meeting” her. Perhaps listening enraptured to her every word of her lectures doesn’t quite count either.

She was a nearly silent moderator, shepherding discussions rather than leading them. There was healthy debate and strong opinions voiced. Her insistence on all involved being well-read ensured that discussions were held at an informed intellectual level. Those meetings came to be all that I had hoped that higher learning would be. I was really learning – not just taking in the lessons that were being offered to me, but really training my mind. I was learning how to learn.

By the time I returned with the uncorked wine bottle there were three glasses to fill. Once they were satisfied I set the bottle down close to me so it would be ready for the next request.

The discussion had moved on to comparative images Ms Mars had asked us to bring. Delia was speaking again, having posted two photos up on the board. One was a beautiful woman dressed in a very professional business suit. The model was stunning and she looked like she’s walked out of some corporate boardroom. The other photo was still eliciting giggles from the women. It was a man, not ugly per se, but not exactly fit either. He was in drag, with low heels on his large feet, pantyhose matting down the hair on his legs, his body not quite fitting the intended curves of a short red dress, despite the fact he was wearing a stuff bra to give him rather large breasts. He wore a bad wig and garish make-up.

“The images show that a woman in men’s clothing is perceived as powerful. She fits the image that is needed to get ahead in the world of business, or in general. But women’s clothing on a man is degrading. He looks ridiculous to his peers and they would no doubt hurl at him the worst insult they could think of: ‘sissy’ or accuse him of homosexuality. The think looking like a woman makes him less of a man because they think being a woman is to be less than a man.”

Ms Mars thanked her, but as usual, there was no indication of agreement or approval.

“David,” she spoke out, “What do you have to show us?”

I never get used to hearing her say my name. It gave me a jump and internal sizzle every time but I’d learned to hide it in these public sessions.

I started pinning up the images I’d collected. There was a female nurse and a male nurse, a female receptionist and a male receptionist, female teacher and male teacher, female and male doctors, female and male business leaders, and my favourite pair, kept for last. The woman was stunning, her body curvaceous enough to be incredibly sexy but natural enough to avoid accusations of plastic surgery. She wore high heels, stockings, a black thong, a form-fitting corset top and long black gloves. The male of the pair was halfway out of a pair of skin tight black tearaway pants, revealing a bulging black thong. He was chiselled and muscular and gleaming with baby oil. He was flexing in the midst of his stripping action and also flashing a false and self-loving smile.

“I’ve chosen a number of pairs of men and women, each pair showing them dressed in the clothing of their specific vocation. With nurses, the woman is viewed as helpful and comforting while the male nurse’s appearances brings rise to inevitable questions of his sexuality of if he couldn’t get into med school. The female receptionist looks like a professional just starting out. The man must be some kind of failure.” Normally I wouldn’t want my arguments met with laughter, but today it was just what I was going for, especially as I built to my point.

“The male teacher, surrounded by younger students, brings up fears of paedophilia. While there can be some equality to be found in some of the other professions like in business or engineering or medicine, then we get to those who work in fields where they attractiveness is their livelihood – where it could be argued that their choice of clothing is most important or relevant. The woman is sexy, dangerous, and powerful. Her allure transcends the BDSM or fetish community that may have been the initial source of her outfit’s composition. The man, however…” I paused for more laughter. “Well, he just looks like a fool. For a man to be sexy, he must rely more on far less universal looks which vary from woman to woman. In fact, one of the most common responses to surveys on the sexiest look for a man was the tuxedo – one of the most generic and non-specific garments a man can wear. I would suggest that while women can increasingly wear and be whatever they want and be not only successful but physically attractive doing so, the options for men are far less varied, and may in fact be getting less every year.”

Time worked in my favour that day. We had reached 10pm, it was time to wrap up, and I actually managed to get the last word. I felt very proud of myself, and I even thought I saw Ms Mars’ lips curl into a crooked smile.

It made me look forward to the next week even more than I usually did. The days and classes and events of the week were completely forgettable compared to the searing quality of her in-class lectures and the preparations and readings I did for her seminars.

As usual, I brought fresh coffee in addition to the bottles of red and white wine. I’d found a new bakery that made great pastries and appreciated the business I was giving them.

The evening’s topic circled around attitudes towards power and gender and control. We discussed and debated whether people’s most deeply held views of power and dominance could really be changed within their lifetime, or whether it was a generational shift that took patience and time. It was a night of heated debate but in the end, most agreed that real change was almost glacial, even as it moved towards a more enlightened approach, allowing each new generation to view the attitudes of their parents as archaic. Ms. Mars was conspicuously quiet that night, even for her. It was only after the meeting broke up, as she was gathering her papers and I was cleaning up the wine glasses that she spoke freely. As usual for her, she started with questions.

“What do you think could change your attitudes about these things, David?”

I stopped my tidying and turned to her. When her eyes focussed on you, it was captivating. “Well, to be honest, I always kind of wonder if my own views are kind of abnormal anyways. I didn’t have parents to learn ingrained attitudes from. I had some wonderful people take care of me, but they always seemed to keep me at arm’s length, like it wasn’t their place to teach me these things, even though no one else was there to do it. Before your class and this seminar, I just didn’t really think much about the gender in relation to power. I’ve had mostly women as caregivers but a few men too. For me, it’s not male or female; it’s just me and them. When it comes to power over my life, I’m the one with the power. When it comes to power in society or in politics or in business, I always assume that people who point to a glass ceiling or discrimination are just blaming someone else for their own limitations.”

“You hold these opinions strongly, don’t you?” she continued. I could tell now she was guiding me to the core of her question, like I’d missed the point.

“Yes I do, I guess. I mean, I’ve learned a lot about the history of these issues from you and the group, but when it comes to the here and now, I’m quite convinced.” It was kind of odd taking such a firm stance, but one never knew really if she agreed with your position or not, so there was no point in trying to guess what the “right” answer was.

“David, minds can be changed, even at the most basic levels. The most deeply guarded beliefs, about yourself or anything else, can be modified at will.”

I recovered from the surprise of her stating such a clear opinion, and I disagreed. After that night of debate, my mind was electrified and full of reasons why this could not be true. The discussion led to a person’s mind being changed, not be argument or logic, but by the will and choice of another.

She brought up examples of hypnotism and mind control and magic and all kinds of things like that. I’d heard of all the common things like shows where some hypnotist will make people come up on stage and act like chickens or the old movies where some shrink waving his pocket watch back and forth would get some poor soul to remember the critical details needed to find the killer.

The only thing that I had found real at the end of our discussion was my refreshed desire to own a pocket watch. Her eyes, however, had kept gleaming with knowledge and possibility.

She then pulled a page dense with text out of her briefcase. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, as she would frequently insist that we discover truths she wished to teach us on our own by reading original arguments in essays, rather than spelling it out for us.

“Read this,” she stated calmly, and stood silently to wait.

I looked at the page she’d printed out for me and I started to scan my way through it. I’d read so many things already at her suggestion or instruction that this hardly seemed different.

She sighed. “Out loud. Read it out loud.”

“Oh. Sure. Of course Ms. Mars.”

I started to speak the words on the page. It was the strangest sensation. I looked at the sentence, formed with the words with my mouth unconsciously, sounded them out in the quiet room we shared and while I could hear myself say them, I couldn’t understand them as words. They melted away from my memory instantly. I had to trace my finger along with my process across and down the page of text, just to keep from losing my place.

My tracing finger reached the end of the page. It held there, as though linked to that little dot at the end of the sentence.

“I’m going to tell you some things now, David,” she said in a voice like honey. “My words are going to form your new truth.”

I listened, my mind active and my body still. I didn’t even have the spare attention to wonder if it mattered that I could see her lips move but I couldn’t hear a thing. Her words braided themselves into those lifted from the page by my own lips.

Some time later, I became aware that I was done reading and she was done speaking. I promised, as always after our debates, that I would continue to think about the topics we’d covered. With all my possessions gathered up, I said goodbye and left to pack up the car and head home.

My mind raced. I thought about my base beliefs and convictions about control and dominance. Everything seemed to be in flux, open to interpretation and evaluation. There was no way I could sleep, so once I got home and packed everything away, I just started walking.

I felt as if my eyes had cured of blindness, as if doors were flying open where I had only seen blank walls before. The scope of these revelations was at once historic and personal. I felt like I could write a treatise on the abuses of men in power through the ages of history, or how wealth had allowed individuals to have influence and control far beyond their ability or skills. How different things would be, how much happier people would be, if only those with merit were rewarded instead.

I looked over my own life and position, and it was so clear how I could be so much more. I could serve the world. I could make a difference – not in the kinds of roles that would be assumed of me, a man, and one of wealth and privilege, but by giving. How could there me more bliss that that which could be found by serving greatness?

I knew it wouldn’t be easy, adjusting to a new reality, but I was comforted by the conviction of my new value. I returned home at a near run and started to make my plans.

I arrived at her on-campus office first thing on Monday morning, ready to pour my heart and mind and soul out to her, and beg her to allow me to bring my plans into reality. I had no idea how she would accept the idea – it was kind of revolutionary – but I was ready. I’d spent the weekend not only dealing with the practical realities, but also refining my argument. I had poured over all the reference books I had at home, and had spent hours in the library as well. In a very literal way, I was prepping for the debate of my life.

She was patient and kind with me. She allowed me to gather myself for a moment when I started off nervously. She listened patiently through my introduction, through the laying out of my specific examples, and she had a soft smile on her full lips as I spelled out my conclusion and proposal.

Rather than speak immediately, she did me the honour of considering my words for a few moments. “So David, if I properly understand you, you propose to dedicate yourself completely and totally, to assisting and serving me personally. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Ms Mars. After all that I’ve thought about and read, I can come to no other conclusion that my life would have no greater value that to support you and your work in any way that I can. I’m in a position, through my own personal and financial history, to make this possible. I also realize that I can’t adequately judge the ways in which you might benefit from having a dedicated assistant, so I pledge to serve you in any way that you might request.”

“That is quite an offer you are making, David. Are you really sure you understand what it would mean?”

“Yes, Ms Mars, I believe that I do. I’d give up university, dropping out immediately, and put myself immediately at your service.”

“What about your future, David? And do you think your family and friends would understand?”

“I now believe completely, Ms. Mars, that this is the most rewarding future I could have. Family will not be an issue, either. Quite simply, I have none. My friends will surely understand once I explain it to them. After all, after all I’ve read, there’s really no other possible conclusion.”

“That is quite flattering, David. Thank you.” She tilted her head softly to one side. “David, what if I were to make a request of you, or give you an instruction or task, that you found unusual?”

“Ms. Mars, one of the reasons why I think this is of real value to you and to society at large, is that you have so much to offer intellectually. I would not presume to be able to understand your needs, or how having them met might assist you in achieving your goals. All I would need to know is that you wished it.”

“David, I think you’ve made an excellent case. I don’t think I could have argued your position any better. I accept.”

I nearly collapsed with relief, and the thrill of a new life becoming real in front of me gave me shivers.

She continued. “I think that since this will have quite serious real-world implications, we’ll have to have something formally drawn up for you to sign, but in the mean time, I accept your proposal in principal. When do you propose to start?”

“Immediately, Ms. Mars.”

“Very good. Please lock the door behind you.”

I turned to the door and twisted the thumb-turn of the deadbolt. I was about to turn back when she spoke again.

“Keep facing the door. Strip completely.”

It was not what I was expecting but I still believed in what I had said, so I complied. In a few minutes I was standing there, nervously naked, facing the locked door with a beautiful and powerful woman behind me. I could hear and feel that she had left her chair and had moved closer to me.

“Spread your legs, David.”

As I did, I felt her hands on me. They were warm and velvet soft. Her long fingernails were sliding over the flesh of my back, down over my ass. She reached between my spread thighs and I felt her strength then, as her fingers closed around cock and balls.

“The cock, David, has been used by men for ages as a symbol of strength and superiority. I appreciate very much that you learned enough to move past that. You’ve learned that people, and you specifically, should submit yourself to the power that is most worthy.”

Despite myself, I could feel myself stiffening in her grip. I had always been aware of her physical beauty – her deep eyes, her long shining hair, her fit and curvaceous body always showcased in the most appropriate fashions. Now, her voice and her dominance were even more appealing to me. My revelations had allowed me an entirely new way to admire her.

She released her grip and I believe I sighed. I then felt a touch even softer than hers and I realized I was being blindfolded by a black silk cloth. She knotted it tightly and I was in total darkness.

“Being denied the right to see another person is another way that dominance has been historically demonstrated, David.” Her instruction never ceased. She kept teaching me. “There is another obvious one, as well. Kneel.”

I slid down to my knees. She was so right; these physical signals were making me feel the power of my choice more strongly than I had anticipated. Being stripped, blindfolded and on my knees before her made this new reality burn into my mind.

“Very good, David. You know, I’ve always enjoyed your contribution to our debates. You have an active and open mind. Now, however, it’s time to put some other talents to use. I’m not just a scholar, a professor, you know. I’m also a person, a woman. Physical as well as mental and political. I want you to serve my body now, David.”

I felt as though my heart might throw itself from my body. I could have never imagined this bliss, this gift. Long before I had been enthralled by her wit and wisdom, I had been stopped in my tracks by her physical beauty. As a professor of mine she seemed unattainable, not to mention miles above me.

I crawled toward the sound of her voice blindly. Her open thighs welcomed me, and I realized she had lifted herself to perch upon the edge of her desk. Her skirt was lifted up over her hips. If she had been wearing anything beneath it before, she wasn’t any longer.

The first touch, when my outstretched tongue finally slid between her soft lips, was electric. Her hair was trimmed short and was remarkably soft. It tickled my tongue and seemed to hold droplets of her moisture out to me. My cock, untouched, was immediately brought to full attention. I began to explore slowly. The tip of my tongue slid up and down, exploring the length of her already moist sex. She was like velvet, rich and wonderful, and I found myself moaning softly as I leaned farther in on my knees.

As much as she allowed me to worship and provide her pleasure, she also taught me. With subtle words and soft touches, she guided me and instructed me on the most proper way to use my tongue.

“Make your tongue stiffer, get that tip pointed.”

“Yes, that’s right,” she’d encourage, “now lick the whole length of me, yes…”

She grabbed my left hand, placing it below the soft curve of her body, guiding my thumb to place it right over the hood of her clit. “Press softly, yes, harder now, yes…” she was speaking faster now. As my pressure caused her clit to be further exposed, she commanded my tongue to service it, flicking at first, and then circling.

Lessons learned were rewarded with immediate reactions. She cooed and softly moaned as I became a more effective servant. Her passion grew slowly in volume and intensity. Her fingers, which had at first run through my hair and softly moved me, had become tight fists with my hair and head held securely. She pulled my face tighter to her. My lips, chin and nose were soon coated with her nectar.

In previous relationships, I had not often found the desire to practice this skill. I knew now I had been trapped by stereotypes and outdated perceptions. I might have thought that I was less of man being the one on my knees, when society saw the image of a man as standing tall with his woman on her knees, her mouth full of him, but at that moment I knew I was becoming something and someone far more than that flat image ever could be.

As I worked, as I lapped and kissed, the electricity only grew. Her legs had wrapped around me and the spiked heels of her shoes were dragging long painful stripes up my back. Her grip on my head increased and she used my as an anchor to balance herself as she leaned back.

I could hear the change in her breathing. I was gripping the underside of the desk with my free hand, to give me purchase to press more firmly against her, and my tongue was buried so deep that I could feel the spasms of her muscles grip it more tightly. She came, hard and loud and wet. My tongue kept sliding and swirling, and I drank her in as a new sacrament. Her thighs tightened, closing like a book slammed shut, with my head held in the middle.

Her rolling hips rode my tongue and chin. She ground against me, soaking me all the more. I was gasping for breath when she finally eased back.

She allowed my tongue to remain inside her as she recovered from the waves of her orgasm. When her breathing returned to normal she unwound her legs from around my neck and slid me back. After a few moments she removed the blindfold from my eyes. She was fully dressed, her skirt a bit wrinkled but pulled down to her knees. Only a wide smile and a bit of flush at her cheekbones remained as outward signs of his worship.

“Hmmm, that was a very promising beginning, David.” I blushed with pride and a bit of humiliation too. Not only was I still kneeling and naked, but my face was wet and sticky, and my cock was jutting out from my body, fully erect.

“I believe you will be of great use to me,” she continued, seemingly ignoring my physical state. “I will, of course, need you to be available full-time. Can I trust that you anticipated this?”

“Yes Ms. Mars. I had planned to go by the registrar’s office immediately from here, should you have accepted my proposal. I will drop out at once.”

“Very good. You may also be assured that even without your enrolment here, you will be receiving quite an education. I don’t know your level of domestic abilities, but you will be taking courses in basic home economics: cooking, household expenses, cleaning, and the likes of that. We’ll arrange what to do with your current lodging, as it will be essential that you move to my house, to be available 24/7. And while you equipped yourself quite well today, I’ve also got some classes and sessions in mind for you in regards to properly servicing a woman. You’ll learn a great deal about what a man’s tongue, fingers, and the rest can really do.”

She smiled as I blushed. As sure as I was that my new epiphany had set me on the right path, hearing it all spelled out in such frank detail was overwhelming. With her scent still strong on my lips, the idea of being in a class to be trained to improve my oral sex skills seemed rather embarrassing.

“We will also be exploring the history of dominance and submission, David. Throughout history, men have used various tools to enforce their control over women. They have demanded legal submission, they have demanded celibacy, they have controlled their clothing choices, and much more.” She smiled. “Which reminds me of something…”

Her voice trailed off as she reached down to the bottom drawer of her dresser.

“Stand up now, David, and place your hands behind your head and spread your legs.”

I complied immediately, feeling awkward and embarrassed. She came around the desk and up behind me.

“You’re quite stiff, David.”

“Yes Ms Mars,” I stammered. Was this a fault? Should I not have been? I was overcome with a desire to please her, to serve her well, and not knowing if I had disappointed her was crushing.

“Don’t worry, I’m not upset. It is of course proper that you should be aroused by me. It is just that it is a temporary impediment for a requirement I have of you. But no worry, it isn’t anything I can’t deal with.”

With that, she raised her right hand, which happened to be holding a low wide bowl full of ice. It came up between my legs, and her left hand, gloved I noticed, pushed my erection down into it. My body buckled at the knees and I couldn’t hold back a spasm and painful gasp.

I was soft again in moments, thought I could still feel the result of being denied in the fullness of my balls. Her hands, cold as well, were guiding a curving clear tube over my cock. It came up and clicked against a ring that she brought around my shaft and below my balls. It was a strange feeling to say the least, to feel her enclose me in this thing, though I could understand the ice now – the curved profile of the tube would never had fit over my full erection. My eyes widened when she closed it onto me with two small steel locks.

“David, one of the oldest controls that men have placed on their women was chastity. It protected their value as a piece of property, as virgins were more valuable to be sold off or offered for marriage. It also has a very powerful effect on the mind, to have one of our most human needs and urges curtailed. As long as you are mine, you will not orgasm without my permission. As you can no doubt see, you won’t even be able to be fully aroused without a significant amount of pain.”

She walked around me, inspecting me, giving my newly trapped manhood a teasing prod.

“You may dress now. You may go take care of your business at the registrar’s office and then you will return here. There will be a package here for you, even if I am not. It will contain further instructions as well as the texts for your next lesson.”

“Yes, thank you Ms. Mars.” I was filled with warmth, feeling incredibly grateful for her attention to my own education, even as I had yet to truly begin serving her.

“One more thing, David. When you’re doing your readings…”

“Yes, Ms Mars?”

“Read them out loud.”

“Of course Ms Mars.”

The device was uncomfortable on me, especially as I walked across them campus. It didn’t help that every memory of my recent service sent a thrill of arousal through me, making my cock attempt its normal response, only to be held at bay. I also realized that I hadn’t had a chance to wash my face and that I hadn’t been instructed to. I decided to play it safe and leave myself as she had left me.

I was surprised by the bureaucratic ease of dropping out of university. I had expected some resistance and I was ready to fully explain my reasons, but instead I dealt mostly with a disinterested clerk who read off rote statements about forfeiting portions of my tuition and procedures for re-admittance in the future.

It was less monumental than I had expected, almost disappointingly so, but it allowed me to return to her office quicker. As I’d hoped, she was still there.

“Excellent,” she commented upon my return. “I’ve got your package gathered together there, and you can take it home with you. Read it all through after you are done packing.”

“Packing, Ms Mars?”

“Yes. You will pack up your belongings today. I’ll have boxes sent over to your apartment this afternoon. Most of it will be placed in storage, of course, but I’m sure you’ll need some things with you. I’ll go through it all and choose when the boxes are delivered in the morning. Before that, I also have a bit of an experiment for you to conduct, base on some of our forum discussions.”

“Excellent, Ms Mars! What is it?” I was very eager to be assisting in her research so quickly.

“I’m sure you recall some of Delia’s points about gender and clothing. Her thesis, as I recall, that men were trained through their upbringings and societal norms, to view dressing in women’s clothing as degrading.”

I nodded, and the photos she’d pinned up flashed in my mind.

“You’re going to go down to Victoria’s Secret. You will find a salesgirl to help you.” I was blushing already, hearing it all laid out.

I arrived at the large store in the mall around 11:00 am. It was quiet, thankfully, being the middle of a weekday. As Ms Mars had instructed, I searched out one of the bored looking salesgirls. She seemed to be around my age, was rather petite, and was quite well dressed. Her red silk blouse was unbuttoned enough to show off that she was wearing one of their push-up products. My cock strained in its cage.

“Excuse me,” I asked, my cheeks already warming, “but I need to buy some lingerie.”

“OK, sure,” she replied with a poor attempt at interest. “Do you know your girlfriend’s sizes?”

“Actually,” I swallowed, feeling my lips and mouth rather dry, “they are for me.”

That got her interest.

“I need seven pairs of panties, all lace, in a variety of cuts and styles. I’ll need four bras as well, all to fit my chest, but in C and D cups. I also need to get seven pairs of stockings, with garters, and three corsets as well.” It was as though my face was going to burst into flames.

“Uhm, sure, I guess.” I could read the disgust and amusement on her face, but it was getting softened by her internal estimate of her upcoming commission. “I think you’d better come toward the back with me. We’ll measure you up properly, and get you what you need.”

Once we had established my sizes, she took me around the store. I’d been instructed to lean heavily on her advice and opinions on what was sexy and pretty. It was purely and completely humiliating. I was almost flirting with her, but all the while I was basically asking for her help in dressing me up like a pretty little girl.

Once we finally had filled up my quota, we moved to the counter to ring it in. The total was imposing, but my accounts could handle it easily. She was packing it all up when I had to stop her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, uhm, can you not pack the pink thong?”

“Oh, did you change your mind?”

“Oh no, I want it… I mean, I need it. It’s just that, uhm, well, I need to wear it.”

She actually giggled before she could stop herself. “Sure honey, I’ll leave it out for you. I’ll have to go back to the change rooms with you – we don’t usually have men back there, you know.”

“Of course.”

She stood just outside the tiny cubicle as I stepped out of my jeans and boxers. The thong fit perfectly, though it’s tiny triangle of lace barely stretched over the device locked onto me. I re-dressed and stepped out, my previous underwear balled up in my fist.

“Do you have a garbage can for these? I don’t think I’m going to need them any more.”

When I arrived at home – I had purchased a spacious loft apartment near the university as one of my view extravagances – I found boxes for packing ready and a gift-wrapped box topped with a sealed envelope waiting for me in the hallway. I didn’t recall having given Ms Mars my address, but I imagined it was part of my records at the university.

I made my way inside, dropping my heavy bags of lingerie and my satchel of reading materials. Once the boxes were all inside, I dropped into my favourite easy chair and tore open the envelope. It was a typed note from her.

David,

I imagine that you got to feel a bit of Delia’s point. We will discuss later if you felt degraded and humiliated, just because you were choosing women’s undergarments rather than men’s. I suspect there was also an effect based on the fact that the choice was not yours this time.

Those without power have fewer choices. I want you to learn this through feeling this. After you finish reading this note, you will immediately pack up all of your male underwear, tie it up in a bag, and discard of it down your garbage chute. You will be wearing only what I choose for you, from now on. What I choose for you to wear while backing is this: the panties you now have on, the matching bra and the white boned satin corset. You will also wear what I’ve given you as a gift in the wrapped box. You will wear ONLY these items until you and your packed boxes are picked up tomorrow morning.

Don’t forget to do your reading tonight, before you go to sleep, and I once more want to tell you what a great offer you’ve made me, and how much I think we will achieve together.

Ms Mars.

I sighed, and then felt immediately guilty about it. This wasn’t what I had expected, but there was no doubt she was right – I had felt just what she had described. It was humiliating, but I was providing real life experimental data. No wonder she was having me endure these chores – the feedback I’d be able to provide her would likely be invaluable.

I hurried upstairs to the sleeping loft and gathered up all my boxers, making sure I pulled out all the ones in the laundry bin as well. I disposed of them as she’d said, and she was right again – watching them fall into the darkness and having the realization that all I could wear were panties really did affect me.

I went back inside and stripped out of my clothes and dug into my shopping bag. I found the required items and set them out before me. The bra was simple enough once I figured out I could fasten it in front and then turn it around on my body before sliding my arms in. The corset was more difficult, only because it was tight. I had to take a deep breath to be able to get all the little hooks into their proper places. I finally allowed myself to open up the box.

Inside, resting in a bed of crinkled white tissue paper, was a pair of high heeled shoes. They were glowing pink, they had open toes, a latticework of criss-crossed straps, and the heels were somewhere over four inches tall. I looked them over in my hands before dutifully pulling them onto my feet. They fit onto my far-from-feminine feet perfectly.

One oddity was that they didn’t have buckles, but instead they had little hoops that pushed through slots in the top strap. The only way to keep them closed was with the pair of tiny steel locks that I found rattling in the bottom of the box – keys conspicuously absent. Of course, I thought to myself, the removal of choice. I locked them onto my feet.

It is hard to convey the emotions and sensations of packing up a full loft, sparsely decorated to be sure, while wearing high heels and lingerie and nothing else. I felt embarrassed, awkward, clumsy, ridiculous and silly. My feet began to ache after a while, and going up and down the stairs was particularly perilous. I didn’t have the time for breaks; however, as I knew Ms Mars was counting on me to be ready tomorrow morning.

My clothes packed away easily. My papers and personal files found a home in banker’s boxes. I made the decision to discard all my university coursework other than from Ms Mars’s class. The furniture I left where it was. My books packed easily, even though they filled a large number of boxes. It was when I was packing up my effects from the bathroom that the image of myself really struck me.

A woman in lingerie looks amazing, sexual, lovely and alluring. I looked like a fool. The corset was trying to give me curves, but the empty cups of the bra looked pathetic and the lace stretched over the torturous device on my cock was not much better. I was fit and my legs were reasonably defined, but they were also covered in typical male hair.

My mind rebelled. This is what I’m giving up my future for, I wondered. I wanted to help out a great woman, I wanted to support her, assist her, to be a part of fixing the prejudices of society. But it seemed I was just turning into a circus act. So far I’d gone down on her, which was incredible (my cock jumped at the memory and the pain actually buckled my knees for a moment), but was hardly academic behaviour. Since then all I’d done was prance around in panties. I threw the last of my toiletries in the small box and fell into the softness of my sofa.

What the fuck was I doing? I wondered if, after a good night’s sleep, if I’d end up back at the registrar’s office with my tail between my legs, trying to sign back into my classes. Of course, I’d probably end up eased out of Ms Mars’s class.

At least I was done packing. I could just relax and figure it out later. I was going to see what might be on TV, but I remembered my package of reading. Since I hadn’t quit yet, I thought I’d better keep up on my “homework” for now.

Inside the envelope was another page of text. A post-it on the envelope reminded me once more, just in case, to read it out loud, but I had not forgotten. I stood up, as trying to slouch in the corset was distinctly uncomfortable. I started to read. The words became a kind of music, a chant. It really was unusual. Again I had to use a finger to trace my position, as the words wouldn’t cohere in my memory or even my ears. I knew I was speaking – I could hear myself – but it was like a dream that I instantly couldn’t remember.

I was pacing as I read. I noticed absently that I really was getting better at walking in the damn heels. I was still reciting the text, still tracing along with my index finger, but freed of the perception of the words themselves, my conscious mind could wander. I looked down at the shoes and their little locks. Choice again. I couldn’t choose to take off my shoes. I couldn’t choose to jerk off. I couldn’t choose to wear boxers. Choice was the opposite of service. Choice was the opposite of the gift I’d promised to make of myself to her.

While the lock enforced one choice of hers and the boxers discarded beyond reach did the same regarding the panties, I was still hampered by the resources and the ability to fall back on old choices. I had to fix that if I was going to be able to move forward. My finger reached the end of the last line as I strolled into my bedroom. I lay back on the bed and fell into sleep.

I woke clear-headed and happy. It was so wonderfully rewarding to come up with solutions.

I paced, this time in anticipation, for the knock on the door. When it finally came, I welcomed Ms Mars inside with a smile and the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. I gave her a tour of the place quickly. I still felt self-conscious in my get-up, but it was also rewarding to have her see it. It was all for her, after all.

I asked her to sit, as I had something I just had to tell her. She sipped her coffee, looking so poised and lovely. I remained on my feet.

“I had a strange moment yesterday, Ms Mars, where I let my surprise and insecurity tempt me away from my dedication, and I want you to know that it was only a passing moment, and I think I’ve already discovered the solution.”

“I suspected that things might be tough for you, especially at first. I do hope that you still know that this is all for your own development and education, David.”

“I do, I really do, and I want to thank you for letting me be part of this experience and experiment so quickly into my service. I don’t know if you are aware, but my family left me with significant resources and that they were only added to by the settlement that came as a result of their accident. All my life this financial cushion has given me a kind of power and freedom that I know few have. I’ve never forgotten that it is rare, but I’ve gotten used to it all the same. If I make a mistake or a bad choice, I know that I can always just use money to get out of it. For example, even if I had lost a whole year’s tuition, I knew that I could still afford to just pay it again.”

“Yes, David, I can see that gives you a significant freedom in your choices.”

“That’s it exactly! And those kinds of choices are just going to stand in the way of my really serving you and feeling the full effects of what you want of me. I can’t really learn what these things will feel like if my mind retreats to a trap door. So, I have a simple solution. I’m going to sign it all over to you. After all, what would be the benefit of giving up my loft if I thought that I could just buy a new one?”

“That’s quite a commitment, David.”

“I know, Ms Mars. Maybe even more than you know. At last reckoning, I believe my holdings totalled a bit over $54 million. I’ve already made some inquiries this morning, and I will immediately give you power of attorney, via a letter I’ve had faxed over. You or I can then use that power to efficiently transfer all the titles into your name. I want to do it as soon as possible, Ms Mars. Will you accept?”

She smiled, and the way her elegantly painted lips curled was like art. “You impress me, David. Of course I will accept. You are really capturing the spirit of what we are doing together. I know we’ll be able to achieve great things.”

My heart sung. It was really going to happen! I would be able to feel it all, totally and completely. She and I signed the numerous papers and contracts and I faxed them off to my lawyer immediately.

“Now,” she spoke, “it is time to move forward. I noticed that you look rather incomplete in your lingerie. It is no fault of your own, but that bra does look rather sad, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Ms Mars. I noticed that myself.”

“We will deal with that in more proper ways later, but for now I’ve come up with a temporary solution that will also reference another lesson. In the past, before there was birth control or formula, women were essentially trapped in their homes by the requirement to provide food for their children. It was a significant load to carry, physically and metaphorically. So follow me.”

She walked into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and smiled. “Just as I’d hoped.”

She pulled out a large jug of milk. From her purse she produced two clear balloons and a small funnel. She inserted the tip of the funnel into one and began filling it with milk. In no time, as I watched in awe, she had created two large white orbs nearly bursting with milk. She tucked them into the cups of my empty bra.

They were cold of course, though that sensation didn’t last. What did was my awareness of them. They moved with each step I took, especially on heels. When I bent over they flowed forwards, making me fear that they would tumble out. With that addition to my outfit, I moved all the packed boxes to the door as instructed.

“There’s one more box, David, which I’ll need you to bring inside. I had it dropped off just before I arrived.”

It was crippling to open the door and step outside, dressed as I was, but there was no choice. It was a struggle to pull the large wooden crate into my foyer.

“I’m not quite ready to have you out in full regalia yet, David, and at the same time, it’s important that you feel this clothing a bit longer. So I’ve decided that the movers will move you as well.”

She opened the hinged front of the box. Inside was a kind of makeshift bench.

“Please step inside.”

I had to crouch down as I turned and backed inside. I sat myself down on the small seat. Ms Mars was there immediately, guiding my calves back into curved recesses and cinching canvas straps around my legs, holding them in place. There was a similar belt for over my hips, around my waist and for my chest – above and below my stuffed bra. My forearms were then similarly strapped down to padded armrests. As she guided my head back, I realized there was even padding behind me there.

“We’ll need to make sure you can have something to drink, so open up David.”

I opened my mouth nervously, and she guided a red rubber ball into my mouth. It had large metal rings on both sides of it and a clear plastic tube running through it. The rings she fastened to hooks at the ends of small straps that were part of the crate, on either side of my head. This very effectively pulled my head back against the padding and held me in place. The tube was connected to a hanging bag full of cold water.

“See you at home, David,” she said, as she closed the crate. I was suddenly in darkness, able to let my predicament sink in. I was dressed in very little, now gagged, and I couldn’t move more an inch. It was awkward to swallow with my mouth so full of the gag, but I could get some water. It was embarrassing to have just as much dribbling out of my lips as I drooled down onto my chest. Also, my cock and balls were really starting to ache. I’d been so aroused, off and on, without relief or release. The chastity device punished me at even the beginning of an erection and my balls felt throbbed with a feeling of fullness.

It was a singular experience to be moved with my belongings and as one of hers. A little while after I had been shut in and closed tight, I heard Ms Mars open the door for a team of movers. From the sounds that reached me, they quickly and efficiently bustled all the boxes out of the apartment. The large crate they left for last. Finally I had the sensation of being tipped one way up onto a hand truck and then back the other way as two of them wheeled me out. I just imagined the sight of it: just another large box on its way to the service elevator. Inside I bumped and jostled, and thanks to the filled balloons in my bra, I jiggled.

The experience would be repeated as I was loaded into the truck, then after the humming journey to my new home. I was unloaded and finally wheeled in and deposited.

I sat a while longer, waiting, as there was nothing else I could do. I waited and sipped and drooled and ached. The silence was its own kind of bondage, but I was happy to have time to just think about all that I’d be able to achieve for Ms Mars.

Finally there were sounds and the creak of the crate opening. The rapidly widening sliver of light blinded me for a while but while I blinked she freed me from the straps and the gag. I felt her free my feet from the high heels as well. She beckoned me out of the box and lent me a hand of support.

I looked around, finding myself in a small and austere room that contained a single bed, a large open closet and a vast array of shelves and hooks, all empty. There was an en suite washroom that looked to be as large as the bedroom.

“David, you have thirty minutes to strip, to shower, shave. Then I shall have a use for you.”

Without another word, she turned on her heels and was gone. The door made a heavy thud as it closed.

I wasted no time. I was happy to be out of the lingerie, especially the restricting corset. The thong had gotten a little too intimate with my ass cheeks as well. I put all the items in the small laundry basket and eagerly entered the shower. I scrubbed myself all over thoroughly but quickly. I had to make due with what I could reach when it came to my crotch, as I was still held securely in the chastity device.

The towels were thick and luxurious. The toiletries provided were not mine, but there was everything I could need. I shaved and then used the wonderfully scented aftershave lotion that was provided. There was a grooming kit as well, so I took the time to trim and file my fingernails as well.

There was no clothing in the room, but for what I had removed, so I waited the remaining four minutes naked. Right on dot, the door opened and she smiled.

“Follow me, David.”

Her home was a mansion. My room was on the ground floor, near a side entrance and a vast kitchen, so I got to see quite a few large rooms and interconnected corridors as she led. Our destination was up a curving staircase, over ornate carpets and into an exquisite private suite.

“Stand at the foot of the bed, David. Wait for me there.”

She disappeared into an anteroom and I took my place. In just a few minutes she was back. She had shed her traditional wardrobe – her perfectly tailored skirt, sumptuous blouse and fitted jacket were long gone. She had kept her heels on, and from them silk stockings flowed up her legs, drawn to the gleaming clasps of a garter belt. The black lace, ribbon trimmed panties were worn overtop of the belts. Her belly was taut and perfect with the wonderful curves of a real woman. Her bra matched the fine detail of the panties, with low cups that barely covered her nipples. It offered up that creamy flesh like valuable treasures.

I wondered absently if she had changed or if this remarkable beauty had always been hidden by her street clothes. My cock was screaming at the sight, fighting to be stiff. I had never in my life seen anything more beautiful.

She was to me quickly, and she moved like music. She pushed me down to sit on the bench at the foot her bed, with her right hand sliding behind my neck. She leaned down and pulled my face up to a full kiss. My mouth opened to hers and her tongue teased over my teeth then swirled against mine. The pure physical pleasure of this combined with my mental awareness of the honour had my mind swimming in bliss. The only anchor holding me on earth was the resulting pain of my arousal caused by the trap upon me.

She pulled back, but rather than breaking the kiss, she pulled me up with her. I was taller than her now, even with her heels, but she still owned me. I realized she was simply backing me around the corner of the bed. She laid me down on it.

“I want you on your back, David. Spread your legs wide, and reach up to hold onto the headboard.” Her commands were just as firm and clear, but there was a new hunger in her voice.

She released the locks on the chastity device and she managed to wiggle it off of me, freeing my erection to jut up into the air. I couldn’t recall ever being this hard before, and I looked so hard and full. My cockhead was nearly purple.

She wiggled out of her panties and crawled up over me, straddling my head at first.

“Warm me up, David. Show me that you’ve learned something.”

My tongue reached up to her as she lowered herself to me. I immediately tasted her as my tongue just reached between her lips; she was the richest honey. I kissed and lapped at her in response to her motion, worshipping whatever was offered. She was holding the headboard as well, rolling and grinding her hips over my mouth, allowing me to kiss her clit, to feel it hot and pulsing between my pursed lips. I twirled my tongue around, opening my mouth a bit and suckling just enough to draw her even more fully to me.

Her juices were flowing and her voice, which previously had offered instruction now gave only moans and encouragement. I was throbbing as well, and I realized my hips were pumping into the empty air.

She lifted from me and slid down my body, leaving a trail of her wetness on my chest.

“David, you WILL… NOT… CUM without permission.” It was a statement as much as an order and I felt my body and mind respond. My arousal didn’t lessen in the slightest, but I could feel that my explosion would be controlled.

She lowered once more and she enveloped me. She gripped me all the way down, squeezing like a velvet vise. It was like I could feel every undulation, and she experienced every bump and vein of my steel-like rod. I offered up rolling and swaying of my hips, but in reality she just rode me. She would move her body to adjust the angle of entry, she would guide where she wanted me to be. She would lift herself nearly off of me, only to pause and then drop down, until her pelvis ground against mine. My balls were still sore from their time of denial and imprisonment, but it only made me more aware of the power of her fucking me.

I held my grip, my arms above my head. I wanted so much to reach up to her, to cup those perfect breasts as bounced with her motion. She held them instead. One hand would still stay on the bed frame to steady her body, but the other would cup and squeeze the orbs of flesh. Her nipples, dark and tight, had worked their way free and she would trap them, roll and tease them between her thin fingers. Her hair was free and flew about her head. It was starting to stick to her neck, as both of us were glistening with sweat.

She pushed her hips forward and I could actually feel my cockhead prodding the spongy button of her g-spot. I could hear it too, as her moans rose to the next decibel level. She was gripping me hard with her pussy, holding me like a fist as she bounced up and down. I was so hard it was almost painful and my balls felt like they were ready to explode from fullness, but for some unbelievable reason, I was able to hold off.

She came hard. She screamed and her entire body was hit with a series of spasms. Her head rolled back and she dragged her fingernails down my chest, marking me, as if the ache of my throbbing cock inside her wasn’t enough. She slowed for a moment, then starting riding again – harder and faster and more urgently.

She brought herself to another crest of orgasm, and then another, and another. She was panting and dripping when she finally collapsed down onto me.

I felt her heart pounding against mine as our sweaty bodies panted in time. My erection held and she was hugging me inside and out.

I was wondering if she had fallen asleep when she softly peeled off of me.

“Wait here,” she cooed.

I lay back, looking down at my glistening erection. I was soaked with her, and standing stiff as a tower.

She returned from the bathroom and my eyes widened. She was dressed as before, but for that her shoes had been replaced with knee high leather boots that sported five inch heels. She also wore gleaming black gloves that reached up to her elbows. The other addition was more troubling. Around her hips was strapped a harness and jutting out from it was a gleaming black rubber cock that put mine to shame.

“Roll over, David, onto all fours on the bed.”

My face was red and my flesh was tingling. I could do nothing but obey, no matter my fear or reservations.

“The act of sex, in many a man’s mind is about the man fucking and the woman getting fucked. We know, even just from our wonderful recent experience, that doesn’t make a damn bit of difference in determining who has the power, but still, it is a distinction that lingers in the psyche.”

She kept moving closer to me, and now I had to look back over my shoulder to observe her.

“As well, if men think that dressing like a woman is demeaning, they also feel that being fucked like a woman can be even more so. You observe that this forms the basis for so many homophobic slurs as well.”

I heard my heart throbbing in my ears as well as her words.

“And so, another lesson and experience, David. From now on, and for as long as I choose, you will cum ONLY when you are being fucked. Your will no doubt be aroused my many other things – in fact I will insist on it – but the bliss of release will only come when you taking it, rather than giving it. Do you understand?”

I stammered. “Yes Ms Mars. Yes, I understand…”

And then I felt the cold touch of thick lube, from her gloved hands and onto my ass. She pushed my cheeks apart to spread it over me, even prodding some into the tightness of my anus.

I felt the hard rounded tip of the dildo only for a moment before her hips drove it deep. She filled me steadily, slowly at first, but then faster. Harder. Her voice filled the room.

“Take it in, David. Take it all in for me. I’m breaking your cherry, aren’t I? Was your ass virgin before you offered yourself up to me?”

I realised that I was crying in shame as I answered. The aching sensation of fullness in my ass was alien and painful. I couldn’t even see her; I could only feel her driving into me. The pressure of the base of the toy against the harness and her pelvis – perhaps providing a pleasurable pressure to her body as well – rocked my body back and forth.

Despite all this ache and pain and shame and humiliation, my cock was still throbbing. Cum felt like it was bubbling in my swollen balls.

She was fully into me now, her hips reaching my ass, fucking me deep and hard and steady. In my mind I could see a vision of myself, as though I was floating above the bed, watching her take me. Yes, she was the first to take my ass. I was hers. I would take then and anything, just to be her servant.

I came and came and came, in thick milky spurts of hot cum. Some landed on the bed and some she caught in her gleaming gloves, to smear on my face and back as she kept riding me and I kept coming. In the end, I believe I passed out.

EPILOGUE

I have a rich life now, rewarding in a way I could never have imagined. I am busy and constantly given the opportunities to learn and provide service to her.

My weekly schedule is very full. I take cooking classes, so I am able to satisfy her palate and properly feed her guests. The etiquette classes also help me when I am called upon to personally serve at her privately hosted functions.

I am tutored in the intimate use of my tongue, my fingers, my cock and all of my body by Ms Mars herself as well as by others she has chosen.

I take care of the household, as well as all domestic chores. She greatly enjoyed the day when my uniform came for those specific tasks, as it was an opportunity for another lesson on the way clothing can reinforce submission, visually and physically.

There are days when she chooses to have me dress in drag or in other costumes, to teach me directly about the way that clothes have been used as implements of dominance and control. She in an excellent teacher; I never get used to the feelings in myself or the looks from others when I am exposed during those challenges.

I’ve long given her all my previous possessions, assets and responsibilities. Knowing that my previous choices are hers, and truly being hers myself, has allowed me a clarity of life and purpose that enables me to be the most assistance to her as possible.

As before, the seminars are really the most intensive part of my education. I still prepare and provide all of the refreshments – baking and cooking myself now. I choose the wine to suit the season and hors d’oeuvres. I monitor the meetings, making sure that all the women have enough of everything as they talk and debate the topic of the evening. I’m far too busy to take part in the discussions now, and this is given a physical reality as I am usually gagged.

I also have the additional role to fill of taking part in research and experiments. For those that took part during the week, video and photographic evidence is often shown and occasionally I am ungagged to provide reports and answer questions. There are also experiments to take part in during the sessions. Usually one member will have the task of choosing an outfit or physical act that might be desired to display submission on my part, or to exemplify the power of another participant.

Having me there, a completely willing subject to take part in the situations they devise, has helped the other students and Ms Mars immeasurably. It is never easy, as they can be very inventive, sometimes even seemingly vindictive, but I know I am fulfilling the potential of my assistance and service.

This is how it was always supposed to be like.

THE END