The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Her phone was ringing. She groped for it in the darkness at her bedside, her hand flapping, the phone skidding until she got hold and brought it to her ear.

“Hello?” Her mind was barely awake as she lay back against the pillow. The light from the phone haloed her face but the rest of the room was black.

“Melissa?” A man’s voice. Soft, but urgent.

“Yes. Who...” Sleep was still heavy on her and she mumbled her words.

“Melissa Lane?”

“What? No. I’m...” She sighed with weariness and annoyance. Why couldn’t this idiot check a number before he rang someone in the middle of the night? God she was tired. What time was it? “My name is Melissa Hawking. You’ve got the wrong number. Goodb-”

“No, I think... ahhhhh. You need to listen. You need to listen to this, Melissa. I think that ... Mmmm... you’ll want to hear it.”

His voice was still soft. She blinked in the darkness and tried to gather her thoughts. Her mouth opened but he began to talk again and she listened.

“I know it’s you Melissa, I know your voice. You’re tired, but ... " he gave another hard breath “this is something that you’ll want. It’s Dominion and Desire. You like the products, don’t you? They’ve got a great photographer for this one and you’d be perfect for a catalogue like that. It’s more pleasure than business.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a model, I-”

“You’re one of the best. Girls dream about the excitement and the glamour ... and the money, don’t they? And it is exciting, and you are a beautiful, glamorous girl. Eighteen years old, blonde hair, that crafted expression of disdain. All those things, but it’s something deeper with you. I think it’s like a need. The lights and the camera and the money are just a sideshow. The modelling is just a way to fulfil that need you have...”

His breath hissed into the phone as he spoke, but there were other noises, a wet sort of noise and a clapping sort of noise, that she could hear in the background.

“What need? What do I need? Look, I think you’ve made a mistake. This must be a wrong number. I’m going to-”

“It’s not a mistake Melissa. That’s why you’re still listening... unhhhh...I think that you’ve always loved to take off your clothes. That feeling of being naked in front of the camera. Of being... exposed. Are you naked now?”

“No!” She said it in a fierce whisper. “That’s it. I’m putting the phone down.”

But she didn’t. It seemed difficult, lying there in the darkness with the phone pressed to her ear, to do anything except let her head sink into the pillow and to listen. In the dark there was only the sound of his voice and her voice and those other mysterious noises. It seemed as though, if she cut him off, there would be nothing at all. She needed to listen.

“You can feel that need building now, can’t you? Even in the dark, where no one can see you. That need to be ... on display. In the studio there would be all that hot light and the flash on your bare skin. There would be the eye of the camera and then all those other eyes, devouring the photos. Now, in the dark, there’s only words and voices. But it’s enough. It’s like I can see you. Like my voice can see you.”

His breathing was still hard, but regular now, like he’d fallen into a rhythm of exertion. The wet noise and the clapping, slapping noise were in time with it. His words fell into the gaps between the breaths.

She squirmed in the bed. The plain cotton pyjamas that she was wearing seemed to constrict her. She told herself that it was a warm night, she was too hot, she should cool down by taking them off. He wouldn’t know.

“Just for my voice,” he said, “you want to be naked. You want to expose yourself for me.”

He wouldn’t know. She wasn’t doing it for him. It was the heat. She kept the phone tight to her ear but hooked the fingers of the other hand around the waistband of the loose cotton pants. She tried to pull them down, quietly, but it was difficult to do one handed. She tried to wriggle out of them without making a noise, but he was suddenly silent, listening.

He could hear it. The rustling of the cloth, the change in her breathing, the small sound she made as she pulled her knees up to her chest and manoeuvred the pants off. He knew what she was doing, and why. The sheet was cool against her legs. Her hand began to work at the buttoned top and she told herself again that she was taking her clothes off because of the heat. She told herself that, but in her mind she could only think about a naked girl with a phone pressed to her ear. She struggled one arm out of the top, still trying to be quiet, and swapped the phone into her other hand.

“Now?” he said.

With one more movement, she was out of her clothes and she lay nude beneath the quilt.

“No.” Her voice sounded small and hesitant.

“No?” There was amusement there. His breathing became louder, and the background noises returned. For a moment she thought she heard something else, someone else there with him, but it was difficult to make out. “Ahhhhhh...yes. Throw off the sheet, Melissa.”

He didn’t need to explain it to her this time, the image was bright in her mind. A girl lying on a bed, her flesh bare, her clothing cast aside, one hand cupping a phone tightly while the other hand...

“Can you feel that need now, Melissa? Can you feel how deep it goes? How much there is to satisfy? Are you naked because you need to come, or do you need to come because you’re naked?”

“What? I don’t...” her hand grasped at the sheet, pulled it aside. “It’s because its hot in here, I’m not going to...” She couldn’t say it to him.

“Imagine if they took the photos now,” he said. “Would you like that? In front of the camera, you pretend to be cold. It’s like, although you’ve put yourself on display, they only see your body and they can’t see more than skin deep. But now, if the flash went off in the dark, what would we see? How much would you open up for us?”

At that, she rebelled.

“I wouldn’t! Never!” she hissed. “I’ve never done that for anyone. Don’t call me anymore. Leave me alone!” Yet she couldn’t quite take that final step of ending the call. She still held the phone tightly to her ear, still felt that absolute need to listen, still sought for his voice like a beacon in the darkness.

“Haven’t you? Never had a boyfriend on the line while you lay in bed and played with yourself? The idea makes you hot, though, doesn’t it? I can imagine you, spreading wide, stretching your hand down there, so hot, so wet, getting your fingers in deep...”

“No...” she said weakly, plaintively, feeling the need build within her. It was so difficult not to think about it. His words and her body. The heat between her legs, that tight, insistent itch that needed her fingers to work on it, over and over.

“Mmmmm. Like that.” Those wet sounds again, and was that someone else she could hear? It sounded like a woman, sighing or moaning, noises that she’d made once herself when she’d been with her last boyfriend. There didn’t seem any doubt about what he was doing at the other end of the line. “Yes... just like that... You’re going to do it aren’t you Melissa? Tell me.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Her voice was insistent, even as her hand snaked downwards, tracing over her belly and down between her legs. “I’m not.”

“Tell me what you’re going to do. Unnhhhh... Do it now and tell me.” There was a moments silence, then just the sound of bodies slapping together, then a cry of release from him and then the muffled sounds of the woman as her climax followed his.

Melissa’s fingers were already working, pressing into her, slick and wet. Her thighs spread, she drew her knees up, toes pointed, shifted her weight for a better angle. Her fingers, deeper now. Her breath quickened.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

She pressed her lips together, trying to keep the words inside, but the need to speak them was the same need that was driving the movement of her hand. It forced her lips apart.

“I’m... I’m masturbating. I’m lying here in the dark and I need to make myself come. I really need it... Need to do it now while we’re... while we’re talking... while you’re talking to me. I need to...Ohh...”

“Yes, tell me.”

“Oh God... I’m lying on my back and my legs are pulled up so that I can get in deeper and I’m... I’m sliding my fingers in and out... it’s so wet, so wet... I’m stroking them up to touch my... Ohhhh... please, don’t make me... I can’t...”

She gave a small cry of fear, or pleasure, or both.

“Good girl, don’t stop.”

She couldn’t stop, she could hear it in his voice. There was nothing now but the sounds of her hand working and her breathing and faintly, his. There was only her need and his words. Just like he’d said, she was going to do it.

“Please... I need it... need to hear...”

“Make yourself come now, Melissa.”

The climax was upon her like a wave, crushing her to the bed until her body was limp. Then she was floating in the dark, holding on to the phone like it was the only thing that would stop her sinking, out of sight, out of mind. She still held it tightly and she realised, vaguely, that he had begun to whisper to her. Her mind was drifting and it was hard to concentrate on the words. She slipped, half awake, away from what he was saying and she was lost in the feelings of bliss that were still washing over her body.

It was the dial tone that brought her back to her senses, ringing through her head as if it had been hollowed. He was gone. What had he said to her, at the end? Somehow, she knew that it had been something that was wrong. She should have argued, should have told him again that he’d made a mistake, that she wasn’t this Melissa Lane, she didn’t do things like that. Why hadn’t she told him? What was it that he had said?

She pulled the sheet back over her body and lay in the dark, trying to remember.

When Melissa woke in the morning, it was already light. She pulled on a silk robe and tied it securely to cover herself. She drew back the heavy curtains and examined the phone. The call was there, 1.03am, “unknown number”, length of call 1:32:16. An hour and a half? That couldn’t be right. The phone was obstinate. She threw it onto the bed and turned to her mirror.

Where was the girl who had brought herself to orgasm for an unknown stranger? She should be able to see a trace of her, a sign of that wantonness. There was nothing, only the sunlight falling on the blonde ringlets of her hair. That need that he’d kindled was gone.

As she paced the room, the only feeling that grew in her was anger. Why had she been so weak? Why had she let herself respond to his words like that? Again and again, she imagined that tiny movement of a finger that would have terminated the call. Why? She remembered how much she’d needed to listen to him last night. Now, that fear of being abandoned in the dark just seemed childish.

She stood in front of the mirror again and thought about pride. She was proud of her body. Proud of her smooth, flawless skin, still tanned from the trip to the Caribbean after her A-levels. Proud of her curves, her full, high breasts, the way her ass looked in tight jeans. She was proud of her smile.

In her mind, her robe fell open. She imagined her breasts exposed, framed in silk, the sunlight falling across them. She was proud of her body, she knew it, but the thought of ... exhibiting it, being photographed, selling her image, people seeing the things that were hers and hers alone, that thought was alien to her. Just the idea that someone wanted her to do that, the fact he had said that she’d already done it, made her furious.

She stormed into the bathroom, ahead of her sister, and slammed the door on protests and abuse. In the shower she scrubbed at her skin and washed the sweat from her hair. Her sister was rattling the door but Melissa grabbed her razor and began to shave, wanting to lose every last trace of the girl that she had been last night. Her legs glistened now, but she continued upwards, still thinking of how eagerly she’d opened herself. Every last trace, she thought.

When she’d finished, she stood in front of the mirror again and let the robe fall open. Her eyes traced down over the gentle round curve of her belly. Clean, hairless, chaste. It was beautiful. No one but her was going to see it.

As she was leaving the house, her phone rang again. Automatically, she pulled it out of her handbag and answered.

“Hello?”

There was a pause and panic rose in her, the feeling of her stomach contracting, the breath trapping in her lungs. It would be him! Why had she answered the phone again?

“Melissa? Hi, it’s Cathy.”

Relief. A friend. One who never called unless she wanted something, but a friend.

“Listen, I’m going in to town today, let’s meet for coffee. About eleven? At Five Beans? Melissa, are you listening?”

“Yes, sorry, didn’t sleep very well. I was just on my way in actually, I’ll see you there.”

Back to reality.

They managed to secure the last available sofa at the coffee shop, placing the numerous bags from their shopping trips around them like fortifications. Weary Saturday shoppers and harassed parents trooped past them, looked in vain for somewhere to sit and trooped out again. It was quite satisfying.

Cathy was eager to talk, but it was mostly about herself. She slipped off her shoes and pulled her legs up onto the leather sofa, turning to Melissa and giving her the full force of the makeover she’d had at the MAC counter. She held her mug of latte with both hands and looked at Melissa through the steam, her dark brown hair curving around her face like the hood of a conspirator.

Melissa found herself smiling. Conversation with Cathy didn’t involve much audience participation other than to nod and to make appropriate noises of laughter or sympathy. She felt herself relax into the familiar attitude of the supportive friend and listened to Cathy complain about the iniquities of her parents and explain at length her plans to take a gap year conserving turtles.

She sipped the hot coffee and watched the people struggle past outside. It had started to rain and the world outside the coffee shop was grey, filled with dark blurs of raincoats and umbrellas. She’d worn pale faded jeans and her white jacket and boots and she was hoping that she didn’t get soaked to the skin when she left the coffee shop.

So much for the summer, she thought. Five weeks now until her university course started, four weeks until she moved out of home and into halls. Her mind drifted, thoughts of lecture theatres and law books. She should find a holiday job she supposed, even though she didn’t need to. So much for the summer.

“Miserable day,” said Cathy. “But this is our sofa and we’re going to defend it.” Melissa smiled again and hugged the coffee mug to herself.

“Safety in numbers.” she said.

Her phone started to ring. She took another sip of the coffee and with her other hand reached down to her bag.

“Anyway, when I told him, he said that there was no way he was spending twelve weeks helping to build a bloody turtle sanctuary and that the nearest he wanted to come to a turtle was if it was in a soup!”

Melissa made the sympathetic face at this, converting it into an expression of apology as she pulled out the ringing phone and nodding at Cathy to indicate her solidarity regarding turtle conservation as she lifted it to her ear. Cathy smiled indulgently; permission to take the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello Melissa.” His voice. Her finger twitched for the ‘end call’ button as she heard him say, “Listen.”

“You’re set up for next Thursday. The catalogue shoot. They’re really looking forward to you.” His voice was still soft but in place of the insistent urgency of last night, there was only the sound of well spoken confidence. Her finger stroked the button but couldn’t seem to press it.

“I can’t ... look, I’m kind of busy at the moment, I can’t talk to you right now.” She looked at Cathy, whose eyebrows had already raised at the potential for gossip.

He laughed. “I don’t mind if you’re not alone Melissa, in fact-”

“No! I mean, I’m with my friend, Cathy, so this isn’t a good time. I’d better go.”

Cathy grinned impishly at Melissa’s discomfort and shook her head vigorously. Melissa smiled weakly back at her.

“So eager to get off the phone,” he said, still amused. “She must be something special. Are you at your place or hers?”

“What?” She managed to keep the outrage out of her voice. “No, just for Coffee.”

“Ah, girl-talk. It can get so intimate can’t it? I bet you feel like you can tell her anything. Like she’s always ready to listen. No matter what you had to confess she’d hear you out and-”

“No, I don’t think you’ve met her...”

“-even if it was something that you were a little ashamed of, she’d still...”

“Last night?” she said. “Actually, it was a bit boring. I just fell asleep.”

“Really? That is unfortunate. So you’ve had to go shopping just to find some excitement. Why don’t...” he gave a long, slow breath, “Why don’t you tell me the things that you bought?”

There, she felt it again, the need to listen and the need to answer. It was like a thin chain around her ankle, so light that it was hardly real until she felt its limit. A need that she could barely identify until she tried to refuse it. She tried to keep her voice casual.

“Just a couple of tops, some makeup, some underwear.”

“That sounds nice. I can imagine the sort of thing that you like. I’m thinking about it now. But why don’t you describe it to me? Describe it so that I can imagine you wearing it ... here in front of me.” There was more noise in the background again at his end of the line but she hardly noticed. All her awareness was suddenly on her surroundings; the people queuing at the counter, the couple at the next table, the waitress coming to collect the empty mugs and Cathy, listening intently.

“I can’t...” but the chain of need pulled her back. She tried to say nothing and it was like holding her breath, like she’d already been holding it for a full minute and she had to get it out and breathe again. “It’s ... it’s all in satin. A set in midnight blue, a plunge bra and a thong, with sort of detailing in black ribbon. The bra pushes ... pushes my breasts together and I really liked the way it was ... shimmery. The thong looks sleek too and it felt so nice where I’d shaved. It ... it just covers me at the front and then just a thin strip of colour between ... between my...”

Cathy gasped, one hand covering her mouth in scandalised delight. Melissa twisted in her seat, trying to turn her face away. She was flushed and her body was sweating and hot. The leather upholstery creaked.

“Yes,” he said, “I can see you now in the changing room, pulling the thong up over your hips, loving the feeling of it tight between your legs. Tight as it cuts between those beautiful cheeks. Then you throw that curve into your back so that your ass is thrust out and your breasts are pushed forwards, like you’re presenting them for view.” She could see it as he spoke. She hadn’t done it, any of it, but the image was clear in her mind; it was her body, her face.

“You could feel yourself getting hot in there, couldn’t you? So hot that you had to take a moment, your hands sliding over the blue satin, sitting on the stool in front of the mirror, your legs spread wide, working with your fingers, you felt the heat through the satin, you felt yourself open up, one side of the thong was dry, one side was wet, closer and closer.” Her body was responding now. Hot in her jeans, hot against the leather. Again the image in her mind was clear but somewhere, out of sight, she heard his words ... again, as if he’d said this to her before. Somewhere dark and unseen, the tolling of a reminiscent bell.

“With each stroke of your finger, getting closer and closer, and your mind replaying that fantasy. The one we talked about. The one with the shop girl. She was outside and with each stroke, she was getting closer and closer and she was pulling aside the curtain and she was going to find you there, she was going to walk in on you and you were going to come.”

She was getting close, here and now. She realised that she had begun to grind against the sofa and she had enough awareness left to hope that no one could tell. Or no one except Cathy, who was staring in amazement. Maybe she hadn’t been wet in the changing room, but she was certainly wet now. Not her fantasy, never hers, but he’d wrapped it around her, body and mind. It was all chained together, his words and all these feelings of pleasure and shame. So close. If he continued then she was going to come right here, in front of her friend.

“Of course, the next part is better. You remember telling me don’t you, Melissa? Why don’t you tell Cathy? Tell her now.”

The dial tone. That continuous sound, connecting his words to her memory. She remembered. She knew what came next, she could hear the beginning of it, could hear his words in that darkened room. The need was there, the need to unfold all the details of the changing room and the shop girl. They were his words, but Cathy wouldn’t know, she’d only hear Melissa.

Without his voice though, the urgency was lessened. If she kept her body still on the sofa then she could turn away from the edge of climax and come back down. If she kept her mind still, didn’t let herself think about the things he’d said, maybe the need would subside. Maybe she could still...

“So,” said Cathy.

Melissa laughed uneasily. “Just a guy that I met. We have these strange conversations.”

“Yes, he phones, you ... describe your underwear, he talks you to the edge of ... of bringing yourself off in your seat, he hangs up. Just a guy.”

“Bringing my... I wasn’t-”

“Melissa, you were practically having phone sex. So don’t be coy! How long have you known him?”

“I haven’t, I mean, let’s talk about this another time. Tell me about the turtles.”

“Who cares about the bloody turtles! Melissa, you’ve never, ever, done this sort of thing. You didn’t even like it when Andy used to put his arm round you in public. Who is this guy?”

“I really don’t want to tell you about ... I mean, want to talk about-”

“You never used to talk about it. Not even with me. He must be ...”

“Cathy, don’t. I can’t ... please.”

“What did he say to you Mel? Don’t I tell you my secrets?”

“Don’t make me tell you. God, Cathy, don’t make me say it. You don’t know how much I ...”

“Come on Melissa, tell me.”

It was like a command. She knew it was too late now. The words were rising up and she couldn’t stop them any more.

“I have this fantasy,” she said. She was nearly whispering, and Cathy leaned in close to hear. “I go to a lingerie shop and choose some things, matching things in satin that I can ... model... in the changing room. When I’m in there I get excited and I have to ... to touch my self.”

More than anything now, she wanted to plead with him, wanted to beg.

“Melissa Hawking!” Mock outrage from Cathy.

“I’m ... with my fingers ... in front of the mirror. Watching myself. Then the curtain opens and one of the shop girls comes in. She sees me sitting there, sees what I’m doing, but she doesn’t leave. She smiles, steps in to the changing room and pulls the curtain closed behind her.”

Melissa imagined begging Cathy, getting on her knees in front of her in supplication. Then she thought of saying all these things from the floor while Cathy looked down on her and it was too awful to even-

“You mean that you...” Cathy began to look a little uncomfortable.

“I’m so close, about to come, but I just freeze and she looks at me like, like I can’t do anything unless she tells me to. Then she reaches for my hand and gently pulls it away from ... from my ...”

“My god, Melissa.” Cathy looked around. Melissa wasn’t whispering any more. People were staring now.

“She’s about my age and she’s wearing a tight top and a short, shiny skirt. She pulls my hand up underneath it. She’s bare, and wet, and she guides my fingers up, so they’re just touching her. Then, slowly, she lowers herself down on to me. I don’t say anything, I don’t try to stop her, just let her fuck herself on my fingers. Up and down.”

This, she thought, this was what he wanted her to feel. The horrible embarrassment that brought her close to tears, the way the story itself was making her wet and the knowledge that both of these were what he wanted. Humiliation, pleasure and desire all bound so tightly together that she didn’t know if they could ever be disentangled.

“Ok, you win. I get the idea, no more questions.” More heads turned. A waitress whispered to her manager. Melissa leant closer to Cathy, urgency filled her voice.

“All the time she’s looking at me, like she’s holding me there with her eyes. I try to speak but she puts a finger against my lips and her eyes tell me that I’m not allowed to talk. She’s lowering herself further, straddling my leg so that my hand is trapped between us. Then it’s like she’s riding it, riding my hand. Her juices are running down into my palm and she’s grinding against it. I’m rubbing against the hard wooden stool and she can see how much I need ... how much I need it.” Her hips were moving as she spoke, rubbing herself against the leather cushion, the need clear and liquid in her eyes.

“Melissa, you’ve made your point, just stop.” Cathy was pleading now, but Melissa’s face was remorseless, determined. So close.

“Her hand traces down from my mouth to my ... my cunt and she strokes it, so gently, through the satin. As she does that, she starts to lift herself and then drops. She’s dropping herself down on to my fingers. Again and again. In the mirror I see glimpses of her ass when her skirt lifts and flaps and falls. Then I feel her clench around me as she gives a tiny cry and she’s cumming there in my hand. She looks at me and it’s like she gives me permission. Just with the smallest of touches, she makes me... she makes me cum against her fingertips.”

Cathy fled, almost leaping up from the sofa. She stamped into her shoes, gathered up her shopping and her coat and, clutching it all to her chest, ran.

You waited to hear the end of the story, Melissa thought, collapsing back into the sofa as she came.

She walked quickly along the pavement, head down into the rain. She was so angry, so ... fucking incandescent, that she could imagine the rain hissing into steam as it struck her and the people in her way being blinded and burnt.

Angry with Cathy, furious with him, raging at herself. Why did she answer it? How had he done that to her? She thought of Cathy, the questions she had asked and then her face as she’d run from the coffee bar. Cathy would phone everyone.

It was a wonder that they ... that she, hadn’t been thrown out.

Home. Enough for one day. If it rang, she would ignore it. Not even look at it. She headed off to find a taxi.

In the back of the cab, water was running in small pools around her feet. Her shopping and her handbag she’d dumped on the seat next to her, out of the wet. The taxi sat in traffic and rain drummed on the roof. Windscreen wipers pumped. The driver had laid a free newspaper laid on his steering wheel, hardly looking up from it even when he shunted the taxi forward in the queue.

Melissa closed her eyes, opened them when the taxi jerked forward, closed them again when it stopped. On her way. Patience.

Ring.

The phone was in her handbag again, but it seemed to silence the sound of the wipers and the engine and the rain. Only her heartbeat was louder, a detonation in her chest.

Ring.

Her hand reached for the bag. No! She almost screamed the word, slamming her hand back to her side.

Ring.

Again, in automatic motion she was unfastening the clasp and excavating the phone from the bottom of the bag. She flung her hands up and away from it as if it was a dead thing, as if it was infected.

Ring.

It was in her hand now and she cried out at the betrayal. She closed her fist around it, as if she could crush it into powder, held it away from her, locked her arm.

Ring

Her arm relaxed and brought the phone to her ear, pulling it close like a lover, answering the call. Her fingers tried to grip around it, to pull it away from it. She imagined a tentacle made of steel and noise extruding from it, burrowing through her ear. She said nothing.

Nothing.

“Hello again Melissa.”

Her mouth opened but she kept silent.

“I hope things went well with Cathy.”

At that a small moan escaped her, and he must have heard it, but still she managed not to speak.

“On the bus? No, too quiet. A taxi. Perfect. Melissa, I’m sure you’re eager to get home and I know that in many ways today must have been ... frustrating, but there’s one more stop that you need to make isn’t there?”

Words being drawn up out of the dark.

“There’s one more shop you need to visit...”

As he spoke, she remembered he was right.