The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She was drenched with sweat.

Hard, gasping breaths felt like they were being driven out of her core. The movement of her body was automatic now, it was outside of thought or control. Everything followed the punching impact of her heartbeat. She couldn’t stop.

She was close. Close enough to see it. God, she was close enough to almost feel it, the finish, as she ran along the empty street in the early sunlight.

Powering forward now, head down. The sun flickered yellow through leaves and branches, flashing across her body. Melissa was exhausted but so close, she couldn’t stop.

And then she was there, turning the corner into her road and letting her momentum carry her. Smiling in the sunlight as she let her pace slow. There was the slightest of breezes now, she felt it across her bare thighs and stomach, edged by the blue lycra shorts and crop top.

The last two days, Melissa had worn jogging pants and a t-shirt but by the end of her run they would always be soaked, plastered to her skin. When she’d pulled the lycra on this morning it had felt so very tight, the lines of her body so bright and obvious, that she felt like she was running naked. She’d liked it. The feeling of tightness and the way she looked, the contrast between the colour and her holiday tan.

There was never anyone about in the mornings anyway. But so what if there was? She was out of reach. She would race past them with fluid, loping strides and her face would be imperious, a goddess in profile. They could look at her, admire or envy the perfection of her body, but that was all they could do.

In any case, when she was running all those thoughts were submerged. There was just the next step and the next, the next breath and the next, the sunlight and the cool air and the sweat. Thought and desire were all left behind when she ran.

Waiting for her to return.

Melissa slowed to a walk. Each breath was still deep and focussed, and her heart was still a clenching blast in her chest. Today she’d pushed her body further, doubling the distance and forcing herself to keep the pace. Running with the feeling that she was purifying herself, sweating it all out.

Her home was in sight. She was hungry now, sweated down to emptiness. Ready to eat.

Her mind raced ahead past the line of sleeping houses, to a breakfast in her kitchen, fruit and coffee and a fashion magazine. Fresh from her shower, perched on a stool at the counter top, one bare leg slipping out of a soft robe and-

There. Beneath that emptiness was her other hunger, the deeper one, welling up out of the dark. It was there in the beginnings of wetness between her legs. A spark of heat that rose like a candle flame inside her and ignited the need in her brain. She gritted her teeth. Every day now. Ever since her ... her shopping trip.

In the shower, her hands slick over her breasts, nipples hardening against her palms. Then her fingers tweezing them, pulling them until it hurt. Her face in the hot stream of water, her mouth giving out those same hard shuddering breaths like the end of the run. One hand would rise automatically to lift the showerhead from its perch. The needles of water would spray down the front of her body to the places that she’d so carefully shaven. Then she’d angle it, back and forth, back and forth and-

Keep moving, she thought. Get home. Don’t think about it.

Echoes. The feelings and the hunger were just echoes that he’d left behind in her. They were going to fade. This could be the day when she was in charge again. She’d got rid of the phone. She could get rid of the rest of it, the black bag, heavy in the bottom of her wardrobe. Get back to the girl she’d been before. The girl who didn’t think about things like that. The girl who’d been in control.

Four days ago, the taxi had dropped her in the rain outside her house. A shouted greeting and she was leaping up the stairs to her room, shutting her door harder than she’d meant to and then fumbling with the catch to get it locked. Her purchases spilled out of the black bag and spread across her bed. Then she was ripping open the buttons on her jeans and pushing them down to the tops of her boots. The inside of the denim was already wet with her juices. So wet, so ready. She came just using her fingers before she even had chance to open the pages of the magazines.

Yesterday, she’d lasted until the afternoon. The incessant desire had almost driven her to tears. As the thoughts surfaced she would push them down again but she could feel the inevitability of what was going to happen. Her mother and sister were going out and she began to dread the time when she’d be alone in the house. Except that there came a point where she wasn’t dreading it any more. She’d opened the bag as the car door slammed and as she looked down, the shine of the rubber was like seeing into a dark, unblinking eye.

Don’t think about it.

She’d been stronger than this. These desires weren’t her own. They were echoes of things he’d said. Just echoes, fading into silence.

She still had the clothes and the toys but they were all that was left of what he’d ... what he’d made her do. Of how it had felt.

Don’t think about it.

Striding up the long gravel driveway to her home. Focusing the purpose in her mind. This was going to be the day when things changed.

The tiles that paved the front porch were beginning to warm in the sun, and she stood there and stretched. Up towards the wooden beams that supported the porch roof. Bending double and dropping her hands to her toes, feeling the muscles in her thighs and her back drawing out. There were tensions there. She would work them out in the shower. Soon. Just a few more moments of the sunlight on her skin. Then she crouched, dipping her fingers into the blue stone planter - her shorts were too tight for a pocket—and took the door key out from under a rock. As she stood up she heard gravel crunching. A man had followed her up the driveway and now he had paused to watch her, clearly admiring the view.

He wore dark jeans and a leather jacket and his eyes were masked by wraparound shades. He was a little older than her, maybe. Tall, but beneath the clothes, he looked heavy and solid. Weathered skin and messy brown hair. He carried a battered satchel, the strap tight across his chest. She remembered a black van parked on the opposite side of the road, remembered the image of the sun on the tinted windows. Maybe that was where he’d been waiting.

With that, she knew that something about him wasn’t right. She needed to get inside the house and she spun to unlock the door but he was already there on the steps behind her. His eyes were hidden behind the shades but he gave a friendly smile as she turned back to face him. She folded her arms and glared. He didn’t seem to notice, opening the satchel and presenting a clip board and a fat black envelope. Pushing out the envelope to her so that she had to take it. He smiled again. She relented.

The envelope was large and glossy. Unlabelled. Unmarked. It was made of thick black card. As her hand closed on it, she felt a vibration buzzing through from the inside. Then, ringing. Now she was cold, despite the sun. A shivering chill, like she was hearing a funeral bell, like her insides were freezing.

I was afraid, she thought, of the wrong thing.

Then she was watching herself slice the flap of the envelope with her nail and a sleek unmarked phone was dropping into her hand. It was cool and metallic on her skin and it seemed to only possess a single button.

The phone was still ringing and now the black envelope fluttered from her grip. The sound it made when it hit the tiles and skidded away seemed to happen in another country. Only one noise mattered and it was the ringing. It was shaking her like the sound of a pneumatic breaker. It was like she was hearing it in her bones, like the sound of it had never truly been silenced.

It was inevitable now, she was going to answer and she was going to listen. Her body responded with the first hot sparks of anticipation and she clenched her bare thighs together. The single button on the phone was, for that moment, the only other thing in her world.

With that plastic click, the ringing stopped and in her ear there was a brief hissing like gas escaping from an opened bottle. Then, him.

“Hello Melissa Lane.”

“Fuck you.” Freezing cold now. She heard the shivering in her own voice.

He laughed. That musical, relaxed laughter, as full of the sound of privilege as the rest of his voice.

“Ahh,” he said, “It seems like such a long time since we spoke. I’ve missed you. But we’ll make up for it won’t we? I’ve so much to tell you.”

“You’re wasting your time then, I’m not going to listen.”

“But you are listening Melissa. You’re listening carefully. You’ve been waiting for days, just to listen to me.”

No, she thought, No. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“It must have been so inconvenient,” he drew out the word, sliding his voice over it like he was sliding his hands down the inside of her clothes, “for you to lose your phone like that, especially in your line of work...”

“Wasting your time. Anyway, I threw the phone in the river.”

There was a pause.

“Really? Did you think that would help?” He waited. She said nothing. “Well, I do hope that you’ll be more careful with this one.”

“Yeah, I’ll bake it into a cake and send it back to you. In prison.”

“And your other things, the things you bought? Did you throw those away too?”

“I...”

“You didn’t need them I suppose, just like the phone. Have you worn them every day?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Acid in her voice. She wanted to burn him with it.

“Good girl.”

“Was there something that you wanted?”

“That I wanted? Don’t you worry about all the assignments you might have missed without your phone?” This time, he didn’t wait for her to speak. “Of course, there’s only one job that matters isn’t there? It’s thrilling you more than any of the others. The shoot tomorrow. Is the excitement riding you already? Did you sleep last night?”

Flickering memories then, naked on her bed. No. Not naked, wearing it again. A hand between her legs. So much better to touch herself through the rubber. Better than naked. Squirming and imagining the flash. The hot and the cold. Flash.

Imagining that he was seeing it too. He could, couldn’t he? He’d put it there. He’d-

“Mmmm... yes. I think you’re ready for it now. You just need ... ahhhh ... you just need to thank the courier for bringing your new phone and then I’ll leave you to get on with your day.”

The man was still there, standing beside her on the porch, but he was statue-like now. He gave no sign that he could even hear her side of the conversation.

“Thank him yourself.”

“No, Melissa. I think this is something that you need to express personally.”

“What?”

“I told him all about Melissa Lane. I think he’s been very excited to meet you.”

He didn’t look excited. He looked half asleep.

“Fine, enough. I’ll tell him.”

“That’s not what I meant Melissa. I think I’d prefer it if you gave him a more ... physical ... demonstration of your gratitude.”

“No! I mean, no, sorry, I’ll just tell him, you don’t need me to...”

“Yes,” he said. “You can feel that need now, can’t you. My need. Yours. You can feel it.”

“Please, just ... I’ll say thank you. I’ll go to the ... the photo shoot, that’s what you want isn’t it and-”

“I think you know what it is that I want, Melissa.”

“I don’t...”

“Yes. Ahhhh... I love the idea of you ... blonde hair shining, tight blue lycra, gleaming running shoes, the beautiful young model. So beautiful when you’re kneeling. Such a contrast between the way you look and the things that you’re going to do. Such ... talents.”

Kneeling. She realised what he meant, what he wanted. She could feel herself balanced, there on the edge of it, separated only by the time it would take him to say... to tell her...

There was a pause and the hissing static of the phone line. He said something that was too faint for her to make out. The courier seemed to wake up and he turned to face her, smiling again.

Then, the voice in her ear again, clear and crisp.

“Are you going to do it here on your doorstep...” Not telling her yet, only asking her.

“Please, I... they... people can see from the street. They’ll see me. I can’t-”

“Or inside?”

“My mother. My sister. You can’t.”

“In the shade or the sunshine?”

She waited for him to give her the answer. Waited, but in her ear there was only the tidal sound of his breathing. Not telling her. Not yet.

“Inside,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “Inside.”

Finally, finally, she unlocked the door. She turned the key by increments, trying for silence. They might still be sleeping. Now she looked back. The courier had picked up the black envelope from the floor outside and he held it casually in one hand, waiting for her. She edged the door open. Holding it tight so that it wouldn’t creak, stepping as lightly as she could into the dimness of the hallway, only able to hope that he would do the same.

Everything seemed quiet enough. No sounds from the kitchen. No sounds from upstairs. Still asleep.

The man didn’t close the door. As she turned to face him, he became a silhouette, an eclipse of the sunlight. From out of the shadow of his face, he was watching her, and only her. She still hadn’t seen his eyes, but she knew; he wasn’t looking at anything else. They were both waiting.

“I can’t do this,” she said. “I never... I mean, even when I was with my... when he asked me to... I...to use my...”

“No,” he said. His voice was soft through the speaker, but insistent. “You’ve always liked to do this for your boyfriends, and the thought of doing it for a stranger makes you wet. Doesn’t it? Are you wet for me, Melissa?”

“Don’t... you’re...”

Yes, wet for him now, standing in the hallway of her house. The tightness of the lycra, like running naked. The hard points of her nipples and the darkening of the fabric between her legs. Her mother and sister sleeping upstairs. Were they still asleep? She couldn’t do this. Anyone could see her.

She was there to be seen. Anything that he wanted. Anything that he told her.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he said.

Yes, she thought, this was where he wanted her to be. Snared, soaking herself with the thoughts of the things that she was going to do. Anything he told her, there in the open doorway, there to be seen by anyone who came up the driveway or down the stairs. Anything he told her; she couldn’t resist his voice.

Those thoughts made her want to touch herself, but no, that was just what he wanted. She couldn’t do it, not here. Was that what he wanted?

She didn’t know how to stop him.

“Kneel down Melissa.”

“I won’t!” but she knelt, parting her lips.

The man was standing with his legs slightly apart and through them she saw the pattern of the porch tiles. Cool air breathed into the house and she felt it on her shoulders and her thighs. The pile of her mother’s new carpet was deep and her bare knees had sunk into it.

Before now, she’d only done this in the dark. It had been brief; even with the lights off the act itself felt wrong. She hadn’t enjoyed the taste of it in her mouth, or her boyfriend’s habit of putting both hands on the back of her head and trying to force himself to the back of her throat. Even in the dark, hidden beneath the covers, it was an act of submission that she loathed.

Get it over with. Get him out of here. That was the only reason.

He was going to make her do this, wasn’t he?

Tentatively, she reached out to undo the man’s belt and the zip of his jeans. Somehow, she’d expected that he’d already be hard. Hadn’t he been staring at her? Hadn’t that been enough? She tried to pull the jeans and the shorts down but it was difficult with one hand. When she made sounds of effort she heard the voice in the phone say something, but not to her. The man hooked his fingers in to the waist band, pushing it down, freeing himself.

“Are you ready now Melissa?”

There was the urge to answer but not the words. He was trying to make her say it, make her decide it. Her hand circled around the base of the man’s cock and she felt it stir. She was going to make him hard. She had to do it. No way out when the voice told her. When would he tell her? Everything was getting mixed up. She pressed the phone even closer with one hand as the man’s cock grew thick and heavy in the other. She opened her mouth, waiting, listening.

“You’re ready for him aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

She looked up at the man, saw herself reflected in the shades. Eyes wide, mouth open.

“Maybe he’s seen you before. Maybe seen your picture in a magazine. Now he’s in your house and you’re on your knees in front of him... ahhhhh... Are you going to suck him? Is that what you’re going to do?”

Still, he kept her on the edge, holding her there. She could feel that he hadn’t quite taken away the choice, but what did that mean now?

“No...”

“Yes,” he said, “yes you are. Mmmm... That’s exactly what you’re going to do. Use your mouth on him. You’re going to suck him, now.”

The man made the slightest of movements as her mouth slipped over him. It was as if he was bound in place. Fixed to the spot but striving as hard as he could against whatever restrained him. She didn’t care. There was the taste of sweat and soap, the smell of leather.

“You like having your mouth filled don’t you Melissa?”

She lifted away.

“No, I-”

“Shhh. Don’t stop, keep working him.”

She bowed her head to take him inside again.

“Yes,” he said, “good girl. Your tongue as well. The head and then the whole length of him.”

She obeyed, working over the head of the man’s cock and then sealing her lips tight and taking him as deep as she could.

“You’re doing well Melissa, learning fast.”

The whole length. The man’s breathing quickened and his hips started to make the smallest of movements. Straining against those invisible bonds. He wanted to fuck her mouth, she realised. Wanted it so much that even the voice couldn’t hold him still.

She made the movement for him, her mouth gliding faster and faster.

“Do you think your sister’s awake yet? Can she hear you? Mmmm ... you could do this for hours...”

Yes. No. They’d see her.

“...but you need to make him come.”

Yes, that was what she needed, wasn’t it? She stroked around the head of his cock with her tongue. No. Stop it. No. Faster. Tightening her hand around his shaft, pushing herself, pushing him.

“Is he going to come in your mouth or on your face?”

But he was already there. She felt the spurts hit the roof of her mouth. The disconnect clicked down the line.

What was she doing? She lifted away from him, but he was still coming, splashing her face and hair. The man put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place and still, without any sound, he was coming.

A gentle breeze. Sunlight on the carpet. His come in her mouth and dripping down her chin. The blue lycra, wet.

She’d spent a long time getting clean.

After that, she couldn’t stay in the house. She couldn’t talk to her mother or sister but most of all she couldn’t sit alone in her room, waiting for another phone call and fighting the urge to lock the door and take off her clothes.

On the bus into town, she kept taking the phone out and looking at it. She tried to just leave it resting beside her on the seat but each time she dropped it back into her handbag. It was like an itch that moved when she scratched it. Like an itch in her mind. She knew that her whole body was waiting for the phone to ring again.

She wandered through the crowds. It was turning into a hot day and the sunlight that had been gentle in the morning was unremitting on the glass and concrete. The city was cooking. She watched the people, laughing, talking, self contained, oblivious.

Almost oblivious. After her shower she’d laid out an old pair of jeans and a baggy sweater. Then, knowing what was happening but not preventing it, she’d put them away and taken out a skirt she knew was too short and a top that was low at the front and mostly open at the back. Indecent her mother had said. Melissa wore it without a bra. Her eyes were masked with sunglasses, but the stares that she received from men, and from women, were undisguised.

The feeling of being watched, admired, desired. It was better than the feeling of the warm sun on her bare skin. She didn’t try to hide it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to be a model.

In each shop window she saw the reflection that he’d created. With her eyes hidden behind the sunglasses her face had a cold, remorseless aspect. What had he said? ‘A crafted expression of disdain.’ She didn’t feel that way on the inside, not yet, but she could see it on the outside, like a mask he was making her wear. He was changing her. Just with his voice, he was making her into someone else.

As she trailed around designer shops that she couldn’t afford, she returned to the sound of his voice again and again, to the memory of obeying him. She scratched at the anger and the frustration and the shame, scratching it away to get at what was underneath.

I’d do it all again, she thought. If he told me to do it, I’d do it again. He’s in control. She imagined the phone ringing, right there in the street. His voice and then hers, agreeing to whatever he said. That thought was enough to make her feel dizzy and she had to sit down on a bench until she’d recovered her composure.

People turned to look at her as they passed. She crossed and uncrossed her long, bare legs. A man, arm in arm with his girlfriend, turned to look back at her, twice. She gave him a cool, appraising look. His girlfriend saw it, pulled his arm sharply, took him back into the crowd.

“Fuck,” she said, under her breath. What was she doing?

She couldn’t carry on like this. There had to be a way out. If not by getting rid of the phone (dread at that prospect) then something else.

Something that he wouldn’t expect.

Melissa looked at her watch. 6:30 pm. The shutters were coming down over the shop windows, hiding the mannequins. The door opened and the alarm box beeped as the girl came out, locked the door and activated the last shutter. Watching her now, on the outside of that strange dark world, Melissa was struck by how ordinary she looked. Knee high boots, tight blue jeans, a loose, pale cotton jacket; it was almost a disappointment. The girl stood with her back to Melissa as the shutter came down. Someone had graffitied a spiral on it in orange, yellow and black. It dropped like the curtain in a theatre. The girl watched it clanking downwards, tapping her feet as she waited.

Melissa came out of the doorway where she’d been waiting and crossed the street.

“We need to talk.”

The girl’s shoulders tensed a little at the sound of Melissa’s voice and when she turned around, she looked weary. She managed a smile. Out in the remains of the day’s sunlight, her skin didn’t have that same alabaster paleness and her long, straight hair didn’t seem quite so fiercely dark. Her casual, amused expression was still the same.

“Talk? Are you sure that’s all you want to do? Wouldn’t you like to come back tomorrow and...”

“Oh for God’s sake, do we need to go through this every time? I get the message with the questions, it’s getting old. We need to talk. We can talk first then we can ... we ...”

“Oh?” said the girl, as if the thought had appeared in her mind for the first time at that moment.

Melissa held her gaze, not daring to let her see how fragile this show of confidence was.

“It’s been a long day,” the girl said, turning away. “I need a drink.”

She set off walking but then glanced back. Her smile was impish.

Melissa wondered if she had a choice, and whether it would make a difference if she did. She hurried to follow.