The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He was there.

In the front row. The room was packed; the crowd was buzzing, staring at me, murmuring my name. Soon enough, it would turn into chanting, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about anything but Him.

Gun to my head, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that this was a dream. The corners had been painted in, the details were complete. Everything was crisp—I could smell the smoke, I could taste my sweat, I could hear the music beginning to swell.

All that mattered was Him.

He held up his hand and beckoned forward, and I felt myself jerk forward and fall to my knees. The beat began to throb, and the crowd were chanting.

“Mandi, Mandi, Mandi, Mandi…”

Like I said, I’ve never had a nickname, but I knew that they were chanting for me. Their needs were irrelevant, however; their wants didn’t affect me. My Master wanted me to dance, and so I knew I would dance.

Tonight I was dressed in a pleated skirt that barely covered anything, a white blouse that revealed my smooth midriff and emphasized my breasts. Antioch High didn’t have a uniform, but I knew for certain that this was my old school uniform, that this was what I’d worn.

My Master owned me, and that meant he owned everything. My body, my clothing, my past…

Master raised his hand, and I obeyed. Standing up, I began swinging my hips from side to side, allowing the music to control me, moving my body in a way that I hoped Master would find pleasing.

He smiled, and relief overcame me. I existed to make him happy.

The crowd cheered as I reached up and slowly began unbuttoning my top. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but I knew it didn’t matter—there would be plenty of time to learn. Master was going to want me onstage a lot more from now on, of this I was certain.

Shrugging the top off, my breasts were revealed to the crowd, hidden only by a thin lacy bra. For a moment I was puzzled by their size, but it was easy to shake that off. My tits were as big as Master wanted them to be, and that was the size they should have always been. My nipples were harder than they’d ever been before, and as I saw the corners of Master’s lips begin to curl up, I could feel them begin to ache, begging to be freed.

They didn’t have to wait long—I was starting to get as impatient as the crowd. I wanted to be naked in front of them as much as they wanted to see me naked, and the only thing that stopped me from resenting the clothes covering me up was the fact that Master had hand-selected them.

Master can do no wrong. I was so incredibly lucky to serve Him.

Moments after the thought crossed my mind, my bra had been removed, and thrown into the crowd—the blond demon in the front row looked particularly delighted to receive it—and my new perky tits were revealed to all.

On some level, I must have known it was a dream, because the thought of waking up and finding my boobs the size and shape they’d been when I’d gone to sleep filled me with dread, but I pushed that image to the back of my mind and focused on broadening my smile.

Master likes it when I smile.

Reaching down to the hem of my skirt, I flipped it up, enjoying the roar of the crowd as I did. My thong was bright pink, and the attention of so many horny men, so many sexy demons, and (of course) the gaze of my master meant that I was soaking wet, something clearly visible to all.

Turning around, I repeated the action. I couldn’t see it, but I somehow knew that my ass had been modified as well—it was now a true bubble butt, with two round globes that just begged to be spanked.

If I did well tonight, Master would spank me. His punishment would be my reward. A shiver coursed through my entire body at the thought, but I refused to let myself get distracted. Right here and right now, my job was to titillate the crowd; I couldn’t let myself get lost in images of what Master would do to my willing, pliable body after.

The skirt, unsurprisingly, tore away. I’d seen hundreds of girls onstage do what I was doing, but until now I’d never truly understood it. The rush of excitement, the thrill of exhibitionism. The knowledge that every man in the room was erect, and every woman was wet, and it was all because of me.

I was a sexual goddess. No, better—I was a sexual slave, serving everyone with my flesh, but no one as much as Master.

I was his sexual property, and he was using me to get a room full of strangers off. Another shiver ran through my entire body at the thought.

Standing in front of the packed club, I slowly ran my hands up my sides, enjoying the sensation, enjoying watching every eye follow them as they drew attention to my long legs, my wide hips, my thin waist, and delighting in the collective groan of desire as they grasped my tits and pulled at my exposed nipples.

Master loved nothing more than sitting down of an evening and gorging himself on my nipples. He’d stared at them for so long, wanting them, wanting me, and now I was his.

Now, somehow, I had always been his.

Pausing for a second, I shut my eyes and appreciated everything that was happening. My thong and heels were the only thing stopping me from being totally naked in a packed room full of people, and I was simultaneously in control and totally subservient. A bead of sweat travelled down my back, and the sensation made me twitch with pleasure. I was so aware of everything, so powerfully aroused, so dedicated to my task, so obedient.

Obedient.

Opening my eyes, I sought my Master’s attention. I constantly needed his approval, but now more than ever. I had never done this before, and I needed to know that I was doing it correctly.

Ever calm, ever cool, ever in control…Master nodded. Relief washed over me, and in one smooth movement I reached down and removed the thong, exposing my wet, needy cunt to the room.

As I did, a few things happened. The audience cheered, almost throwing me backwards with the force of their response. My knees went weak as I realized I was totally exposed, completely vulnerable, and more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.

And as I looked at my Master, desperately seeking his response, he came into focus. No longer was he a silhouette—suddenly I could see who he was, see who I belonged to.

It was overwhelming. As I stared, mouth agape, my body began to shake, and wave after wave of orgasm began to slowly drift me awake, even as my brain struggled to process who owned me, who controlled me, whose personal fucktoy I had somehow become.

It was Marty.

I was Marty’s.

I awoke with a jolt.

For the next twenty minutes I lay still, processing. Despite going to sleep fully clothed, I found myself totally nude in my bed, but how I came to that state was the least of my worries. I was coated in a mixture of sweat and my own juices, and even as I knew how angry I should be—how angry I needed to be—it was still hard to think straight, especially through the fog of pleasure (and subservience) that my dream had left me with.

My arousal didn’t fade, but my brain finally cleared enough to let the fury take over. Leaping out of bed, I quickly got dressed and headed for the club. It was 10am—Marty was never awake this early, but I didn’t care. That little creep had done something to me—he’d gotten in my head, changed my dreams, changed my behavior—and I wasn’t going to rest until I’d kicked his ass and taken control of my life back.

I still didn’t know exactly what was happening, but the last image of my dream had made it clear that Marty was at the centre of it. The knowledge that I’d cum again and again thinking of him just served to fuel my anger.

The club was closed when I arrived, but I’ve worked there long enough to know how to get in. Marty’s door was locked, but having the Potential means that it has to be a particularly well-built room to keep me out.

As I kicked down the door, I wondered how Marty was doing it. He’s a club-owner first and a warlock a distant, distant second—I’ve never seen him do more than a few petty tricks, and changing someone with the powers of the Protector (even the few that I have) isn’t easy.

Marty was at his desk when I entered. He looked pale, like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Amanda,” he said with a squeak, reminding me more than ever of a trapped rat. “You’re late.”

That took me by surprise, and despite myself I paused, trying desperately to ignore the throb of arousal that had hit me at the sight of his pasty face.

“Late?”

“Your shift ended 7 hours ago,” he said, tapping his watch, sweating profusely. “You know I can’t pay you if you never turn up.”

Gritting my teeth, I stepped forward and smacked the desk, making everything on it jump and causing a dent in the metal that I was sure would be permanent.

“What did you do to me, Marty?”

“What are you talking about?” he said, his eyes shifting from side to side. There was a small stack of cash on his desk, and he nervously picked some of it up and started flicking through it.

I leaned forward, until I could feel his foul coffee-breath on my lips every time he breathed.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I growled, and as he started to deny it, smacked the pile of cash off his desk, making the floor of his filthy office substantially richer.

“I…I…look, Amanda, you’ve got to understand…”

He trailed off, completely avoiding eye-contact, and I decided that I’d had enough. My head was swimming with contradictions—even though I knew what a foul, evil thing he’d done, the pleasurable memory of servitude was still fresh in my brain, and the fact that Marty had caused it was just serving to confuse my still-addled reactions.

I needed to do something, before the situation got any more out of my control. Snapping Marty like a twig was certainly tempting, but I’d never killed a human, and—despite his foul actions—I had no intent of starting now. I just wanted to scare him, and so I decided to just slam him against the wall a few times.

As I raised my hands to his lapels, however, a startling realization hit me.

I couldn’t touch him.

For a moment I struggled against my own hands, trying to reach out to him, unable to control my own actions, a look of terror slowly creeping onto my face. After a few seconds of the invisible battle, I threw my hands up, trying to make it look like that had been my intent the whole time.

Marty’s eyes narrowed, and a familiar leer came across his face. His breathing grew less ragged, and he stood up straight—well, as straight as a rat like Marty is capable of standing.

“Now listen,” he purred, “I’m sure there’s some kind of arrangement we can come to…”

“Oh no you don’t,” I said, backing away, my hands dropping to my side. “You’re not going to talk yourself out of this one, fucko.”

His beady little eyes flicked down for a second and his smile broadened, and with a gasp, I followed his gaze.

Without even realizing, I’d done it again. Worse than ever. I wasn’t just wearing a party outfit, I was wearing the sluttiest clothes I owned—a short skirt that I ordered by accident and had never even tried on, and a mesh top that I’d only ever, ever worn as a top layer at a fancy event.

Today, I was wearing it with nothing underneath.

My head swam as I realized that I’d gone through the city like this—no wonder the bus driver had been so friendly. My tits were clearly visible through the mesh, and even as I stared at them, I saw my nipples harden at the thought.

How many people had seen me, almost naked? My skirt must have ridden up while I was on the bus, showing off my long legs, but how had I sat? Had I demurely crossed my legs, or had I sat as I normally do, legs slightly apart, showing off my perfectly-shaved pussy…

Oh god. I suddenly remembered—as I’d been getting ready to leave, I’d taken the few minutes to remove any stubble that may have grown overnight. I hadn’t even questioned it—like brushing my teeth, or grabbing my keys, it’d just been a standard part of my morning routine.

“You monster,” I said under my breath, a look of terror flashing across my eyes. A calculating look appeared on Marty’s face, and I tried to work out what my options were.

I could make a break for it, but I suddenly realized that I was not wearing shoes built for running—a pair of 4-inch heels that I didn’t even know I owned graced my feet. Marty isn’t fast or strong, but if I couldn’t fight back, I knew that it wouldn’t be hard for him to stop me, to tie me down and do whatever he wanted.

On some level, I knew that idea shouldn’t be so…thrilling.

Standing tall, Marty leaned in close, until his eyes were almost touching mine.

“Sit,” he said softly, and to my horror, I immediately did.

“No…” I whispered, and his grin got impossibly wider.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Oh yes indeed.”