The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Doll was alert. The moment the Master’s fingers filled her mouth, she activated. Whatever meddlesome thoughts she’d been having earlier were gone; there was no room, now that he was in her. She sucked urgently at his hand and craved his next whim.

“Juicy-Doll. Hands and knees on your bed,” Commanded his voice. She complied at once. When he called her “Juicy-Doll,” she knew it was because there were other dolls nearby, eager to serve. It did not occur to her to question the Master’s choice of designations. She dropped onto the mattress, dropping her head, adjusting her hips, and spreading her thighs to expose her holes.

“Tiny-Doll, come to your Master,” He said next. Juicy-Doll knew somehow that the Master wouldn’t penetrate her at least until the other doll had completed that instruction, so she used the brief time to lubricate herself. Two fingers in her pussy, spooning her juice like honey, then rubbing it across her vulva and her anus. The procedure was so practiced, it took less than six seconds.

Meanwhile, in her peripheral vision, she could see Tiny-Doll’s naked feet approach the Master’s. Everything about Tiny-Doll reflected her name, but her feet were among her most diminutive features. They looked like a child’s feet, but Juicy-Doll knew that she was no child.

Juicy-Doll watched Tiny-Doll’s feet stop, and then spread apart. She heard Tiny-Doll’s telltale exhalation – the sound all dolls were trained to make whenever they were inspected for readiness. It was a gentle sigh of pleasure and of hope – the hope that their Master would find them acceptable for further use. Juicy-Doll had no way of knowing the Master’s plan – which doll he would use, or how – but as always, she remained alert, compliant, ready.

“Tiny-Doll,” The Master commanded, “You could use some more lube. Take some from Juicy-Doll.”

Juicy-Doll flushed and gushed at this instruction. She loved to be used in any capacity. It was heavenly to have the Master inside her, of course, but even this secondary use – giving her arousal to another doll, to help welcome the Master’s tongue or fist or cock – it made her thrill to feel she was fulfilling her purpose in life. She took a deep breath and then relaxed her nether muscles.

Behind her, unseen, Tiny-Doll knelt and slid her slight fingers past the enflamed veil of outer lips, then inner lips, then pursed together tightly as she plumbed the depth of cunt. Tiny-Doll’s hands were so small and Juicy-Doll was so aroused, it was the easiest thing in the world to get her hand inside the hole. Juicy-Doll was not being fisted, nor even fucked; she was being harvested. The little hand made slight, come-hither gestures in her pussy, gathering the sticky juice between her fingers. Juicy-Doll bit her lip to keep from moaning.

Then the glorious doll’s hand withdrew, leaving her cunt feeling more exposed than ever. She shut her eyes and listened intensely, reveling in the sounds as Tiny-Doll slathered her sex with the other slave’s lotion. She loved knowing that Tiny-Doll was every bit as overjoyed to be used like this. Distantly, both dolls knew they were being debased, humiliated. It made the pleasure more acute.

“Good girl,” The Master said flatly. “Now lie on Juicy-Doll’s back. On your stomach, Tiny-Doll. Place your chin on her shoulder. Your mouth beside her ear.”

Without pause, the doll climbed atop her fellow slave. Juicy-Doll had no time to prepare, but she instinctively locked her elbows and bore the doll’s weight without sagging. She was gratified that none of the other dolls had ever been stacked on her like this – but then, the Master knew what he was doing. He had chosen the lightest of the dolls deliberately, since he had no wish to hurt his own property.

Even so, at some level, Juicy-Doll sensed that this was meant to be a test.

Without speaking, the Master took Tiny-Doll’s hips and made some slight adjustments. Juicy-Doll struggled to adapt to the shifts in weight and pressure. The doll’s breath on her right ear was distracting, intoxicating. After a few moments, the Master slid his cock smoothly into Tiny-Doll. Juicy-Doll registered this mostly from the other doll’s sharp intake of breath, amplified by the closeness of her mouth. This was part of it, Juicy-Doll realized: hearing every gasp and moan.

The act began in earnest. Juicy-Doll honestly didn’t know whether the Master was in the other doll’s ass or cunt; it came through the same, as urgent thrusts that pulsed from one set of hips to the other. The Master wasted no time. After merely a few preliminary thrusts, he began filling Tiny-Doll with the full length of his cock. The thrusts carried additional strength, forcing gasps out of Tiny-Doll’s helpless mouth.

Underneath the bucking creature, Juicy-Doll felt her own breasts swinging with each thrust. She felt the slave’s sharp hipbones grind against her own ass. She felt a warm weight growing in her arms and legs. But most of all, she felt dizzy, delicious pleasure. She was being used in a new way – a pedestal for the Master’s exalted fuck.

As his cock grew more insistent, the Master began a catechism. “What are you?” He asked, his voice slightly ragged but no less commanding.

Both dolls responded in unison. “Your doll.”

Without missing a thrust, the Master smacked Juicy-Doll’s ass hard. “Not you,” He corrected. You listen. Tiny-Doll, tell her what you are.”

Tiny-Doll was getting powerfully, incessantly fucked, and she struggled for speech between gasps. “H-his doll,” She whispered into Juicy-Doll’s ear.

“Tell her what you want in life.”

“T-t-to be used,” Was the breathy reply.

“What do you do when your Master speaks?”

“Obey!” She moaned. Juicy-Doll could tell that the other doll was close to climax, and it made her own cunt thrill. She clenched her thighs in the rhythm of the fuck unfolding overtop of her. She wanted to cum too, but she wouldn’t unless the Master allowed it.

“What do you do when the Master is inside you?”

“Obey,” Repeated Tiny-Doll dreamily.

The Master suddenly withdrew all but the tip of his cock, and hovered there while Tiny-Doll struggled not to writhe or gasp out her desire. “And what do you do when the Master is not inside you?”

“I obey,” Tiny-Doll said with confidence.

The cock pounded in again, harder than ever. The Master gave her another command, though his own voice was growing tight with desire. “Tiny-Doll, touch the base of Juicy-Doll’s neck. Wake her up. Then count back from ten, and you may cum.”

Tiny-Doll shifted one hand up from the mattress, where it was bracing itself next to Juicy-Doll’s hand. With two fingers, she pressed into the soft spot just beneath Juicy-Doll’s skull. The action provoked a wave of heat and vertigo in Juicy-Doll. Memories flooded back.

Above her, the thrusts continued. Her Master’s voice drifted down to her. “Maeve, wake up. Listen closely.”

“Ten…” Gasped Tiny-Doll. Tiny-Doll? No…

“Your fellow doll knows her purpose. You still struggle with yours. But even when you leave here, you belong to me.”

“Nine…” The girl’s breath tickled Maeve’s ear. She wasn’t a doll. She had a name, too… but god, it was hard to think with the sweaty little body sliding back and forth across her back. The echoed thrusts of cock—

“You left your life for me. You called your husband and told him it was all over between you. These were your actions, but they were my thoughts. I’m always inside you.”

“Eight…” Maeve’s stomach reeled, as she realized it was all true. She had called David – how long ago, now? How long had she been like this?

“You still have a job, but only because it suits me. I need you to procure oral contraceptives for the dolls. I need Atrovent for Tiny-Doll, and Celebrex for Dancer-Doll. You will get the prescriptions I need.”

“Seven…” The grotesque veil dropped away, and Maeve remembered names and faces. Dancer-Doll was a girl named Chloe, a ballet dancer from the city’s premiere company. She’d gone missing months ago; it was all over the papers. And Tiny-Doll…

“Six…” The petite girl straddling Maeve’s back was still counting backwards, each word inching her closer to orgasm. The mounting pleasure was still inside Maeve, too, even as her mind reeled with horror. She realized that she could end this performance, this humiliation, or at least disrupt it. All she had to do was unlock her arms and legs. The weight of the doll would send all three of them tumbling down. It might even cause enough of a distraction to let them escape…

“Five.” But the pleasure was insistent. Instead of letting herself go, Maeve strained even harder. She put twice the strain on her left arm, so that her right arm could snake back, beneath her belly, to her swollen, burning clit.

“Are you going to obey, Maeve? Are you a good doll?”

“Yes,” Maeve gasped. It felt so good to touch herself, even in this horrendous position. Deliriously, she thought that if she agreed with the Master, he might let her cum.

“Four…” Tiny-Doll’s countdown continued. Maeve’s eyes went wide, and her fingers froze for an instant on her clit. Tiny-Doll had a name. Her name was Phoebe Lockheart. She was a graphic designer. She was a lesbian. She was married to Charice Mitchell, a cop. Maeve’s friend.

“Say it, Maeve.” Came the Master’s voice from high above her.

Still thrusting. Her ass still receiving each thrust.

Charice. Oh god… Maeve turned her head to the right.

“Three…” Phoebe was shrieking the numbers now. Her brown hair waved back and forth like a curtain as she received her Master’s cock. But Maeve could see through the curtain just enough. She could see past the simmering, ungodly debacle on this mattress, to the next mattress over. She could see the girl that knelt there, naked and devoid of thought, another programmed doll awaiting use.

The girl’s black skin, the profile of her nose and lips. Her short-cropped frizzy hair. Maeve knew that woman, too. It was Charice.

“Say it, Maeve. Tell me what you always, always do.”

The voice, the lust, the thrusts, it was too much. Maeve’s mind was dovetailing in horror as she realized that her friends – her best hope of salvation – were as helpless and enslaved as she.

“Obey!” She gasped. Her hand redoubled its assault upon her clit.

“Two!” Shrieked Phoebe.

“Tell me what you are, Maeve Braithwaite.” Commanded her Master.

“I’m – I’m your doll,” She gasped, surrendering.

“One!”

The Master thrust impossibly deep inside Phoebe. Maeve felt as if the cock were somehow in her, too. “Ungh!” He grunted, starting to ejaculate. “Cum!” He commanded. “All of you, cum!”

Maeve’s mind erupted in a surge of light and colour. She felt a geyser of wet pleasure spray from her cunt. She instantly forgot her former doubts and plans and terrors. She barely noticed Tiny-Doll screaming ecstatic in her ear, nor the chorus of orgasms echoing from further down the row of mattresses. She was consumed by her own pleasure, in pleasing him.

Juicy-Doll loved living up to her name.

Maeve stood trembling in the kitchen and stared across the island countertop at him. He was so ordinary, yet so incongruously captivating. His thin face and dark, deep-set eyes reminded her vaguely of some Golden Age Hollywood star whose name she couldn’t place. He was well-built, a bit too slim if anything, but with a sort of glow to his skin that suggested the peak of health. Or maybe it was afterglow.

He wore a pale yellow dress shirt and black slacks, but the fly was open and his cock hung loose. It was half-erect, but speckled with cum, confirming Maeve’s suspicion that he’d just finished using Rebecca. In a moment of shameful selfishness, she was glad his “doll” had used up all his lust. It meant she was less likely to get raped.

Beside the Master, Rebecca lay on her stomach across her dining room table. The silk shirt she wore was now tugged up her arms and thrown across her head, so Maeve couldn’t see the girl’s face. But she could see the rest of her, especially her elevated ass-cheeks, and the rude red gash beneath them. Maeve could also see several long ropes of semen glistening across her bare back. The girl clearly hadn’t moved a muscle. Obedient little doll.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Said the Master, drawing Maeve’s eyes immediately back to him. He was smiling what should have been a relaxed, non-threatening smile, but the context made it seem like a leer. Maeve fell back half a step. Her right hand was still jammed awkwardly in the front of her pants. “Rebecca’s told me all about you.”

Maeve summoned up the nerve to speak. “Rebecca?” She tried to sound defiant and disgusted. “Don’t you mean your ‘doll’?”

The man smiled wider and half-shrugged. “When she answers to that name, she generally can’t say much of anything.”

“Change her back,” Maeve demanded. “Let her go.”

The Master glanced over at his doll, spread-eagled and covered in his spunk. “I could change her back for a time, but I’m afraid I can’t ever let her go – not in the way you mean. Once she’s mine, she’s mine forever.” He looked back at Maeve with blunt lust. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Maeve felt a surge of panic. She pulled her hand free from her pants and turned to run – through the sitting room and out the front door before he could catch her, she hoped. But he very calmly instructed her to stop, and she found herself rooted to the spot. Her throat went dry and tight.

“I’m sure you have many questions, Dr. Braithwaite, and I don’t want you to miss out on the chance to get to know me better. Our relationship is too…one-sided. Turn around.”

Maeve obeyed. Her body was still under her control, she insisted to herself. It just felt…easier to do what he said, for now at least. It had something to do with the fog of lust that had settled upon her as soon as she’d entered Rebecca’s house. There was something in the Master’s words – in his commands – that lifted the fog, or at least gave it a direction. She was starting to feel horny again, despite the climax she’d forced upon herself mere minutes ago. It would feel so good if she could find another chance to cum.

“I am, by nature, a very private man,” The Master was saying, “But, in order to deepen our connection, Maeve, I’d like to share with you a few salient details about my history, if I may. Oh, and while we talk, I’ll clean up.” He snapped his fingers, and Rebecca immediately pulled herself up from the tabletop. She stood upright, shrugging the shirt off from her body completely. She faced away from the Master, and stood with her feet shoulder-length apart.

“Doll, clean me with your mouth,” He said calmly. As Maeve watched, lungs heaving, the doll swiveled to face her master, then dropped to her knees and took his shaft into her mouth. She did not use her hands at all, except very briefly to brush her red hair away from her face.

Maeve stifled a groan as she watched the girl’s head bob, and heard the slurping suction of her mouth. She found herself thinking of how long it had been since she’d given her husband fellatio, and how good it must taste for Rebecca to suck on that salty cock. She knew these thoughts were abnormal, but she still clutched onto them, as they helped her navigate through the fog. She licked her dry lips.

“Now, then,” The Master resumed, unflustered by the actions being performed below his waist. “Since you are a medical professional, Maeve, I imagine you are familiar with a condition called ‘satyriasis’? Please don’t feel you need to speak; nodding is sufficient.”

Maeve nodded, although she knew the term he used was outdated; nowadays, it was simply called “hypersexual disorder.”

“And Weiss Disease, sometimes referred to as Persistent Sexual Arousal Syndrome? These are rare disorders, I grant you, but I’m sure that, as a curious and perhaps a randy med student, you found a perverse pleasure in looking them up in the textbooks, yes?”

Maeve flushed. And nodded.

“That’s enough, Doll.” He said, and Rebecca stopped. As she pulled back, the Master’s cock slid out from her mouth, and Maeve’s eyes widened to see it was fully erect. For a man his age to get hard again, so soon after ejaculating—

“Yes. As you can see, I have a similar condition,” He gestured to his engorged sex. “I’ve had it since puberty. Initially, I found I had to climax fifteen, sometimes twenty times a day, just to feel any release at all. Nowadays, I’ve managed to restrict it to a reliable five.” He stroked Rebecca’s cheek with the back of one hand; she accepted it rigidly. “The ejaculate you see on Doll’s back was today’s Number Four.”

Maeve experienced a shudder of fear and lust. She wished it were her cheek beneath her hand.

“As if I were not already a sufficient medical curiosity,” The Master continued, “I soon discovered I possessed another rare trait. You’ve already witnessed its effects, and begun to experience them firsthand. This condition has no formal diagnosis, at least not so far as I am aware. I may be the only person alive to demonstrate its symptoms.”

The Master glanced down at Rebecca, who was still kneeling obediently at the level of his cock. “Stand up and turn around,” He murmured softly. The girl obeyed at once, rising and turning so that she faced Maeve and the countertop. Her eyes had the familiar glaze of lust, the same indistinct yet singular expression she’d observed back at the clinic—only a few hours ago, yet it felt like it was on the other side of some vast chasm of time.

“You see, Rebecca finds it easier to obey my instructions than to think for herself,” Explained the Master. “It has been the case with all women, since my adolescence. And I have discovered ways to refine my control, to ensure continued compliance, even when I am not nearby. Lean over the counter, Doll.”

Rebecca stretched forward and pressed her breasts against the countertop. She lifted up her head so that Maeve could still see her eyes through a thin veil of red hair. She also spread her legs, as if eager to receive her Master’s cock a second time.

But the Master had other ideas. He stepped up to her ass, close enough that his shaft was pressing against her thigh; but instead of entering her, he reached out with two fingers and collected a string of his own ropey ejaculate from the expanse of her back. Then he leaned forward and held it in front of her lips, offering.

To Maeve, he explained. “I am no doctor, but my theory is that females respond strongly to my pheromones. It clouds their rational thinking, and encourages suggestibility. However, ingesting my fluids can increase submission exponentially. Isn’t that right, Doll?”

“Yes,” Murmured Rebecca dreamily. The cum-laden fingertips were inches from her lips, but she made no move to lick them. Maeve was imagining the taste—astringent and salty, like a powerful medicine. Her hand fluttered back towards the fly of her jeans.

“Regular doses help to maintain the control, but that’s no problem, of course. There is always plenty more to go around.” The Master chuckled, and then lifted up his fingers, offering them to Maeve instead. “Would you like a taste?”

Maeve couldn’t speak. It took all her force of will to make her head shake back and forth, once: no.

“Suit yourself.” The Master shoved his two forefingers into Rebecca’s mouth instead. She slurped and sucked, her eyeballs white with pleasure.

The Master smiled genially at Maeve, who by now was fingering herself helplessly again. “I understand your dilemma, Dr. Braithwaite. You are an intelligent and independent woman. No doubt you value your freedom, and you love your husband. These facts are not in dispute. Yet at the same time, you are in the sway of powerful chemical effects. Even before you stood in my presence, you proved yourself susceptible. The lingering aroma of my scent upon my Doll, here, provoked all manner of salacious behaviour in your office, did it not? She told me everything you made her do, mere minutes after your encounter, while we sat in the clinic’s parking lot. She was stroking my cock with both hands as she described the way you pressed your cunt against her helpless face.”

Maeve could not prevent a groan from escaping her lips. It made the Master smile.

He slid his fingers from Rebecca’s mouth and straightened up. His cock still rose, rigid, between the girl’s cheeks. Maeve’s mental fog pressed down like cement on all sides of her skull; she could barely even feel the stimulation of her own fingers, but her eyes were riveted to that cock, to the tiny bead of precum that glistened from its tip.

“It would be simple, at this point, for me to command your submission. But it’s more satisfying when my dolls come to me. Perhaps I can suggest a compromise.” He ran his hand across Rebecca’s right ass-cheek; she shuddered slightly in response, but tried to remain still. “Why don’t you give your patient here a kiss, Dr. Braithwaite? You’ve already exchanged some fluids with her, in your search for a diagnosis. One kiss, and then if you wish to leave, I shan’t prevent you.”

Maeve hesitated. Slowly, her eyes adjusted their focus, from the hypnotic cock-tip to the flushed face of the girl spread nude across the countertop. The doll. She really seemed like nothing more than a plaything, then, and it occurred to Maeve that if the Master was correct—if he really did have some magical chemical means to shut off women’s thoughts, then there was really not much harm in stealing a kiss from this doll. It would feel good, and it would give Maeve some sense of closure, before she escaped. A sort of promise, if Rebecca were still in there somewhere, that she’d return to rescue her.

And so she knelt down by the island countertop and kissed the doll. Her tongue slid decadently through the slave’s lips. It was intoxicating, a kiss mingling domination and submission. The softness of Rebecca’s lips and tongue made Maeve’s clit sing. She pumped her tongue inside the doll-girl’s mouth, fucking it while she jilled herself. It was salty and hot and she knew she’d been tricked but she had to keep going, she had to get off, god, yes, she could fuckrape this dollslut with her tongue, with her fingers on her clit, with her slutcunt spasm pulsing juicing—

“Do not cum,” The Master said, and it was like an iron vise on her hand, her mouth. She froze and whimpered involuntarily. The doll, whose lips were still fused with her own, grew tense as well, and Maeve realized the command was for them both. She knelt, helpless, smouldering with need.

“Stand up, Maeve,” He said, and she obeyed in despair. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she could see that the Master was now nude, his slacks and shirt folded neatly on the table. His cock was still thick, and it bounced and pulsed slightly as he spoke. “By now, some of the residual semen from Shiny-Doll’s mouth will be circulating through your bloodstream. It’s not much, but you can likely feel the euphoria it brings, and you can imagine how a larger dose might feel.” Maeve involuntarily swished her tongue around behind her lips. It tingled and throbbed. She felt high, blissed out. Ready for anything, yet not inclined to do anything.

“I’d like to offer you a choice, now, Maeve, and listen carefully, because it will be the last real choice you will ever make. I know how badly you crave my control, and I’m rather desperate for my Number Five of the day. Let’s help each other out. Would you like that?”

Feverishly, mutely, Maeve nodded.

“Splendid. I’m so glad you made the choice to become my doll. Shiny-Doll, remove the new doll’s clothing.”

While Maeve stood, dizzy yet still, the doll she used to think of as Rebecca Morin rose, approached her, and stripped her naked. Tugging off her jeans and panties took the longest, and felt the most agonizing, since the doll’s hands were so close to her clit and snatch. Yet the doll took no liberties, and as soon as Maeve was completely bare, she rose and stepped away, giving the Master access.

“Lift yourself up onto the countertop,” He gestured to show her where to go. Maeve hoisted herself on the corner of the island, turning around so her breasts and cunt were available to her Master. He stepped up close—she could feel his breath on her skin for the first time—and made some adjustments to her posture. When he was done, she found herself perched on the corner with her legs spread wide, off-balance but braced with her arms stretched behind her. As an afterthought, the Master ordered Shiny-Doll to stand behind Maeve and brace her with one hand on the small of her back.

Maeve found the experience of being posed by her Master deliciously hot. It was even better than following orders.

The Master brushed her vulva, testing to see if she was wet enough to enter. His eyebrows rose, as he brought his hand up to show her the fingers, drenched in ropey, clear-white juice. “You might just be my Juicy-Doll,” He said, and her vagina clenched with pleasure.

With brutal swiftness, he stepped forward and entered her twice—not only with his cock, which slid deeply, effortlessly into her clutching cunt—but also simultaneously with his fingers, viscous with her spunk, now jammed deep into her moaning mouth. Her thoughts melted molten into incoherent surrender.

Her Master was inside, impossibly deep, and the thrusts and cries and spasms meant nothing compared to the frenzied joy of being his, now and forever.

Less than a slave; less than a slut; and so much simpler than the woman whose name had just been blazed away from thought.

She became a doll, and she let herself get used.