The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Quality Control

mc mf md la

By Captain Eazy

3

By the end of that week, Myra felt as if a constant current of electricity were running through her body. All the time, all day and all night, she felt incredibly sexy, extraordinarily horny: Six, seven, eight times a night she fingered herself to orgasm, each more intense than the last. Energy coursed through her, making her incapable of staying still for more than a few minutes at a time. Her need for sleep diminished so that she could get by with a few hours of rest between sessions of self-love. During the day she felt energized but jumpy. At her desk she squirmed in her chair, could barely keep her mind on her job, and at least three times a day she slipped off to the restroom to stroke her clit and bring herself to release. She loved the feelings, but at times when concentrating on work became difficult, she damned Blake Rogers for what he had done to her.

But I asked him to do it. It’s not his fault, I asked him, I threatened him, and he told me I’d be constantly aroused, oh, damn, I’m soooo wet . . . .

And somehow on Friday afternoon, without clearly knowing why she had come or even how she had arrived there, she opened the door to Blake’s lab and stepped inside. He sat on a lab stool, bent over some piece of scientific equipment. He looked up as she came in and smiled at her, and Myra melted. How could she ever have been angry with him? He had given her this wonderful feeling, this overflow of life. “Hi,” she said in a soft and oddly shy voice.

He studied her for a long moment, his expression flat and unreadable. “Close the door, Myra. Lock it.”

Myra automatically did as she was told, then stood with her back to the door, silent, submissive, waiting for him to speak. She swallowed hard. What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel like a schoolgirl in the principal’s office? I could get this geek fired, this dork, this . . . this wonderful, generous man.

“What changes have you noticed?” Blake asked, switching off the device in front of him. It whirred down to silence. The hum and drone of bees filled the lab.

Myra sighed and confessed, “I feel good. I’m horny all the time, Blake, but God, I feel so good!”

He slipped off the lab stool and stood with his arms crossed and his head tilted, gazing at her. “That’s not all, though, is it?”

“My—I have—my breasts are a little tender.” She laughed nervously. “I thought it might be because I’ve been getting myself off so much lately. My nipples are more sensitive than they used to be, a lot more.” She lowered her head and gave him a wickedly suggestive grin. “I can come just by playing with them.”

“Mm, yes. Let me see you naked.” He said it in such a detached way, such a clinical way, that for a moment Myra recoiled, feeling as if she had been slapped.

But he wants to see me naked. That would please him. Yes, it’s right that he should tell me when he wants to see me naked. After all, he’s seen me before, and it will please him, yes. . . .

Obediently, as though she were half dreaming, Myra stripped, careless of where she dropped her clothing. She walked toward him nude, conscious of her newly heavy breasts, swollen and bouncy, their rosy nipples hardened with lust. Blake unfolded his crossed arms and reached out to softly stroke her tits, making her shiver. Goose bumps popped up on her arms. “That feel nice?”

“Yes,” she whispered, wanting him to do more.

He tugged at her right nipple, a little twinge of pleasurable pain making her catch her lower lip between her teeth and bite down. She closed her eyes as stronger, swelling waves of pleasure swept over her. “Oh. . . God!”

“Interesting,” Blake said dryly. “Did you just come?”

“No, almost, but no. I’m. . . close, soooo close. . . .”

Blake moved his hand away from her tits, to her dismay. “Oh, please,” she begged. “Fondle them, pinch them. I’m so close, so close . . . ”

With a half smile, Blake said, “Myra, I want you to come without my touching you, without your touching yourself. Now. Come!”

Myra gasped, feeling her knees give way. She staggered with the force of her orgasm and cried out wordlessly. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the unbelievable, blinding ecstasy to herself, trying to contain it. Her skin gleamed with perspiration, and she panted for breath. “Oh, how did you—that was fantastic, that was—my God, how did you do that to me?”

“You’re changing,” Blake said, reaching out a hand to grip her upper arm and steady her. “I told you the powder would make you different. It’s starting. It will continue. Was that good for you?”

“Oh, God, yes, I squirted, Blake, look how wet my thighs are!”

“So now how do you feel?”

Myra felt her nipples hardening again, fantastic, and she resisted an urge to begin stroking herself. “I can’t believe it, but I’m horny again already,” she said. “Fuck me, Blake.”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. You don’t have time for me. I asked you to spend the weekend, remember?”

“Don’t be like that,” she pouted. She leaned back against the lab table, reaching down to stroke her pussy. She pulled at its lips, spreading them wide, lewdly, revealing her glistening need. “Wouldn’t you like this, Blake? Lick it a little? Put your big hard cock in it, wouldn’t that feel so good? Hmm?”

“Will you let me fuck you up the ass?” he asked.

She blushed and jerked her fingers away from her snatch. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ve never done that. I—that’s nasty, Blake.”

“But I could fuck your pussy any time.”

“Any time,” she agreed happily. She reached back down and pushed her finger deep into her wet pussy, moved her hips as if she were fucking it, then pulled her finger out and sucked on it. “Come on, Blake. Help me out. I need a cock so bad, baby. I need your great big cock inside me.”

“Then come to my place and spend the weekend with me,” he said. “I want you to do it, Myra. You want to do it.”

It would be good to have him in bed, she thought, to have his tongue and fingers and cock to serve her need all night long, all day long, all weekend long. But he was a geek, dammit, a nobody. “I . . . I can’t. I have . . . there are . . . .”

Blake reached across the table to a rack and handed her a huge test tube. “Here. Fuck this. Use it as a dildo.”

She gulped down her dismay, holding the cold glass tube hard in her grasp. Desperately, she tried to make her voice throaty and seductive: “I’d rather have your—”

Blake interrupted her, his tone the same commanding one he had used before: “Lie on the floor. On your back. Now.”

The floor was cold beneath her shoulders, beneath her ass. She clutched the test tube in her right hand. “Blake, don’t make me do this.”

“Bend your knees. Put your feet flat on the floor. Spread your legs. Wider. Wider. I want to see everything.”

She felt as if she were splitting herself open, her heels far apart. In a frightened, cowed voice she asked, “Is this all right?”

Blake settled on the floor in a cross-legged Indian posture, sitting between her feet, but he didn’t touch her, made no move to touch her. “Now put the round end of the test tube in your pussy. Now!”

It was cold, too, cold and hard and smooth. Myra felt tears running down the sides of her face, first hot, then their trails cooling. She had never made such a wanton display of her body before, not for anyone. But the second she had penetrated herself with the test tube, she knew she was on the way to another orgasm, a great one.

Blake was speaking again: “Use it as a dildo. Fuck yourself with it, Myra, and think of having my cock inside you while you do it. You want to fuck yourself with the dildo, Myra. Do it.”

Slowly, then faster and faster she began to pump the hard smooth tube in and out of her tight opening. “Is that good?” she asked in a small voice.

“Good,” Blake agreed. She couldn’t see him clearly. He was leaning forward, his gaze on what she was doing to herself. She sniffed, though her excitement was mounting, swelling. She could her the sucking sound of her pussy when she pulled the tube out, the squishing sound when she rammed it back in. Blake said, “Make yourself feel really good, Myra. Faster. Lift your ass a little. Yes, that’s right, that’s good. Keep still just a moment.”

She felt pressure on her anus. “No, please, don’t—”

“It’s a smaller dildo. You like it. It’s going to make you come like crazy.”

She felt her asshole clutch the invading test tube, groaned as the first intrusive pain gave way to a strange escalating intensity. “Ahh. Ahh, yeahhhhh, Blake. Ahh, I was wrong, I love that, that’s good, that’s so damn good . . . fuck my ass, Blake! Make me come!”

“You can’t come,” Blake told her. “You’re hung right on the edge, but you can’t come until I give you permission.”

“Unnhhh!” Now her need had become frantic, manic. With her right hand, Myra pounded the tube in and out of her pussy, and with the fingers of her left hand she stroked and flicked her clit. Blood thundered in her ears as her heart hammered hard. She thought she would faint. She felt as if she were on the upslope of the world’s tallest roller coaster, but the hill grew higher, steeper, and the coaster slowed, slowed like something in a nightmare. She tried to beg, but desire had stolen language from her, and all she could do was groan. “Mmnnuuuh, ahhhh, pleee . . . unnh. . . .”

“You want to spend the weekend with me. Nothing can keep you from spending the weekend with me. You can come if you will agree to stay with me, Myra. I’ll let you come if you say you’ll spend the whole weekend with me. You will stay with me all weekend, won’t you, Myra?”

“Yuhh . . . yuhh . . . . " she gave up and desperately nodded.

“Good girl. That’s my girl. Come, Myra.”

This time she really did faint, faded completely out of the world in the rush of release, felt what the lovers of the Middle Ages called le petit mort, the little death of orgasm. She floated in rose-colored space for an unknown time, feeling as though she were on a rubber raft at sea, drifting and bobbing, bobbing. Then she came to again and became aware that Blake was naked and on top of her, his cock in her cunt, fucking her.

“Ohh, baby,” she said, wrapping her long legs around his ass, locking her ankles, folding him in her arms. “Ohhh, yeahhh, thank you, mmm that’s so good. Ohh, you’re good to me, thank you. Yes, I’ll spend the weekend with you, God yes, fuck me harder, Blake, fuck me!”

His body was hot against hers, his thrusts long and strong, lifting her to yet another orgasm. “Don’t come in me, though, don’t come inside me—”

“I will,” he said. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.”

“No,” she said, but somehow reassurance seeped in, and she didn’t care anymore, she didn’t fucking care, she wanted him to come inside her, wanted to feel it, to satisfy him the way he had satisfied her. He lifted her ass off the floor, pounded his cock into her, and she felt it stiffen even more, stiffen and jerk, and then the scalding gush of his cum shot deep inside her, and she didn’t care. “Yeah,” she said, riding the long sweet slope down from her climax, playfully squeezing him, milking the last drops of cum from his cock with her pussy muscles. Unexpectedly, the clenching set her off again, and she felt another orgasm building. “Anything you say, lover, oh, I’m coming again!”

When at last he pulled out and stood up, he reached down for her hands and lifted her, too. She felt his cum drooling out of her slit. “I’m not on the pill,” she said.

He kissed her. “I told you not to worry. You won’t have to worry ever again,” Blake said. “Your body is changing, Myra. You won’t get pregnant. You can’t, no more than a worker bee can lay an egg.”

The meaning of what he had said sank in. Myra felt a hot rush of fear. “What? You—that damn stuff made me sterile? You didn’t tell me that would happen!”

“It’s a condition of your life now, Myra. You will be happy to be the way you are. It will seem right for you, the only possible way for you to live. I’ll ask again now that you’re calmer: Are you still too busy to come home with me for the weekend?”

Suddenly conscious of her nudity, Myra crossed her arms over her breasts. “Yes!” her brain said. But her voice said, “What do you want me to do?”

“Come home with me for the weekend. Let me fuck you till you come and come more than you ever thought you could. Suck my cock. Swallow my cum. Do as I tell you.”

“Yes,” she heard herself say. “I’d like that.” It was not a lie, she realized. She felt a lift of her heart as she said the words, a golden pleasure that she would take Blake’s cock any way he wanted to give it to her, that his orgasms would make her own fiercer, better, sweeter. She felt as though her body was not her own, that it belonged to Blake, that it was his to do with as he pleased. Shyly, she reached to caress his cheek. “I’d like that so much.”

“Good girl. Then clean yourself up, get dressed and go back to your office. I’ll write my address out for you. You will stop at a department store on your way there and buy yourself some clothes for the weekend, toiletries, whatever you need. You dress too severely, Myra. I want you to dress for me, dress to arouse me. You’ll pick up some sexy underwear. Some . . . slutty clothes. You’ll get very excited doing your shopping. You’ll look forward to seeing me tonight. You’ll be ready for a long, sexy weekend.”

“Yes,” she said humbly. “Yes, I will.” She reached for her discarded clothing.

* * *

That evening Myra stopped at Le Trendz, the kind of clothing store she had never shopped at before, the kind she would never have been caught dead in before. In a kind of fevered daydream, she bought wispy panties, so light and thin that she knew her pussy would show through, and some thongs. She bought shoes with high spiked heels, black stockings, and a garter belt. A skirt so short it barely covered her ass. Tramp tops. Her heart was beating as if it wanted to escape from the cage of her chest. Her purchases were arousing her. She wondered if she should stop at an adult store and buy some toys, a vibrator, lubricants, maybe . . . maybe something kinky, tit clips, maybe, or . . . or handcuffs. She saw herself cuffed, chained, at his mercy, maybe he would spank her, God that was so hot. . . but maybe he wouldn’t like that, she’d have to learn what turned him on the most. She swallowed hard and fought off the feeling that she had a fever. She knew her face must be a hot red, thought her pussy was probably redder, hell, it felt like it was practically glowing, and she giggled at the idea of that.

She paid for her purchases, nearly four hundred dollars. In her car she felt positively dizzy with anticipation as she drove to Blake’s place.

From the address on the gentrified east side of the city, she had expected an apartment, but to her surprise, the address turned out to be a small brick house in its own small yard, the front lawn sporting a couple of trees, too dark to see what kind they were. She almost missed the driveway, turned in at the last possible moment, and parked behind Blake’s old black Toyota.

He met her at the front door. “Come in.”

She entered the house, clutching her plastic shopping bags. “I got them,” she whispered. “I got what you told me.”

“Good,” Blake said. He pointed toward a door. “That’s the bathroom. Go in there and change. Make yourself hot for me, make yourself slutty. Then you can come out and show me.”

“All right,” she agreed happily.

She had a quick impression of his house, not bad at all, not a rich place, certainly, an older house but recently renovated and surprisingly tidy and neat. Well, he was a scientist, of course he’d have the habits of a good housekeeper. The bathroom gleamed, all white tile and chrome, as clean as an operating room. She hung the shopping bags on a hook on the back of the door and stripped, hanging her clothes over the shower curtain rod. After a few seconds’ consideration, she selected tiny pale pink bikini panties, silky and gauzy-thin. She stepped in and pulled them up, gasping at their feather-light touch. She felt more desirable than she ever had in her life. Her stiffening nipples seemed larger than they had been before, and they tingled, the way her nose had when she had sniffed the powder. She had never really worn a garter belt before, but now she put it on, liking the way it felt, liking the slutty combination of black and pink against her skin.

No bra, of course. He wouldn’t want that, and she hadn’t been wearing them anyway, not for the last week. And she liked the attention Blake paid to her tits, loved the way she could turn him on, get his dick hard, just by letting him see her bare breasts. She tugged on the scandalous skirt, pulled it up, oh, it was tight, she would have a bimbo walk and her hips would stand out like a couple of melons, nice, and then she squirmed into a tight, hot-pink top, like a tee with a low-scooped neck, but cut off so short that the bottom swells of her breasts showed, cool, she’d have cleavage both top and bottom, that ought to make Blake’s eyes pop. Her taut nipples thrust at the fabric, clearly visible, two hungry points of desire. Yeah, that made her breasts look tasty. She rolled on the black stockings, then put on the heels. Oh, she felt so damn dirty.

The heels made her take exaggerated steps. She felt her hips rolling as she came out of the bathroom. “In here,” Blake said.

His voice came from the bedroom. He had a big bed, king-sized, and he lay back on it, in khaki slacks and light blue Oxford shirt, the shirt unbuttoned all the way to the waist but still tucked in. “Walk,” he said. “Show me.”

Myra did her slinky walk past the foot of the bed, turned and slowly made her back to the door. She leaned on the door frame, running a hand over her upper thigh, over the short skirt, her bare midriff, her right breast. “Do you like it?” she whispered.

“Very slutty,” he said with a smile. “That’s good. You’re a slut, Myra.”

She felt as though she were trapped in a dream. She heard herself agreeing happily: “Yes, I’m a slut, Blake.”

“That turns me on. I get hot when you act that way and when you say that. What are you?”

She rubbed her palms over her breasts, showing him how the straining fabric of the top did nothing to hide her nipples. “I’m a fucking slut, Blake.”

“You’re my slut, aren’t you?”

No, I’m the woman who could get you fired— “Yes, Blake. I’m your little fucking slut.”

“What are you?”

“Your slut, Blake. I love to fuck you and suck you and make you come. I’m your dirty horny slut.”

“What do you want?”

Her head was spinning. “I want, I want—I want to be dirty, Blake. I wanna fuck you and suck you. I want to make you come, Blake. I wanna get you off, baby. I wanna make you come and I wanna suck up your cum like it was cream.”

“What if I want you to do something especially nasty, Myra? What if I want to fuck you up the ass?”

No, that’s disgusting! “I’m your slut, Blake. You can do . . . anything to me. Anything. Whatever you want, whatever turns you on, baby.” God, why can’t I say what I want to say!

“Sit on the foot of my bed, Myra.”

“Thank you.” She sat down. Blake had a colorful quilt on his bed, very old-fashioned but kind of stylish, and the bed itself was wonderfully springy under her butt. She felt unbelievably sad, and yet for some reason she was smiling, smiling like a brainless bimbo, and she was already hoping Blake would fuck her in this great bed.

He raised up on one elbow his open shirt baring his chest, like a Roman emperor indulgently regarding a favorite slave. “Tell me about the men in your life, Myra.”

She met his eyes. “What do you want to know?” she whispered, knowing, feeling that she would have to tell him everything, hold back nothing, strip her past as naked as she had stripped her body, all for him, for Blake.

“I want to know it all, Myra. Everything.”

Myra took a deep breath and started to talk, using coarse language without a trace of self-consciousness: Her first kiss, in junior high, the first time she had let a boy remove her bra, the times she had jerked a boy off while he fingered her, the time she finally lost her virginity when she was a freshman in college, then the men she had slept with, not all that many, really, Glenn, David, Paul. Tom, of course, whom she’d broken up with only a month earlier.

“Forget them all,” Blake said as soon as she had finished talking. “You will forget everything about them, even their names.”

Myra frowned. The names had become misty, lost in some foggy area of her mind, Glenn, D—Donald? They didn’t matter. They were dead to her. They were lost memories.

“There will be only me,” he said. “There will always be only me. I’m the only man in your life, the reason for your life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Blake. I’d like that.”

He reached out a sock-clad foot and lazily stroked her ass with his toes. “Say it.”

“There will be only you. You’re the only man for me.”

“What am I, Myra?”

Her throat tightened, and she shuddered. “You’re my—you are—I have to do—you’re—oh, Blake, no, don’t make me say that, please don’t.”

“Say it,” he urged.

She shook her head, her brown hair swinging back and forth. Her lower lip trembled like an upset child’s. “Please.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Blake told her. “Now you’re losing that sexy feeling. You’re feeling empty, Myra. You can’t come. You don’t feel sexy at all. You will never come again. You know you can’t, unless I give you permission.”

Myra’s breath rasped in her lungs. She was suffocating. “No!” She felt herself withering, almost as though she were sinking, dying. “Blake, please!”

Staring at her without expression, Blake commanded, “Then say it, slut.”

She gasped. “You’re my—my master.”

“Very good,” he said with a warm smile of approval. “That’s my good little slut, my good little girl. Now you’re feeling so much better again, sexy again, good again. You’re going to be able to come again, Myra, you’re going to feel wonderful every time we fuck, whenever you blow me, whenever you please me. You’re going to come and come and come whenever you make me happy, and it will be so good, so incredibly good. Listen to me, Myra: you will live to make me happy. If I am unhappy, you will be miserable. You will do anything to please me, any time, anywhere.”

“Yes,” she said gratefully, her eyes filling with tears of joy. Oh, the life was flooding back into her now, making her tingle, making her feel like a woman again. “Oh, yes, Blake. I want you to be happy. Thank you, Blake, thank you, Master.”

“I’m not really being cruel to you,” Blake said patiently. “I know how it seems, but I’m not being cruel. I am giving you what you need, what you must have from now on. You have to understand this. I warned you about what would happen. I said that you would change permanently. Understand, Myra: If you did not belong to me, if you weren’t bonded to me and subject to me, you would die. You have to have a master in your new life, and you are incapable of living without one. You have to have me as your master, or you will die, do you understand? Only me, forever, for the rest of your life. The compound has changed you and is still changing you. The process is not yet complete. Don’t be afraid, though, because you will like the changes, in fact you’ll welcome them. The more submissive you are to me, the happier you will feel.”

“All right,” she said, awash in relief and pleasure. “All right. I’ll belong to you, I’ll make you happy. I’ll be your fucking slut, your fucktoy, you’ll own me. I want that. Oh, Blake, I want it so bad.”

“Let’s see those tits,” Blake said.

She peeled the top off, pleased with his lascivious gaze, accepting that as her reward for her beauty. Then at his order she undressed him, feeling almost worshipful as she pulled down first his pants, then his undershorts, freeing his cock. Oh, yes, she loved the sight of it, loved spring and the thrust of it, and the swollen gleaming head of it. It was so pretty, so strong and hard, and when he penetrated her with it, when he allowed her to share it, he was expressing his approval of his slut, he was honoring her by allowing his cock to enter her unworthy body. She loved the thought of it entering her pussy, and she savored the memory of its taste, of the way its smooth surface felt springy against her tongue.

She kicked off her shoes and peeled herself out of the skirt. Still wearing her pink see-through panties, the garter belt, and her black stockings, she crept up until she could cradle his cock between her breasts. Humming happily, she pressed her breasts warm around his cock with her right hand, supporting herself on her knees and her outthrust left hand. She moved up and down, giving him a slow, sensuous tit-fucking. God, she could even smell his arousal. She felt a drop of precum on the swell of her tits. She licked her lips and hoarsely asked, “Master, do you want to fuck me . . .to fuck my ass?”

“In time I will,” he said. He reached down and caressed her hair, then clenched his hand in it and pulled her head down, guided her mouth to his cock. Joyfully, humbly, with infinite gratitude, she parted her lips and accepted him utterly, totally, surrendered to him. She reveled in the crush of his smooth cock head against her tongue, gloried in the thought that he liked what she was doing to him as she enthusiastically began to suck. She couldn’t wait to take his hot blast of cum in her mouth, to swallow it.

Oh, she was such a good slut. . . .