The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Remember

Karen felt herself come aware of sounds and smells around her, but also that it was dark. Then she realised that her eyes were closed but she did not feel she could open them. Any fear that something was wrong, however, failed to take root. She knew she was sat and though she felt constrained, she did not sense that she was bound or shackled. Dimly she recalled going to the door and a man standing there. Had he worked for a charity? She knew that he had seemed nervous, perhaps excited. Then he had said something and whatever the word had been, Karen found she could recall nothing from that moment until this one.

Karen now became aware that she was not alone and then a voice came.

“Every inch that the zip goes up you feel yourself becoming more Lady Karenza.”

For some reason those words felt very familiar to Karen. Was this a dream? Was she processing something she had seen or heard a day or so before?

“Every inch that the zip goes up you forget who you were; you feel you are Lady Karenza; you know that you are a dominatrix.”

The line was familiar, it took her back to the hypnosis show at the weekend. She had gone with Jan with the clear intention of blasting away all the bad thoughts she had had since she had found Seb cheating on her.

“Another inch, the zip goes up: on the left, on the right; deeper you go into being Lady Karenza.”

She had not admitted it to her friend, let alone the performer, but Karen had known she was prone to hypnosis. At the graduation ball, her friends had had to find out the performer that night to work on bringing her back when it was clear she had not come round fully. For her, on that occasion, his usual return had not been nearly enough. Though she had not confessed it to anyone, she knew she had loved the sense of being disconnected from herself. Seeking some kind of oblivion these years later, she had risked going through stage hypnosis again.

“You go deeper as the zip rises higher, closing you in to these very, very long boots. They’re the boots of a dominatrix; perfect for you, Lady Karenza, because you are a dominatrix.”

On Saturday, Karen had been at the head of the queue to be hypnotised. She had made a real effort with her appearance, to look a little glamorous, to be the kind of woman the hypnotist wanted on stage—a kind of ‘girl next door’ but with hints of hidden desires. Of course, she had picked a performer who specialised in risqué hypnosis and Jan, pretty much a nympho even without it, was more than happy to come along.

“That’s it. The zip closing the boots; pulling the leather tight to your beautiful legs; legs that need to be worshipped. You need to be worshipped, Lady Karenza.”

As Karen recalled all these things, where she was and what was happening began to make sense. However, if this was simply her mind processing what she had done or had done to her, why could she smell and feel things? Was this simply her mind fooling itself? It seemed likely. As she reflected on it, there were differences from the performance. Rather than the cheap plastic thigh boots used on stage she was getting the aroma of expensive leather. She had had a shiny plastic corset strapped on over her scoop top, but this one, as she expanded her chest, felt to be laced in place; her shoulders were bare but her arms and hands were covered in long and snug gloves. Of course, dreams did not have to stick to the script and if this was some kind of fantasy, presumably it had felt she needed an upgrade.

“Another inch and another inch. Deeper and deeper; stronger and stronger, Lady Karenza.”

The voice came from beneath her rather than from over her shoulder as it had done on stage. Back then, a man who had been hypnotised to be her submissive, had been putting the boots on. Now, instead it sounded as if the hypnotist himself was doing both roles. What she could not deny was how much impact the words were having. Karen realised that the thought of her of a rather down-hearted office worker was being chased away by the growing vision of her as Lady Karenza, dominatrix.

“That’s it. Higher and higher, deeper and deeper. You’re Lady Karenza aren’t you? You love strutting around in your leather corset and your very long boots, using your crop on your slave, commanding him, punishing him, being worshipped by him. You love domination, that’s what turns you on; that’s what makes you hot.”

As the voice continued, as the rise of the zip continued, Karen did feel as if she was sliding away from what she knew into a different place where things now seemed much clearer, much brighter and—she suddenly realised—a whole lot sexier. She realised how good it felt to be in tight leather clothes; how natural for her, but how exciting as well. Of course, these boots, these gloves, this corset were what she wore because they got her so hot. More than that, she realised, they were a kind of uniform. They marked her out of a woman of a particular sexuality; a woman who did not get off on equal sex with a man. Instead she was one who just got aroused, only found satisfaction, when she was in control, utterly; when the man was fawning and feeble before her, obeying her every order, pleasing her just the way she desired.

Karen felt somehow that she was coming home. That she was sensibly abandoning the way she had tried to live for some time and was now stepping back to the place where her true identity had been concealed. With that recognition, Karen let out a grunt and jerked as if slotting back into her proper place.

“Lady Karenza?” The voice asked.

“Yes.” She responded; it was now the truth.

“Open your eyes, mistress, please look, please see, I beg you.”

Karenza did as her slave asked and found she was sat in a bowl chair, upholstered in black leather. The room was a grand bedroom with a vast four-poster bed covered in embossed leather blankets and hung with satin drapes. Close by were fittings holding a range of crops, canes and paddles, not things she could recall using, but now she found a real urge to bring down on the tight butt of a man. Around the room was a wooden horse covered in black suede with metal rings. A large ‘x’ was fixed to the wall into which Karenza found she knew that she could lock her slave. Her slave. She loved the thought of those words in her mind; even more the reality of what they represented.

Karenza stood, zipping up the last of her long leather boots and striding forwards in them. The aroma of leather was all around her and she was conscious of how it held her tightly. It made her feel incredibly strong. An antique wardrobe stood in one corner and opening it she found a range of leather and even latex clothes. All black, all sexy. She wondered what she could wear outside, but knew these days that thigh-length boots especially of the best leather and long leather coats, hardly roused much attention; people even wore leather skirts in the office. She felt she would have to do little to modify how she dressed when in true dominatrix mode and that pleased her as deep inside she knew this was the core of her life.

“Does the house please you mistress?”

Karenza now turned back. Close to the chair crouched on the floor was a man in black latex. His face was masked; his body coated in a catsuit from which emerged his cock also sheathed in rubber. It was clear he was excited by all that was happening. Waves of thoughts, waves of desire kept sweeping across Karenza and she found she was delighted to have a human sex toy; to actually own him. That gave her a frisson that she knew could not be matched by any other sexual situation.

“Yes … slave, it does.”

The slave looked up. Karenza could not make out much of his features but it seemed he was pleased. As she thought about it, she imagined that he had set it up for her at his own expense. He was not simply a physical and emotional slave, she would own him financially too.

“Come, show me this place.”

The slave knelt up and Karenza saw the collar at his neck, leather on his rubber and with a ring at the front. On the floor was a leash and she attached this quickly and so led the slave to his feet.

“Go ahead of me, slave.” Karenza commanded; he obeyed.

As she walked on the high platforms and heels of her long boots, Karenza felt powerful. She recognised that was contributing to her feelings, as much as how everything around her was so sexualised. She knew it was a sensation she now would not willingly give up. She wondered if she could even step out of this place, this domain of hers and try to act in the ordinary world. Perhaps, she reflected, that was an additional element—true mastery came from mastering one own’s desires as well as those of others. For the moment, however, she knew she could do nothing but indulge to the full in what fate had so graciously given her.

It turned out that they were in an old house, but one that had been refurbished with modern though Gothic designs. Erotic artwork with themes of dominance and submission hung from the walls and was shown in the sculpture in the hallway. The windows looked ordinary but soon Karenza realised they were tinted so from the outside they were dull mirrors. She was free to live in here, cavorting with her slave, dressing how she chose with no-one to watch unless she chose. Aside from the tastefully decorated rooms and the bedroom turned into a library filled with erotic books of the kind Karenza quickly realised she loved, there was a small basement made into a dungeon. It had a leather carpeted floor and a cage for her pet.

As she entered it, Karenza felt heady and, snatching a crop, let rip with it on to the latex-bound buttocks of her slave. He groaned in pleasure and looked at his mistress with excited eyes, clearly pleased she was using him that way. She repeated the thwacks, loving the sound; loving the renewed sensation of power. She was heady with it; she was hot and wet from it. As more and more attributes of a dominatrix were triggered within Lady Karenza, she struggled with less and less success to recall anything of her life before. In this world, such things seemed irrelevant. She felt that only here was she her true self and so only here was what was important.

Walking up from the basement to the hallway, Karenza felt a new flow of power. “I am Lady Karenza. I am a Dominatrix. I own a slave.”

Asserting her creed, Karenza now was jolted; her body quivering and her feet stumbling. It seemed impossible that she could trigger an orgasm by words. However, as it rippled through her, she began to feel it was no surprise. It was apparent that she was so in her correct habitat that it was certain to always give her great pleasure. She lashed the air with her crop, eager to have people crawling around her; recognising her true greatness manifest in this place.

“It pleases you mistress?” The slave asked again.

“My God, yes it does slave; it is so right. You were so right in breaking me out of my chrysalis. Who has a better slave than I do?”

Karenza cackled in joy, dancing around, loving the feel of the tight leather she wore as she did. She had no idea who she had been, but now there seemed no point in knowing. Now she was what she was supposed to be; the form in which she was perfect—why should she bother even questioning those facts?

Now, content with her realm, the mistress led her slave into the lounge and slumped on to the large black leather sofa, spreading her booted legs and pulling him down by his leash to the floor between them. There was no point in having such a creature unless she used him for his prime purpose. This, Karenza knew as the truth, was the only proper way to be sexually serviced and did not every woman deserve a good service when she felt the need?

As she lounged, considering what she precisely needed, Karenza idly thought how she did not even know what her slave looked like. She envisaged men she had known in her life before, though they now seemed liked characters from a dream. She then thought of taking this slave out publicly, not dressed as he was currently—though she felt certain there were clubs and parties where she could do that. For now, she imagined herself in one of the leather or even latex dresses upstairs, having her slave sat across a restaurant table from her, dressed plainly, a discreet collar at his neck, but her knowing all the time that at her command he would crawl over the carpet to kiss the tip of her boot.

Karenza had no idea how she had got here; where here was or even what day it was. She was sure that she could find out from the television or the other devices lying around. Yet, that was not the point, she quickly realised. This house was out-of-time; it was a pocket universe which did not fit the rules of the one she might inhabit beyond it. Here she was the supreme empress; the goddess, nothing less. Here the clothes of a fetish dominatrix and slave were the normal. It was her world and one she was fully at home in.

Satisfied that she was precisely where she belonged, Karenza reached to undo the studs that held her pussy into its butter soft leather thong. Beneath she was very smooth, no doubt lovingly tended to by her slave, whose face she expected to have often pressed against her pussy lips. He rose on his knees and moved towards her.

“Yes, slave, please do your duty. Lick me, stroke me, until I orgasm.”

Karenza felt a chill at those words, for a moment hardly believing them to be true but then knowing they were and that they were completely real. As the latex-covered cheeks of her slave slid between her thighs and his tongue gently came out to nuzzle her clitoris, Karenza almost convulsed from so much pleasure. Then she felt greedy for it. She felt she deserved this; she deserved all of this, every last scrap. She was the queen, the goddess in her realm and what pleased her was the very reason for its existence.