The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

One winter morning, I woke soaked in sweat. I knew my dreams had been good, and hot, but for now couldn’t quite remember the details. My cock was throbbing urgently, demanding release. I turned over to see if the babe from last night was any worse now I was sober, thinking maybe I could give her a quick one to wake her up, but my bed was empty. Weird, it wasn’t like me to come home alone. Was I losing my touch?

I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, taking myself in hand while I tried to remember what had happened last night. Oh yeah, the hypnotist chick, it all came flooding back. I’d dared some girl on the internet to try and hypnotise me, like in the stories she writes under the pen name Metamorpheus. They’re pretty hot stories, so I figured it’s got to be fun. I’d got so caught up in emailing her, I’d been too tired to go out. I imagined how she might look, sultry and commanding or some blonde bookworm type, I couldn’t make up my mind which I’d rather screw. It didn’t matter, really, it was thinking about being helplessly under her control that really got me off these days, and I could imagine both while I vigorously pumped my cock to finish with the morning wood.

Then another memory came back, and I stood frozen like a rabbit in the headlights for a moment, even my left hand broke rhythm. I wasn’t allowed to cum, she’d said, until I got her permission. She thought I didn’t respect girls or something, and she wanted me to think about things other than getting laid. And as hot as it was, thinking about giving Her so much control, my cock was standing out like a tree branch, and that called for some relief. I imagined her stepping back in dismay, realising I was too much man for her to handle, looking forlorn in thigh-high leather boots until I held her down and gave her something to smile about. My hand went up and down my shaft, gripping tight just below the head, and I imagined her surprise at being fucked by a real stud as I got to the vinegar strokes. And then ... and then, nothing. My cock twitched desperately, I could hardly catch my breath, pulse pounding in my ears like a drum.

And I couldn’t cum.

I tightened my grip, stroking faster and faster as my dick got so sensitive it almost hurt. I thought of the hottest things I could imagine, girl on girl, chicks chained down and waiting for me, even Mistress Metamorpheus in her leather gear. I was breathing heavily when I got back to the bedroom and put on one of my favourite DVD’s, but it just didn’t help. I got hornier and hornier, and the harder I beat off, the more sure I was that I wouldn’t be able to cum until She said so.

So I set out for work with my boxers pulled tight across a rigid hard on, cotton brushing roughly across my sensitive tip with every step. And a mission in mind, to find a girl I could just talk to without being a horndog, prove to Mistress I wasn’t as randy as she thought and get her permission to get off. And then I’d fuck them both, and let them know why you shouldn’t mock a rock hard cock.

By the time I got to work, I think the bulge in my pants was a bit less obvious. I was still aware of it, so sensitive, but I hoped nobody else would be able to tell. At least today the bosses were mostly out of the shop, phoning suppliers from the back room or whatever the hell they do up there. For all I know, the two middle aged nobodies could be watching each other jack off up there, all that mattered to me was that they weren’t downstairs bothering me. And the counter was good enough to conceal my situation from customers’ view, as long as I was careful. I was still hard, though, and now I couldn’t shake the mental image of Mr Willis’s mound of lard bent over the desk with Mr Randolf taking him up the ass, toupee bouncing almost off his head with every sweaty grunt.

Geez. I needed to get my mind off sex; or find some slut to take it out on. But there were no babes in today, maybe a dozen customers all morning and the only one even remotely female had like a dozen years and a hundred pounds on me. I was horny, sure, but even in desperation I’ve got standards. I was just watching her waddle out the door when I heard the stairs creak to signal Wallis’s arrival.

“Hey, Blake!” he hollered, “You been on the desk all morning.” I nodded, wondering what he wanted this time. It certainly wouldn’t be to offer me a break.

“You look like you could use a break. I’ll send Martindale out to take over, you can call some customers for me.” I looked round over my shoulder and saw the beige file in his hand, “Complaints” stamped across the front. Well, that explained why he was being nice (well, nicer than usual), the only thing worse than an angry, disappointed customer was an angry, disappointed customer who actually had something legitimate to gripe about. And so, ten minutes later I was sitting by the phone sifting through the file in search of the least painful call to start the batch.

I guess my luck was in that day. Somewhere around the middle of the pile of complaint forms was a name I recognised from yesterday, Clara. I already knew what her problem was, with a few more details than were listed on the form. I knew she wasn’t going to chew my ear off, and I knew that once I’d taken the call and filled in the corresponding 502-C, someone would have to go visit her to assess the stains that our product had left on her wallpaper. Getting out of the office to somewhere with decent air conditioning, somewhere without Randolf and Wallis, and in the company of a cute girl, travelling far enough to justify staying out the rest of the day. Check, check and check.

It was quite a long drive to her house, and the traffic was worse than usual. By the time I got there I was fuming, plotting all the things I’d like to do to the twat in the Toyota who’d nearly scratched my car when he forgot to indicate at the lights. I’d have to admit, it was a change from thinking about sex all day, but I needed a moment to calm down before I went and knocked on Clara’s door.

Either she was planning to go out later, or she was making an effort to look good for me; neat makeup and hair tied back, and she was wearing a cardigan that matched the pale blue of her eyes. I wondered how I’d failed to notice her figure when she came into the shop; she wasn’t built like a supermodel or anything, but she had curves where you’d expect them and those tits looked like a perfect handful.

“Oh, hi,” she smiled when she saw me, and the sound of her voice sent electric shivers all the way down to my over-excitable cock. I hoped my jacket would be able to conceal the effect she was having on me, if she realised how desperate I was for release right now, she’d think I was just some pathetic horndog loser, and then she’d never fuck me. “Come on in,” she continued, and I realised I’d been wrapped up in my own thoughts for a few seconds too long, “I’ve been expecting you.”

Once we got inside, I managed to keep my composure by focussing on the job I’d come to do. I couldn’t help noticing, though, that we had a lot of the same taste in films; half the DVDs piled on her coffee table were things I had at home, or a few that I’d like to watch but hadn’t gotten around to yet. When I’d asked all the questions it made sense to ask, I filled the space by asking what she liked most about Kick Ass, and we ended up talking movies and music again. I knew I should head back to work with the forms, but I also knew that by the time I got there, it would be time to clock out already. That’s a waste of time, right? I said as much to Clara, and maybe I turned on the charm a bit.

So we went to the cinema and caught an early showing of Kick Ass 2, and I have to say its one of the best dates I’ve been on. And I actually mean I enjoyed going out, talking and just spending time doing the same thing with someone who seems to get me. It wasn’t what I’d usually call a good date, where I can take her home and get her naked with the minimum of time and money spent, but somehow it seems like this might even be better. She leaned closer and pressed her head against my shoulder when the film threw in a shockingly bloody scene, and as the on-screen romance got to a somewhat disappointing peak, I slipped one hand onto her knee. But I didn’t want to push my luck, so I didn’t move any further.

By the time I finally got home—after a couple of drinks, and a lot more words, which I’d enjoyed immensely—I found myself wondering if somehow I’d lost my magic touch. Was this fear of failure what got into the losers and stopped them getting laid? But even if it was, I just found myself thinking, it might actually be worth it.

It wouldn’t come to that, though. I still had an email from Metamorpheus waiting at home, and maybe today I’d be allowed to cum. Having a cute girl I wasn’t just going to fuck seemed like the kind of thing that would prove I got more than a single-track mind to play with. Maybe if acting like a pussy with Clara was the way to get some with my imaginary owner, it would all be worth it. I read the email, boner straining against my pants again as I looked forward eagerly to whatever I would be commanded to do. But I guess I’d had one drink too many, or just too tired to get in the mood. By the time I’d finished reading, I was hornier than I think I’ve ever been before, but I still didn’t know what the message had said. I couldn’t get off again, either, even when I tried thinking about Mistress as she’d appeared in my dreams, or Clara wearing nothing but her smile as we’d parted. I finally drifted off to sleep, half consciously wondering which woman I’d most like to spend my life with.

I woke somewhat more abruptly, some time in the early hours. It was before dawn, only the orange glow of a street lamp shining through the gap in the curtains. I didn’t think to check the time, my mind was on other things. Or one other thing; a strong hand wrapped around my cock, and a thumb firmly but tenderly rolling back my foreskin to tease the sensitive flesh underneath. I didn’t recognise the hand, and even if it had been light, all I could see of its owner was a muscular forearm reaching around from behind me. I was on my side, one arm beneath me and the other pinned to my side by the stranger’s embrace.

This wasn’t something that had ever happened before, and I’d been with some pretty butch dominatrixes in my time. No, this was different. I knew I had no choice here, and my cock twitched in anticipation as I thought of that. “Mistress Metamorpheus?” I gasped, my words coming out breathless and broken through cracked lips.

“I think,” a rough voice growled in my ear, “the title you’re looking for is Master.”