The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I hadn’t expected this when I started reading stories on the internet. I hadn’t noticed the change from reading about people being hypnotised to letting the text change the way I thought. I didn’t even notice to start with that I read the emails from my beloved Mistress and still had no idea what she’d said. But that didn’t matter, because nothing got me hard faster than knowing how helpless I was, that I’d given away my free will and I could now only think what she’d decided for me.

So one night last year, I wasn’t too surprised to wake with a strong hand gripping my cock, a muscular arm draped over my body. I didn’t know if this was a dream, or if He was really here with me, or if this was just what I’d been commanded to imagine. But either way, all I could do was let it happen. “Mistress,” I muttered happily, wondering if this time I might actually be allowed to cum.

“Master,” a voice by my ear corrected. I was suddenly awake, alert, but unable to move as a strong arm pulled me closer. “You can call me Master.”

I nodded, and heard the words squeak out in a voice suddenly thin and afraid, “Yes, Master.” I shook my head, caught myself only after the words had escaped. “Hell, no!” I protested, “I’m straight! I only take orders from Master Metamorpheus, I’m not ...” the words trailed into silence, and I corrected myself, “I mean Master … I … not Master!” I blustered, starting to panic. Mistress, I chided myself internally, but all too aware of a tough-looking black hand caressing my junk and the feel of a cock as stiff as my own pressed into the small of my back. The name I’m trying to say is Mistress Metamorpheus.

“Master …” I said again, and felt His grip tighten slightly on my shaft. I whimpered at the touch, realising just how close I was to shooting my load on the duvet. I’d been unable to climax for days now, I was so desperate I’d do anything to get off. But not like this, no way was I going to give this fag the satisfaction.

“You can’t say it, can you?” He asked, a rumbling voice with a faint trace of an accent I couldn’t place, “You thought I was a la-dy, so you called me Mistress, you never even thought to ask. But I say ‘Call me Master’ and you can’t disobey. Am I right?” I nodded without thinking, but bit my tongue before I could say that word again. He began to pump my cock, slowly at first but holding tightly, and I felt His other hand grip my neck, pulling me closer. Holding me against Him so close I could swear I felt the pulse in His enormous dick.

I couldn’t believe it, it was happening to me right now but I just couldn’t believe it. I had a giant, black queer in my bed, and He seemed so strong there was nothing I could do to fight it. “Please,” I managed to get my breath back just long enough to beg, “Please stop. I don’t want this … I’m not … “

“Not enjoying it?” he growled, squeezing just a little until I couldn’t find my voice, “I think this says otherwise. Do you always get a boner like this when there’s something you don’t want to do?”

“No,” I muttered, not willing to admit my excitement even when it was so obvious. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no queer. Master lying behind me, pumping my cock while His own giant erection pressed against me, that didn’t do anything for me. Nothing at all. But knowing this was what Master wanted, not what I wanted, and that I had no choice at all in what happened; well, that got my cock stiff as a tree, it felt like it should be bigger than I ever had before.

“No!” I squeaked as he pulled away for a moment, and I felt his tip against my ass, “No, I’m straight! I need pussy!”

“Fair enough,” I could hear the amusement in His voice, I knew He must be grinning like a chester cat, and I knew I was going to dread whatever He said next. But at the same time, I could feel my excitement growing, pulse thumping in my cock as I waited with delicious anticipation to find out what twisted game He would make me play.

One heartbeat, two, three. His hand was still on my manhood, not moving now, and I found I was almost eager for Him to continue, even as I was disgusted at the thought. After what felt like forever, He finally relented and His hand continued its teasing as He explained, “You want a girlfriend, you can have one. You can come on to that girl you mentioned, Clara, see if you can make her yours. But only her, if she gets sick of you, I’ll turn you gay for life.” My eyes went wide as I felt him thrust into me, a mix of pleasure and pain more intense than I’d ever felt before. And at the same time, a mix of revulsion and curiosity as I imagined being forced to be gay. I had no doubt He could do it, even if it didn’t sound possible. Master could do anything.

I nodded, breathing heavily now, my words of agreement coming out as no more than a grunt. He thrust into me again and again, and I found my resistance fading away with every stroke, just like the girls in His stories. I was His little bitch, and whatever games my Master wanted to play with my mind, it suited me fine. I’d do anything, just to feel used and excited like this again. I didn’t want to admit it even to myself, but His massive cock in my ass and His strong black fingers gripping my shaft had brought me right to the edge, where I couldn’t even think about anything other than how good it felt, how good He felt inside me, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, at last, I’m -

“But you still can’t orgasm,” His voice snapped like a steel trap, caging my libido. I was still so hard, so close, but I knew straight away that I’d stay on the edge as long as He wanted me to. I felt His breath hot on my neck, and an arm like a tree truck squeezed the breath out of me as I felt Master’s cock explode, filling my ass with hot, sticky jizz.

I turned my head, hoping at this moment I could see His face, but there was nobody in bed beside me. He had just been a dream, another phantom of what He wanted me to see. I shuddered, still feeling sore even when I knew. My erection was real, though, and the tip so sensitive that even moving against the rough cotton sheets made me feel like I was about to shoot my load. But I knew I couldn’t finish without His permission, and trying would only keep me awake all night. So I lay on my back and tried to ignore my member, until I finally drifted off to sleep.

Work was hell the next couple of days. One day serving customers at the counter, the next cleaning out the machines, and just when I thought I was going to get out in the sunlight (or at least somewhere without the buzzing flickery fluorescent that should have been replaced a month ago), the old man wants me to phone round suppliers and argue about prices. Shouldn’t haggling be the boss’s job? Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, work was a nightmare, same as always. Once or twice, I found myself with a sudden boner in the break room, and I know all I can do is wait it out. But other than that, yeah, life goes on. No more unexpected appearances from Master Metamorpheus, or Mistress, or whoever He is.

On Friday, I was excited for a different reason. The new Martin Chriek film was out, and I’d been looking forward to it for weeks. I’d taken the afternoon off so I could go to an early showing; didn’t want anyone to see me at the cinema on my own like some kind of hipster nerd, and most of my friends just didn’t get my taste in movies. But today, I thought, maybe it’d be a bit different. Before I left the shop, I nipped into the office and copied a phone number onto my palm. Maybe I should have asked, but it just didn’t seem right. Guess in a way, I was lucky to have her complaints form on hand.

“Hey, Clara!” she answered after the first ring.

“Hi,” her voice brightened up my day instantly, “You calling to offer me a refund?”

“Afraid not, the company doesn’t give money back that quickly for anyone. Anyway, its my afternoon off today.”

“What a coincidence, me too. You’re not stalking me, are you?” My voice caught in my throat for a second, then I picked up on the laughter behind her words and realised it was a joke. What was wrong with me lately? I’d never cared this much about what a chick thought of me even when I had a chance of getting in her pants. “So,” she continued, politely not noticing my nervousness, “You got any plans?”

“Umm, well, I was going to catch a movie, and, well ...” I found myself muttering. Maybe I should have practised what I was going to say, but that thought just conjured up an image of some pencil-neck loser in front of the mirror.

“You saw ‘DX’ on my bookcase the other day, and thought I might appreciate an invitation to see the new Chriek?” she saved me from my indecision. I should have been worried, I wasn’t leading the conversation, I wasn’t keeping the focus on my good points, framing her interest or any of the things I should have been doing to stay in control. But I didn’t care, I was just happy to hear the obvious interest in her voice.

“Yeah. I’m kind of a fan. So, see you at the Vue at 6?” was I staring to sound desperate? I didn’t know, but ...

“Sure, it’s a date!” and the phone clicked off, leaving me to wonder just how seriously she meant that.

The film was great. A little different from what I expected, but then, two films are never the same. This one had the same sardonic wit I love, but with a happy ending that completely surprised me. I got to admit, I didn’t catch all the twists in the plot, but then I had a pretty good reason for not giving it my full attention.

As it was coming up to the climactic scene in the nunnery, I felt Clara squeezing my hand tightly. I guess she was totally engrossed by the story, on edge wondering what was going to happen next. Well, so was I. It was great to know someone who enjoyed this type of movie so well. And it was great to have a beautiful woman sitting next to me as well. I turned to look at her for a second, and before I realised I’d missed a whole exchange of ultimatums between Adolf and Patrick. Then when the time came for Adolf to reveal his big dark secret, she leaned into my shoulder, half hiding behind my arm as if she could escape the on-screen fireworks. I found myself smiling then, the movie’s sadness almost overshadowed by the feeling of being so close to her at last.

I’ll probably have to go and watch it again to experience it fully. I wonder if she’ll be so close next time. But that’s a thought for some other time.

After the movie, she joined me in my car. We could probably have talked about the twists and turns all the way home, discussing which characters had secrets that weren’t fully revealed, or who we thought had been the mysterious letter writer. But as it happened, one comment sent our conversation off on a tangent, one subject led to another, and by the time we pulled up in front of my house she was relating a slightly surreal anecdote about an old neighbour who’d had her prize-winning melons stolen.

It was all light hearted, it felt so natural to just keep talking about whatever crossed our minds. It was great, for once, not to have to think what was the right thing to say. But as I fumbled with my key in the lock, the mechanism catching a little, I started to wonder just how I was going to tell this charming, funny, cute girl that I wasn’t going to fuck her. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, by then I really did, but I knew I’d gotten myself into a kind of submission that I couldn’t see a way out of.

My worries about that were pushed to one side, however, when I showed her into the lounge and noticed I’d left my computer turned on. Even from here, I could see the icon flashing to say “you got mail!", and suddenly reading that was my top priority. But I couldn’t just ignore Clara when she’s come all the way back to my place. Should I offer her a coffee and then make an excuse? Or maybe I’d have to tell her the truth, if I could find some way to put it that didn’t sound creepy-insane. I guess I’d have to tell her sooner or later if we’re going to be together, but right now?

“I’m not ready for this,” I didn’t realise I’d said it out loud until she put a hand on my shoulder and treated me to a wide, understanding smile.

“Don’t worry,” she almost whispered, leaning in close to my chest, “you’re a really nice guy, and I had a great night. We can have a drink, or watch a DVD, or just chat a while. Its up to you, and if something’s bothering you, you can tell me when you’re ready. There’s no rush, I’ll understand.”

I nodded, “Thankyou,” and sat beside her on the couch. I didn’t think she could really understand what I was feeling now, nobody could. But maybe just for tonight, I could resist the urge to go check my email. And in the morning, I could let Metamorpheus know I’d found something more important to me than being a helpless slave. Just say it’s over, and I’d be my own man again.

How could that possibly go wrong?