The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Special thanks to Hypnofur, Jukebox, Mr. Scade, SaraH, Raven’s Den, and others for inspiration from their stories. Feel free to contact me at for feedback. Hope you enjoy it!

A Stash of Fur Coats – Part 1

Monica loved her job. She was an estate sale specialist. Upon admission to a property, she performed initial inventory of items that the recently departed had left behind.

The other ladies at the office called Monica an old soul. Though the twenty-seven year old brunette was considered more attractive than average, she was single, and kept very much to herself. She spent more time with her cats and books than she did with other people. The sun was rising in the early autumn sky, and it wouldn’t be long before winter would tread lightly behind it. Despite the cold, it was a deceptively beautiful day. She liked to start late in the morning, around 10:00, so she wouldn’t have to deal with traffic, the coffee rush, the living.

She started in the living room and kitchen, the den and garage. These were the easy parts. After rummaging through drawers and cupboards, typing each new item into her iPad, organized by location and potential worth, she made her way toward the dreaded upstairs. Dreaded, because it would be the bulk of her work, the place she would spend the rest of her day.

As is generally the case, many people keep their junk and the overall bulk of their possessions closer to their bedrooms. Perhaps, she mused, it was a way for people to keep their most precious belongings close to them during the insecure hours of night.

She pawed the bed sheets, to see if they were of quality and comfort, to see if their class would overwhelm the buyer’s superstitious instinct. Somebody died in these. No, thank you. Even though that wasn’t true, that instead Mrs. Sutter had died wrapped in sterilized hospital sheets, the buyers tended to let their unjustified fears overwhelm common sense.

The closet was nothing remarkable, a few windbreakers, blouses, and out-of-style dresses. She put an arm through a sleeve experimentally. Nothing doing, Mrs. Sutter was tiny in her old age. These would be difficult to get rid of. She entered the data into her iPad. A full-sized mirror mounted to the wall of the closet door. She tugged slightly to see if it could be removed. Yes, just a single nail, holding it up. She left it.

An old trunk sat hidden at the bottom of the closet and clashed with the aesthetic of the 80s suburban home. A relic, Monica thought. She dragged it across the shag carpet by a rusty metal door-knocker shaped handle on one of its sides. It was heavy. She needed both hands. She winced at the effort before it finally gave, slowly coming toward her.

There was a padlock, an old one that required a key, faded iron. Monica sighed. She hated these. They were a rare hassle in the trade. No key nearby, she examined the trunk itself; it was guarded tight. Sometimes keys were taped to the underside. She attempted to lift it, pulling upward at the handle on her side, but it wouldn’t give. Maybe an inch or two off the ground, but it wasn’t enough for her to shift her position and look.

Monica sighed again and recorded it on her iPad. She went down the stairs to her car, wondering if she still had her crowbar in the trunk. Plus, her lunch was waiting in a cooler in the front seat.

As she sat and ate in her driver’s seat, she pondered the trunk. What could be so valuable—and so old—that it would be locked up so tight? Monica only attended a couple classes in basic appraisal, but the case looked like it was early 20th century, at latest. Maybe Mrs. Sutter inherited it? That was a thought. She contented herself with the theory. Perhaps it was buried pirate treasure. She almost chortled into her tuna sandwich at the thought. It was important to have a sense of humor, especially in a job as humorless as this one.

A tap at her window startled her; she gasped and almost dropped her sandwich. A woman, mid-thirties, long red hair in a ponytail smiled at her, waving. She was in a black North Face jacket and running pants, a light sheen of sweat told Monica the woman was probably a jogger in the neighborhood.

Monica rolled down the window.

“Hi! Are you related to Eileen?”

“Eileen?” Monica blanked. “Oh! Mrs. Sutter! No, sorry. I’m with Baytermann Estate Services.”

“Oh,” the woman seemed disappointed. “We hardly saw Eileen these past few months, and I got kind of excited. I was hoping she had some family who would come out for her funeral.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It was a tragedy. We were unable to contact anyone related to her, so now we’re preparing her goods for sale, as per her will.”

The woman chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Monica asked, hoping she didn’t have any tuna on her face.

“Nothing, it’s just. Well—don’t take this wrong way, but you sound like a lawyer, or a computer. All technical, you know?”

Monica’s face burned red.

“I’ve been doing this for so long now; it just becomes the way I speak. I’m sorry, my name’s Monica.”

“Jan,” said the woman, extending her hand. Monica accepted it. “I live next-door,” she gestured over her shoulder.

“Ah, I see.”

Monica didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t have too much experience making small talk with strangers; she only handled inventory. Objects. She didn’t have to talk to unused kitchen knife sets, dilapidated basement furniture, dusty bookshelves, worn leather office chairs, ancient typewriters, or any of the cleaning fluids and supplies she used to make these things presentable to the buying public.

Jan said, “Look, if there’s anything you need at all. I’m right next-door. Okay?”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Monica attempted a smile.

As Jan retreated across Mrs. Sutter’s front lawn, Monica raised her eyebrows in a moment of inspiration. She called after the woman.

“Hey, Jan! How much can you lift?”

Monica returned to the bedroom, this time, with a crowbar in her hand, and Jan following closely behind her.

“Wow,” said Jan. “I haven’t been here in years.”

“Really? I met Mrs. Sutt—er, Eileen, once, and she seemed agreeable.”

“Shocker,” Jan smirked. “She was the stereotypical mean old recluse when I met her. Stay off the lawn. Turn down the music. And so on.”

“Is that why you made a point to walk on her grass earlier?”

“Yeah,” Jan smiled sheepishly.

Monica realized she would probably side with Mrs. Sutter more likely than Jan. After all, privacy and respect were hard to come by these days.

“Okay, here it is. See what I mean?”

“Wow,” Jan said. “You weren’t kidding. That thing’s old as balls!”

“Yes,” Monica winced. She was not a fan of casual profanity like this. “If you lift it, I can see if there’s a key taped to the underside.”

Monica crouched low to the ground, the side of her face flush against the carpet. Jan grabbed the trunk by one of its handles and with an audible grunt hoisted it a shaky four or five inches off the ground.

“What does she have in here, a brick collection?” Jan asked.

“I don’t know. Can you lift it a little higher? I still can’t see.”

“I’ll try,” she grunted. Another half-inch, almost an inch up. “How’s that?” she rasped.

“I don’t see anything. No, there’s no key. Can you set it down gent—”

Jan dropped the case with a boom.

“That works,” Monica whispered. “Would you like to try the crowbar?”

Jan took the outstretched tool from Monica.

“With pleasure. I ain’t met a nut I couldn’t crack.”

“Remember, you need to break the lock, not the trunk.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

Monica glared at her.

“Alright.”

She interlocked the straight end of the bar through the padlock hook and levered it toward the trunk. It did not budge. She tried again, her face red and bulging with veins.

Jan grunted again. “I’ve got no give. Can I do it my way now?”

“I guess. Normally, I’d get a locksmith or something, but I’ve already spent enough time on this, as it is.”

Jan smiled and grabbed the other end of the crowbar. She swung the hook end of the crowbar at the padlock, like a baseball bat. Wham! Wham! Thwack! The lock broke.

“Nice work,” Monica said, visibly impressed.

“Thank you,” Jan said, doing a mock bow and setting the crowbar on Mrs. Sutter’s bed. “May I have a look at all this pirate booty before I leave?”

“You earned it,” Monica admitted, gesturing to the trunk.

Jan undid the clasp and pulled back the lid. Inside was a large canvas tarp with a length of twine wrapped around it, like a ribbon.

“The suspense continues,” she murmured.

Jan pulled a pocketknife from her pocket, cutting the twine in one deft movement before Monica could offer. Jan pulled back the canvas and both women gasped.

“Fur coats!” Jan exclaimed pulling them out one by one, rapidly setting them on the bed before Monica could react or protest.

Black mink, brown mink, crystal fox, silver fox, sable, lynx, raccoon, all of various lengths, makes, and sizes. All stuffed into a single trunk.

“No wonder it was so heavy,” Monica observed.

Jan rubbed a black mink against her cheek. “I had no idea Eileen was so rich. She always lived modestly. I mean, this house, that car, the clothes she wore. This is incredible!”

Monica reached for her iPad.

“So much to inventory. I probably need to get a furrier here to appraise and clean these.”

Jan caressed a crystal fox. “This is incredibly rare for me. I’ve never even seen a fur coat in person. Have you?”

“A few times,” Monica said. “They show up in estate sales quite frequently.”

“Can I try one on? Please? I’ll put it back and you can inventory them all you like.”

Monica didn’t want Jan to interrupt her work, or to ruin a perfectly good luxury item. However, she had the feeling that Jan would only continue to beg and plead until Monica finally relented.

“Alright, fine. Just this once. But please, hurry. Then, I must ask you to leave. I’m going to lock up the place, and I’ll probably have to come back tomorrow with the furrier.”

“Thank you,” Jan gushed. She stood over the bed full of fur coats, pantomiming a game of eeny meeny miney moe. “Which one should I try?”

“How about the one you just had?” Monica suggested impatiently.

“This one?” Jan held up a crystal fox stroller with a large collar and spiral sleeves. Monica nodded. Jan slid each arm through the sleeves of the massive fur and sighed. It was magnificent. She could feel the soft hairs rubbing against her cheeks, her ears, the back of her neck. She could feel it envelop and swallow her, a silky sensation. She petted her fur-covered arms, stroking up and down, wanting to feel her shoulders too. This wrapped the fur tighter around her head and neck. She could smell the musky animal scent, pungent and heady, but pleasant in her nostrils. She was lost in the moment.

Monica watched Jan, this confident and assertive woman, rendered docile in Mrs. Sutter’s fur coat. It was a night and day transformation. Monica had originally planned for it to be an on-then-off moment, but the look of contentment on Jan’s face made Monica feel a little sympathy for the woman, who after all, did help her open this trunk and unearth its treasures.

Jan, on the other hand, felt like she would never stop caressing this fur coat. Her hands explored the collar that felt so large around her head, she felt the spiral lines of pelt on each arm, and cooed running her hands down her sides. It feels so good; I want this to last forever. Jan did not realize that the coat had just whispered inside her mind, making its voice seem like her own thoughts. The coat had a plan, one which—with some nudging—Jan would help it fulfill.

Unable to separate the voice from her own thoughts, she simply agreed with it. Yes, she thought, forever. Maybe she could keep the coat. She could ask Eileen. What if Eileen said no? She still had to have it. Yessss, she thought. Must have this coat.

What would her husband say? He would know she hadn’t bought it herself, with her wages. He would ask too many questions. He must never know. She would keep it in a closet and wear it by herself at night. Yes, and do what with it? She didn’t know. It hadn’t occurred to her. She didn’t want to be seen wearing it in public, for fear of protestors who would throw paint and jeer at her, call her names. Not her precious coat.

She nearly twinged at the thought. Her coat.

“Alright,” said Monica. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Jan awoke from her reverie. “Monica? I was wondering, since I helped you open the trunk and everything, maybe, you could just keep this one out of your inventory, and I could have it, y’know as a reward for helping out today? Would that be alright?” She winced at how weak that sounded, unaware that she was still petting herself in the fur.

“I’d like to,” Monica started. “But estate laws are pretty strict about the finding and selling of the deceased’s goods. I’m sorry, Jan. Can you please leave the coat here?”

Jan’s eyes fell. She hadn’t expected Monica to say no. It was so nice, and it would be an awful waste to have it go to someone else. After all, it was her coat. The thought burned warm in her chest again. She would do anything to have it, she realized. She didn’t know why, it was just so perfect. Still, she would take it off for now, only for a moment.

“Okay,” she said sullen. Jan reluctantly slipped out of the crystal fox with Monica’s help. Monica held it in her hands, absently caressing it with her right hand. Wow, it really was wonderful.

“I should just lock up and call it a day. Let’s go, Jan.”

Jan followed Monica out of the house, thinking venomous thoughts, oblivious to the sudden change in her mood. It seemed natural that she wanted to hurt her betrayer. If Jan had her way, she would just push Monica down the stairs, grab the coat, and run home. No, that wouldn’t work. Monica would report her, plus she knew where she lived. Now why did she have to go and tell her that earlier? Stupid!

They stepped outside, as Monica locked the door.

She held out her hand to Jan, and said, “Thank you for all your help. Really, I couldn’t have done it without you. When we have our estate sale, you’ll be the first to know, and you can get the coat at a fair price. Okay?”

Jan nodded, cotton in her mouth. She croaked out a weak “thanks” and trudged home across Mrs. Sutter’s lawn, the satisfaction of cutting across the grass now a distant memory. Monica watched Jan walk away, wondering if she would be okay.

It was 12:03am and Jan was lying awake in bed. Her husband, Dave, had come home at his usual 5:30 and asked why dinner wasn’t ready. She was too out of it, too down to even think of dinner, let alone doing the dishes, finishing her workout, changing her clothes. She suggested that he order take-out, and she would go to bed early. She wasn’t feeling well.

Why wouldn’t Monica let her have the fur coat? It was gorgeous, it was perfect. And she deserved it for helping Monica out. After all, there was no way she could’ve opened that chest by her weak, lonesome self. No way.

She tossed and turned. Dave climbed into bed around 10:00, rubbing against her, but she wasn’t in the mood and pulled away. Dave rolled away from her and went to sleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

This was ridiculous. It was only a fur coat. Why was she thinking so much about it? Was it just the principle of being turned down by her new friend? Maybe that was it. But when she thought back to how wonderful it felt to wear the crystal fox, how perfect it felt against her face, her hands, she knew she loved the coat itself, and being denied it was the cause for her foul mood.

True, she could buy it at the estate auction, but that would risk someone else getting their hands on it first, or it being priced out of her buying range. More likely the latter. Her and Dave’s budget was tight enough as it was. Thank God they didn’t have any kids. That would be another can of worms altogether.

Still, it was just next door. With all the other furs. Sitting in that lonely house, waiting for her. If one coat felt that good, that sublime, imagine how fantastic any, or all, of the others might feel.

Her eyes started open when she remembered. The first week she moved into the neighborhood. Eileen Sutter introduced herself to Jan and Dave, bringing over a casserole, a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift before things soured between the two women. Eileen told Jan in a hushed voice that if something should go wrong, if there was ever an emergency of any kind, there was a spare key to her house taped beneath a potted plant, by the back door.

Jan didn’t hesitate or put on a jacket or shoes. She simply bolted outside before giving herself a chance to think it through. She instantly regretted it. It was a bitter cold forty degrees out tonight. She had to move fast.

Sure enough, the key was still there, and the back door didn’t have the added locks the estate group put on the front door. Perhaps Monica had made a rare oversight in her hurry to leave earlier, Jan wondered.

The door clicked open. Jan shivered, her heart pounding in her neck—half from the cold, the other half from sheer excitement. This was actually happening. Her dream was about to come true in a matter of brief moments. She stepped inside and closed the door tightly, quietly behind herself, and locked it.

She skipped up the stairs, two at a time, and turned on the bedroom light.

“Oh my God,” she said aloud.

They were still there. All of the furs in their opulent glory, just as she and Monica had left them earlier that afternoon. She shrugged off her bathrobe, still in her nightie, and slipped back into the crystal fox coat, rubbing it all over bare skin, using the sleeves.

“Yessss,” she purred.

It was even better than she remembered. She rubbed it all over face and her chest, craning her head back to bury her head and neck more into that delicious collar. She shrugged, feeling it tickle her ears, the perfect weight of it surrounding her, that husky animal scent. She held a sleeve up and buried her face in it, getting a full dose of the fur coat’s smell. Jan had less restraint than before, now that Monica was gone.

She opened her eyes, seeing the various minks, foxes, and lynxes on the bed, as if for the first time. With a sudden inspiration, she spread them all over the bed, covering the bed from head to foot in fur before setting herself down on it.

Words had completely failed her. She had died and gone to heaven.

I need to take off my nightie to fully enjoy this. Jan wondered at the stray thought, but realized it made complete sense. In her entire life, she would never again get a chance to feel fur on her naked body, to be completely surrounded by it. To surrender to it. Yes.

Comforted by the thought that she could put it right back on, she took off the fur coat quickly before slipping out of her nightie, and put it back on. The touch of the million bristles, the guard hairs against her breasts was like electric pleasure, like liquid fire. She lay back down on the bed, her bare legs and thighs driven to ecstasy, her fur covered sleeves exploring her bare breasts, stomach, and hips, and her head grinding from side to side into the mink and lynx at her head, the collar surrounding her.

I don’t regret this. No, she thought. I really don’t. I want always to be naked in fur. Well, she thought, if it were possible, she would, but there was always somewhere to go, things to do, errands to run. Such a shame to do things that I hate to do. Yes, such a shame, she thought. But they must be done. Why? Well, she wouldn’t mind if the dishes stacked up and the bills went unpaid, maybe for a month, but Dave. Yes, Dave. Such a shame to be a slave to him. A slave? Is that all she’d ever been for him? Yes, she did things for him, but only because she loved him. Loved or felt obligated to? She paused at the weight of the revelation.

She was so overwhelmed by the sensations and thoughts she was having, that she didn’t notice she had rolled over onto her stomach, lightly grinding her hips into the bed of furs. That felt divine. She mewled into the pelts, carried away with the feelings it was eliciting in her.

Yesss, I haven’t been happy in years. The last time I was happy was before I met Dave and I’m finally admitting it to myself. Of course! Dave never made her happy; he always wanted sex and never brought her pleasure during sex. Not like these furs were. Oh god. She ground more against the furs, touching herself, running her hands over them. The scent of the coats was driving her mad, and she faintly detected another scent joining it—one vaguely familiar, but she gave it no more thought. At least I’m finally doing something for myself. Finally making my own decisions. Finally wearing fur like I’ve always wanted to. Wait, what? She’d never even thought of fur before today. Where had that thought come from?

A flurry of memories flooded her mind. Repressed memories, the voice in her mind whispered. A women’s fashion magazine at the doctor’s office, a beautiful woman in a magnificent raccoon coat. The first time on the internet that she typed “fur coat girls” into an erotic website’s image search bar. Two women in mink coats, making out, caressing each other’s naked bodies. So sexy. But she’d never had thoughts like this before. What was going on? It was almost as if the thoughts were coming from somewhere else. Someone else.

No. Nothing is wrong. I am just realizing what I’ve always known. I have a fur fetish. I want to have sex with women in fur coats. Now that was hot, she admitted. She rubbed the fox fur against her exposed belly, more fervently. She didn’t know she’d been wet until this moment. And if she was wet, then these revelations she was having must be true. Yes, she wanted to cum, to cum while she wore the fur coat.

Seized with more inspiration, she pulled her hand back into the sleeve of the coat and caressed her clit with the sleeve of her fur coat. Her fur coat. At that thought, she moaned audibly, glad that the house was empty. But is it really my fur coat? If I cum in this fur coat, if I cum because of this fur coat, in a way, it owns me. In a weird way, it made sense, but as the soft fur caressed her throbbing clitoris, her resistance to these thoughts melted away. Yes, she thought. It belongs to me, but I belong to it. Wearing this sexy fur coat has taught me what I have always known about myself. I am a fur slut. She moaned loudly; that was so sexy. Yes, a fur slut. She was a slut in fur coats because she had a fur fetish.

Jan stood up and walked to the full-length mirror, still rubbing her cunt with the crystal fox. I want to look at myself in the mirror as I fuck myself with my crystal fox coat. Nothing is sexier than watching a woman in a fur coat cum, except making her cum. Jan was out of her mind with desire by then, so close to orgasm, but not cumming for some unknown reason. She looked so unfamiliar to herself, her eyes hooded with lust, lips pouty, her clit swollen, a sexy fur draped across her. She kept caressing herself, wanting to make this hot fur slut cum because she was a lesbian with a fur fetish. “Ohhhh god,” she moaned. It all made so much sense.

She closed her eyes, for a brief moment before opening them again. She almost fell backward in shock. There was a sultry, well-shaped blonde in a garter belt and hose, also wearing Jan’s crystal fox fur. Jan was perplexed, but the woman was so attractive, so fucking sexy, and Jan was an aroused lesbian with a fur fetish. I’ll worry about it later. Right now she’s turning me on. I want to fuck her, to fuck alongside her. The woman mirrored Jan’s movements for a moment, before dipping her index finger into her wet cunt and pulling it out slowly to lick it.

That’s so fucking hot. Like a real fur slut. I must try that. This was the first time Jan wondered if the voice in her head was not her own. But she was too far gone to care. She stopped rubbing her clit with the bottom of her crystal fox and stuck her finger inside her very wet cunt. Jan moaned with pleasure, smiling slightly. It was even better than she thought it would be. The sexy woman in the mirror caressed her fur coat and nodded to Jan, smiling and encouraging her tacitly to finish the act. Jan pulled her finger out slowly, grudgingly because it felt so good, and she licked her womanhood, savoring the taste. Jan had never done anything like this, but ohhh it felt so good.

That was so good. I should continue to pleasure myself; I want to cum so bad. Jan resumed rubbing her breasts and clitoris with the fur coat, watching the woman, her inspiration. It was divine. The woman’s eyes glowed an emerald shade of green, light and luminescent, and she continued to stroke and fondle herself as Jan watched and imitated. Jan couldn’t help but be captured by the blonde vision’s green eyes as she continued to feel the soft fur touching her all over. I’m so glad I found my fur coat and all the wonderful truths it has shown me about myself. Jan grunted her agreement at the thought. It seemed to come more from this woman in the mirror than herself, but Jan continued to frig herself to orgasm.

If Jan had been paying attention, she would have sworn she felt another pair of fur-covered arms stimulating and caressing her naked body, as she stood in front of the mirror, staring captured by the green light of this woman’s eyes. She would’ve sworn she heard a voice whispering in the back of her mind, a forbidden voice, tempting her.

Look deep into my eyes as you continue to touch yourself, my fur slut. You should be grateful, my aroused fur slut, glad that I have found you and decided to fulfill your truest desires. Would you like to live your new life with me, my little fur lesbian?

Jan only managed a vigorous nod as she moaned, so happy, so fulfilled. This gorgeous woman was promising Jan her heart’s very desire. How often does that happen? Nothing ever felt this good, not even drugs. This woman was doing something to her head, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was for it to never stop. When you cum, you will give yourself to me. Your mind, your life, your soul, your body. Will you be my fur slave? “Yes,” she whispered. “I will-Yes-I just- Please- huh huh—.” Then say, I belong to You, Mistress Sonja. Forever.”

Stopping never even entered Jan’s mind. Taking off the coat that had so obviously ensnared her, and walking back to her home was not an option. She was on the verge of orgasm, one which she’d been building toward for hours, and all she could manage to do was look into this mirror woman’s beautiful eyes and say, “I belong to You, Mistress Sonja. Forev—ohh!!”

She fell to her knees, the impact so powerful, as she came. Her eyes rolled back from the sheer force, her body trembling in torrents of pleasure. As her body succumbed to the blinding brilliance, the innermost part of Jan, her soul, shouted and rejoiced as it faded into oblivion to make room for her Mistress, the Goddess of her life, the One who mercifully consumed Her furslave’s soul because She deserved it. Because She was worthy, and only Her.

Mistress Sonja blinked, seeing out of Jan’s eyes, seeing the world for the first time in decades. An evil smile crossed Jan’s lips as she looked at her new reflection, the stolen body of this poor slave. Mistress Sonja caressed her crystal fox, pleased that after so long, a weak willed woman had found her fur coat.

She looked at the twenty Sisters on the bed, knowing that soon they, too, would find suitable homes for their souls.

“There is much work to be done,” said Mistress Sonja in a sultry, syrupy voice. Though it was Jan’s, it sounded nothing like her. It was powerful, confident, a veritable wolf in sheep’s clothing. And that sheep was wearing the wolf’s clothing.

End of Part 1.