The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I had dreams that night—hot sexual dreams. I cannot remember them, nor did I really understand them at the time. There was a lot of math involved. I can’t explain it, other than to say that the sex part seemed good and the math part wasn’t bad either.

I awakened feeling surprisingly good, refreshed. It wasn’t long before I started wondering what changes I would see in the mirror. I got my first inking when I felt a cold protrusion rubbing my inner thighs. I threw the sheet off.

Once again, I was naked. I had to remember not to wear anything to bed anymore or I would soon run out of clothes. I looked at the source of the sensation.

My pussy was covered by a metal plate. It extended to the top of my pubes, and curved down to my anus. I was completely covered. I was that the rings in my labia were pulled to protrude slightly through five metal slots in the plate’s surface, two rings per slot, presumably one from each side. Through the rings I saw a metal stick. The stick, about a half inch thick, had a disk at each end that was about an inch in diameter. And in the center of the top disk was a keyhole.

I was locked up. Tight. No key.

This was the same metal, no doubt, that had broken the locksmith’s implement. I jiggled at it, but there was no way to get it off without tearing my labia. Not an option, obviously.

The phone rang and I grabbed it. It was that voice, the hypnotic androgynous one that had called me two nights before.

“Access is temporarily restricted,” said the voice with what sounded like amusement.

“This isn’t funny anymore,” I said. “I don’t know what this game is all about, but it’s going to stop.”

“Oh yes,” replied my new friend, “it will stop. The question is when and how.”

I was silent for a second. “The wedding is off,” I finally set, fishing for a shock.

I’m pretty sure I at least surprised him / her, because he / she was quiet for a good ten seconds. So was I. I was relishing the fact that I had had a card to play, however inconsequential it might end up being.

“So you’ve done some homework. Very good. We knew you were smart, but even we underestimated you. Well, let me assure you that the wedding is on.”

“At this point, can you at least tell me more about the impending ceremony?” I tried to speak with restraint, but my fury was growing. I was not under my own control, perhaps, but I would be damned if I would give them what they wanted without a fight.

The caller did not respond with words. Instead she began to hum. It was a tune I was sure I had heard, it seemed so familiar, but I could not place it. And the minute I heard it, my pussy was on fire. I let out an involuntary gasp. I felt like I was being stroked, or fucked, or... something. I started to get wet and I began to thrash around.

“What... are you... doing?” I managed to whine. I couldn’t help myself, I tried to jam my fingers under the plate. I needed to come. This feeling was so intense, I thought I would explode. But the plate was on tight, and it was so thick and wide that I couldn’t get anywhere near my throbbing clit. The humming abated, but the feeling did not.

“The ceremony will proceed as planned,” he finally said, “but you will not be wearing white!”

And he hung up.

I lie there, halfway to orgasm, with no way to achieve it. And it didn’t abate, nor did it proceed.

I pushed at the plate, I fumbled at the locked rod, I rubbed my thighs. It got me nowhere. It was amazing to me that this feeling could be maintained with such precision. Finally, I lay still, taking deep breaths. I would get control of my body. It was the only way, the only course of action that lay open to me. I tried to think of other things, clear my mind, think of nothing. I tried to lay as still as possible, and I waited.

Eventually, the feeling began to subside. I lay there and breathed deeply and slowly with my eyes closed. I had never meditated, but I started to do the things that I had heard about ... focusing on the sound of my breathing, clear my mind of all thoughts, laying so still that I could not feel my body. And it started to work. I felt a surge of satisfaction, of smug triumph. Whatever this hex was, I was beating it. In several minutes, the orgasm that had loomed so prominently was something like background noise ... still present, a feeling of arousal and a tingling in my barricaded sex, but little more. It was enough where I thought I could function.

Now maybe I could get to work on this new development.

I got up and started to get dressed... slowly at first, nervous that movement or activity might “jostle” something down there and put me back in the throes of unachievable ecstasy, but then faster as it did not come. I still wanted a good stiff fuck of some kind, but I could manage it. Finally I was dressed. I had to see Ami, although I knew she could not help. I figured I could wheedle some new clues out of her. I’m not sure why I was thinking of it, but I wondered if she would want to photograph me like this. I figured she wouldn’t; tattoos, piercings and chains are fairly generic, but this new device seemed to me to be a fairly specific to something that someone might not wish photographed and published. Then I remembered I was not a slutty bimbo who wanted to be photographed spread-eagled on the Internet, and I chastised myself for entertaining the thought. How could I want such a thing, to be photographed like that again for disgustingly slick magazines that would end up with pages stuck together? I also felt a note of disappointment that Ami and I would not be able to do anything that I would get satisfaction from, not with my clit locked away. But I’m not bisexual! I thought. I don’t want to mess around with her again! Do I? Focus, focus, I thought. Deal with the lock, I told myself, before I have to pee or something. Now that was a frightening thought.

Dressed, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. Before I even hit the stairs, I felt the heat welling up again. By the time I was at the front door of the lobby, the impending orgasm was back in full force. I almost doubled over from the intensity. I was dripping wet, ruining my panties (I thought—I would later find out that no juices made it out from the plate) and stumbling to sit and try to calm myself again. But this time, it didn’t work. It only seemed to get worse. Luckily, no one was around (but I’m sure I put on a nice show for the surveillance camera), and finally I got up and somehow made it up the stairs.

Once back in the apartment, I flung myself in a chair and began my calming exercises. It worked again, this time more quickly. Apparently, one of the rules was that I could not leave.

Unfortunately, now I really did have to pee.

I resigned myself to the mess and went into the bathroom to hover over the toilet for the inevitable spray that would surely come from all sides of the plate, and I let go. To my surprise, nothing came out. It was as though the plate itself were absorbing my fluids. Well, that would explain how I could get so aroused and not make a mess.

When I was done, the phone rang again. I already knew who it was.

“Okay,” I said, without even saying hello, “you have established your control over me. Now what?”

“That,” replied the voice, “is entirely up to you.”

I had spent some time working things out, and I had some idea of how I stood. “I infer from your comment that something voluntary is required of me. You can control my body, but not my mind, am I right?”

“You are very smart,” replied the voice. “That is why you were chosen. Very good. We do control your body.”

As if further proof were required, I began to levitate off of the chair. I was floating several feet in the air, and I could not move from the position I was in. I figured this was to shock me, to show me something new, but I wouldn’t let it rattle me. I refused to crumble. I maintained my calm.

“Now, this is some kind of marriage, I am thinking,” I continued. “And ultimately, what voluntary action is REQUIRED of a marriage that it be valid? Two words. Right? Am I warm?”

“You most certainly are,” agreed the voice with what sounded like a touch of admiration.

“’I do.’ As far as that does, there will be a moment when I must agree to the covenant.”

There was a pause, then my friend said “Bingo.”

“Well, here’s your problem. You are only providing negative incentives. You see what I mean?”

“What you mean is, at this point, what do we offer that will make those words worth your while?”

“Correct. That’s part of it. I also need to know something of what this marriage entails, of course.”

“That is something we cannot reveal, yet.”

“So if I say yes, will I be returned to something approximating a normal life?”

The caller snickered. “Wouldn’t it be better to question the alternative? Such as, how bad can things get if you say no?”

“I have no doubt that they can get pretty bad. But the thing you shouldn’t do is underestimate my resolve, my willingness to bear it.”

“But for how long, Danielle Dean? And to what depths will you succumb? My only x-factor right now is your breaking point.”

I gave another pause. “Let me ask you this: Is it time for me to choose yet? Has that phase begun?”

“Not quite,” said my caller, and then she hung up. I fell back into my chair with a thud. And I was instantly returned to the brink of orgasm, perhaps as a rebuke for insolence. I fought it again and won, though this time it took half an hour.

There was a knock on my door. I felt in my bones exactly how much badness I would find when I opened it.

I gingerly approached the door, asking “Who is it?”

“It’s Linda,” I heard, and felt a surge of relief ... and terror. I opened the door.

Linda was standing there, dressed as I had never seen her. I looked her up and down.

She was wearing five inch platforms covered in leather that seemed a size or two too small for her feet. Her legs were covered in fishnet stockings, leading up to a vinyl skirt that barely covered anything and actually came down low enough for me to see pubes peeking out. She had on a black leather bra, when I looked closer, I could see there were holes cut in for the nipples, but her nipples and breasts underneath appeared to be painted black. She had fingerless vinyl gloves that extended all the way up to her shoulders, and a black vinyl choker. She was even more pierced than I, and just as tattooed, but differently ... more colorfully. As for her face, she was wearing heavy, trashy makeup, with about three silver rings for every one my face had.

“Linda...” I stammered. I had never seen her in anything like this. The tattoos and piercings revealed, however, that she had now been fully drawn into my web somehow.

She pushed me back inside with more force than I expected, and closed and locked the door behind her. Then she spoke, sounding quire scared and on the verge of tears.

“Dani... I have no control...”

“What happened?” I asked. “When did you...”

“I don’t know. I can’t control my body!”

“What do you mean?” I figured she was referring to inexplicable sexual responses, the kinds of thing to which I had been repeatedly subjected.

“I mean I am a puppet!” she said loudly, with a note of panic..

“Those people that did this to me,” I said, gesturing at my defaced body, “they did this to you, too?”

“No,” she replied, “I did this to me. I’ve spent the last two days in a tattoo parlor. These tattoos, these piercings... they did not appear while I slept. I did it to myself. But someone else was pulling the switches! You see?”

I felt sick. As horrid as my condition was, what was happening to my friend Linda was something much worse.

“Why did you come here?” I asked with trepidation.

She looked me in the eye. “I don’t know yet.”

How could she not know? And that was when the weight of it hit me, the understanding of her predicament—and mine. Her body, for the time being, was not hers to control ... and she would be the instrument of my humiliation.