The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Trailer Park Tango

“Ugghhh... Wha...?”

My lips struggled to push sound out as the world came swimming back to my notice. I didn’t feel like I’d been asleep or anything, but I must’ve been out of it somehow, cause the last thing I remembered was jumping the hedge for the shortcut home after football practice, and now I was... tied to a chair? With my pants around my ankles?! I was frozen with shock, a little sprinkle of fear and a great big dollop of rage all swirling around inside me, when I heard footsteps and a faint feminine giggle.

“OK, I know you’re there!” I yelled, my voice filling the spartan storeroom I seemed to be in, “Who the hell are you, and how did I get here?!”

For a moment, I considered that perhaps screaming at whoever had bound and stripped me might not be the best idea. My mouth was still open, however, when my captor stepped around from behind my seat and slowly strolled around to my front. She took her time, so I managed a good look at everything else before I even got a glimpse of her face.

My nose involuntarily crinkled in distaste at the sneakers she wore. There wasn’t a hint of socks even, toss in the heat outside, and my reaction wasn’t that far-fetched. Her legs were nice though… toned, tan, but with a hint of softness as each tapered calf moved and each silken thigh caught what little light there was. Letting my eyes drift upwards, I shuddered right there as I sat.

She was wearing denim-cut-offs. Good god, did she actually think anyone would be able to look her in the eye, let alone find her remotely attractive in those trashy things? I wasn’t sure whether the absence of a visible thong was a good or bad sign, although her rear seemed like it might’ve filled out a full pair of jeans nicely.

Thankfully, as she turned around, her taut midriff almost made up for the tramp stamp she wore of an almond-shaped, half-lidded eye right above those pathetic shorts. The glittery blue pen and matching notepad she carried were a little gaudy, and clashed with her pastel nails, but were kinda cute. I was considering writing off all her initial fashion goofs by this point, when my eyes finally registered what she was using to support her rather generous rack… a gingham blouse!

Or what had been one, anyway. It had been modified a bit, so there were no buttons on it, not that it likely would’ve closed fully anyway. In lieu of said buttons she’d tied securely under those bountiful boobs, with an eye towards exposing as much flesh as legally permissible. The last thing that struck me before her face became clearly viewable, was a really rather alluring mane of flame-red hair being shaken as she turned her head theatrically towards me.

“Mikey, ah’m crushed. Ya mean ya don’t recognize me? Don’t seem like too long since you said all sorts a’ stuff about me. Lemme guess, that wasn’t you callin’ me all them mean names an’ makin’ fun a’ me at the game last week, right?”

Oh, I recognized her. The voice, the hick accent, the lips glistening the same shade of pinks as her fingernails (and probably her toes), the hint of glittery eye shadow, the whole look of a total, unabashed, shamelessly clichéd, trailer trash slut...

“Daisy...” I breathed, my disgust still clear even at that volume.

“See, ya do know me!” she exclaimed, with a tone of feigned surprise and genuine amusement, “An’ ah’d hope so after what ya said. How’d it go? Ah’m a ‘dumbass trailer-park whore who keeps what little brains she has in her leaky cunt’ an’ ‘ that would soak her panties right through at the first sight of a hard dick or full wallet... if she owned a pair...’ That cover it?”

I smiled, despite myself. She may have misquoted one adjective—I was pretty sure I’d called her ‘moronic’ not ‘dumbass’—but that was almost dead on. And it was still as funny and true as it had been the week before. The list of guys Daisy had fucked was only surpassed by the number of D’s she’d gotten in the last 4 years. And that wasn’t even counting the ones printed on what few bras she seemed to own.

“Um... that sounds about right...” I answered. No point in denying it, and I doubted Daisy even knew how to spell ‘rhetorical’.

“Uh, ah heard ya when ya said it, so ya didn’t need ta answer, Mikey...”

OK, maybe she couldn’t spell it, but she knew what it meant... The ‘Mikey’ thing was starting to bug me, as my name was Michael. Mike, if I liked you enough. Only two people even called me Mike, and one of those was my dad.

“Alright, I figure I owe ya at least one chance, yeah? All ya gotta do is apologize for what ya said, an’ ah’ll untie ya and we’ll forget about this whole thing...”

I actually laughed out loud this time; only for a second, but it was still audible.

“Like hell! Soon as I get out of this you’re getting tossed in jail, you hillbilly bitch!

She shook her head, almost sadly, but the smile spreading over her face told me she wasn’t too upset. The confident mask I’d tried to maintain faltered briefly as what that might mean began to dawn on me.

“Aw... Ah though ya might say somethin’ like that. Ah mean, ah hoped ya’d be reasonable, but I figured ya might be stubborn. That’s why I asked Grandma if I could borrow her pen. See, this pen’s special; it... well, ya’ll see in a sec, don’t wanna spoil it...” she said, suppressing a giggle, even as her grin broadened, “Now, how did ah decide this was gonna go again?”

She uncapped the pen and opened the pad as she murmured to herself, finally beginning to jot something down on the paper. I watched her, with more than a little fascination, straining to see what she was scrawling, and hear which of her mumblings drifted out loudly enough to discern.

“Number one... Mikey... boyslut... everyone at school...”

I couldn’t make out any more, and the writing was barely legible to start with. Craning my neck to see didn’t help. But I frowned as I tried to piece together her words and what she meant about the pen. Sounded like she had a list of things she was going to write, but what did ‘boyslut’ mean? Or who? It certainly wasn’t me, as I’d been with only 3 girls... right?

I shook my head to try to clear away the little tickle at the back of my head that was beginning to distract me. It was halfway between an itch and a scratch. It felt almost like the sound the pen was making as it scrawled across Daisy’s page. If I closed my eyes, it might even be that pen scribbling away in my head.

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But boyslut? No, it wasn’t me—it couldn’t be. So what if I’d slept with a dozen girls last year, that wasn’t much more than the other guys on the team. And it was hardly common knowledge, outside of, hopefully, vague rumors. The groinward flutter that sent pleasant shivers up my spine stopped me before I finished my thought, as I squeezed one eye tight shut to try and get rid of that damn scritch at the edge of my mind. Momentarily, the idea that the pen and the sensation were connected drifted back into my thoughts. And evaporated just as quickly, when I realized that, even though she’d ceased writing, my head was still buzzing.

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OK, she probably did mean me. Fucking the entire pep squad, half the girl’s soccer team, and at least three members of the student government did make my libido and lack of control of same pretty much public knowledge. But that was no reason for Daisy to taunt me so obliquely. It wasn’t like it was my fault that my cock never dropped below half-mast or that I was horny as hell most days. And if a few beautiful young women wanted to help me have some fun, what harm was done?

God help me, but I was getting antsy. Pretty soon even a tramp like Daisy would start looking pretty good. The fire was already starting to burn a little too hot and I started thinking what I usually thought about any girls who were around when I got like this.

Was she any good in bed?

I even began wondering if Daisy’s experience would make up for that well-used pussy of hers.

“Wow, didn’t think it worked that fast!” she exclaimed with a smile as she looked up, “Someone looks like he might be warmin’ up ta me... Not that ah’m surprised, some big tits and a nice pair o’ legs and Mikey’s little brain starts dribbling out his cock, right?”

My eyes immediately shot away from her, and I tried to keep my thoughts away from sex… like that ever worked. A little tremor in my head seemed to resonate with that sarcastic self-rebuke, but it faded almost instantly. I heard a short chuckle as I did this and then her whispers and the scratch of the pen alerted me to the fact that she was writing again.

“Num... Mikey... totally sub... nothing... more than... taking... to do...”

This time she didn’t even wait until she’d finished writing to look up. And this one was a firm, stern look: her eyes trying to bore through me. Oh please, who did she think she was? Again the itch in my brain stopped me from concentrating for a moment. Did she really think those smoldering green eyes staring into me would have any effect? Maybe it did make her seem kind of sexy... powerful even, but she wasn’t going to get me to do anything just because of that. My arm twitched this time, almost trying to scratch the tickling sensation that was keeping me from focusing...

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“Tut-tut, Mikey. Didn’t anyone bother ta tell ya that it’s not nice to stare at a woman without permission?” admonished Daisy as my heart resumed pounding, but with a new rhythm, one that was equal parts fear and excitement. “Be a good boy and see if ya can’t tear them eyes away from mine for a bit. Feel free to have a look at the rest o’ me, though. Ah kinda like the idea o’ that horny mind o’ yours gettin’ that nice big cock all hard because o’ li’l ol’ me...”

The noticeable twitch she got from the stiff rod between my thighs must’ve seemed like a heck of a compliment then. I bet she had no idea of the effect even something as simple as calling me by that dismissive diminutive had on me just then.

I had insisted on no one ever using it in public for that very reason. A female voice using that name was enough to have me squirming without even seeing her. And to hear guys saying it was horribly embarrassing! I had somewhat of a rep to protect, after all!

My sexual exploits might not be secret but the details were. They were supposed to be, anyway. All the girls I’d begged to order me around, to use their feminine power to control, use me to pleasure and worship them like they deserved. And then, the usual dance of regular reruns or big cash payoffs to keep it from getting out. Even the memory had me beginning to sweat with lust and a twinge of shame.

Was that why I’d insulted Daisy like that? And in front of everyone? Was I was hoping she’d do this… abduct me, use and dominate me, and then tell everyone that their football hero was really a subbie coward? I didn’t think so... (No, it was because she deserved it, the skank...) but it made sense. Even the possibility was making me pant, though, so I had to be careful.

“Oh, look at you! Ya’re really doin’ it!” squealed Daisy when I finally pried my eyes away and drew them downwards, settling somewhere around her shins, “Ah knew ya were the type that preferred bein’ told what ta do! Right? Betcha just love a hottie orderin’ ya around, makin’ ya get her off as much as she wants, dontcha? Bein’ ridden like the slut ya are, and only cummin’ if she says ya can?”

“God yes, Mis—” I began to sigh before I stopped myself! She may have been absolutely right but I didn’t want Mis- Daisy to know!

“Miss? Miss what? Mistress? Nah, ah’m not some ol’ biddy in a corset. Miss Daisy? The movie was lame but it does sound good. How ‘bout Ms Daisy? Call me that if ya really want. Ah insist...” she instructed, with an almost audible grin.

After a heart-stopping eternity, Ms Daisy (What the hell are you calling her?!) began writing again, her voice this time wavering between almost normal volume and a hushed whisper.

“Number three... Hmm, better see if we can’t improve your tastes a smidge... All those boring cheerleaders and political nerds... Ah know! What Mikey... trashy... now he sees... walking goddess... There, maybe ya’ll be nicer ta me now...”

I felt my brow knit as I pondered what she meant. My ‘tastes’? It sounded like she meant my taste in women, but I’d hardly describe that as ‘boring’.

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Well, predictable, maybe, but why was that a bad thing? I just preferred girls who looked like they put some effort into looking good. Alright, maybe cash helped, but there was a difference between teasing with designer hiphuggers, and tearing up a pair of Daddy’s jeans so you could flash your cunt at anyone who passed by.

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Granted, being so coy did often mean the girl was dull and unimaginative out of the jeans, but just because the other girl looked so blatantly sexual in her scrap of denim didn’t mean the opposite, did it?

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I’d never found out though. I was always too afraid of those girls, those stunningly sexual creatures in their barely-there skirts and half-finished tops. That intricate jewellery and make-up giving them such a predatory and lustful look that I felt they’d devour me whole.

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Oh, I hoped Ms Daisy would tell me to help her undress. I stifled a moan as I imagined what lay beneath those cut-offs, what was hidden by that blouse... Every inch of her said trash and I wanted to hear every word. Images of the strippers my brother had hired for my 16th birthday swan through my head. As gorgeous as Ms Daisy looked, she was still being a little shy for me. A goddess of sex like that should display herself as much as possible, highlight her personality, her demeanor with what she wore, but never use clothes for something as mundane as hiding her beauty.

The moan seemed to have gotten her attention, as she began to unbutton those magnificent daisy-dukes (Yeah, really ho-) and wriggled her perfect ass out of them while I watched, barely daring to glance up without being told I could. But I knew the little glimpses I’d gotten were right when that denim pseudo-thong descended over her calves.

“It’s OK, Mikey, ya can look up, just don’t get too attached to mah eyes an’ ya’ll be fine,” she stage-whispered, her voice husky and dripping with sex.

Just like that dick-hardeningly beautiful pussy was almost dripping as she began to caress it, her fingers following the untamed thatch of red hair that framed it. There was definitely no danger of my eyes getting caught in hers this time. I was too busy being transfixed by this unbearably hot girl playing with herself as she made me watch, knowing she had me under total control. I don’t think there’s a word for how amazingly, throbbingly, tinglingly hot this made me. It was like my normal, overactive libido (No-) had been replaced by a bottle of molten sexual need. I was gasping with every teasing stroke of her gently swollen outer lips; the moan she gave when one finger ever so briefly entered her slick pussy reverberated right through my body, nearly making my cock vibrate with desire. I gave a swift glance up and my gaze was instantly grabbed by a pair of tiny bullets making their presence known from beneath their checked prison. My eyes slid back down just in time for my whole body to twitch in time with the first strum of the little pearl of Ms Daisy’s clit.

“Oh, so fuckin’ good... ah didn’t know havin’ an audience... mmm... ‘specially such a good, obedient one... Ah, yessss... Mmmade it so mmmuch better... Oooooh!”

It didn’t sound like she’d really cum; just hit a particularly nice crest. But even so, she stopped, taking a moment to consider licking her hand clean before she stepped a little closer to me and extended the soaked digits to me, holding them right under my nose.

“Lick,” she said, fully aware that I would do so, and I began, my head swimming in the scent of her juices, “Good boy, Mikey. Looks like we made some progress...”

I was barely listening, my focus more on the flavor of her arousal as I licked and sucked each finger clean, almost able to taste the pretty pink polish on each nail as my tongue swirled over it. I was actually disappointed when she removed them, but managed to keep that to myself, no whimper being heard except in my head (B-)

Then suddenly, I was on my back, still tied up, courtesy of one sneakered foot firmly planted in my chest. Where it remained, comfortably resting. The view above the shoe was rather nice, but any enjoyment was spoiled by the unpleasant though of that sticky foot being so close to me, to my face. And then that feeling multiplied as she began to untie the other shoe, and slid one of those sweat-drenched feet out, bare and glistening in the low light. The stench reached me even from behind.

“Huh? What’s wrong? I though Mikey got turned on by all of me...” asked Ms Daisy, mock-disappointment thick in her tone, “Well, if mah sweaty, stinky feet don’t that overactive cock o’ yours salutin’, ah think ah can help...”

The familiar sound of the pen broke the silence. But this time no whispered, half-finished thoughts followed her soft murmur of “Number four...” I still had no idea what made the note-taking so special. It certainly wasn’t going to make me want those rank boats anywhere near me. Not that I could do much about it, but even I had my limits, my submission only ran so deep, after all.

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But how deep? Sure, I wasn’t crazy about feet, but Ms Daisy’s did help the breathtaking taper of her legs, and wouldn’t submitting to her foot show just how much she controlled me?

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Control. That was the key wasn’t it? She controlled me, and so I shouldn’t really balk at being asked to look at any part of her. Or to touch, taste, even smell it. The smell wasn’t really that bad after all. It was kinda nice actually, a little sour, but tangy with a nice musk to it. Almost sexual. Fit how they looked as well, those pink toes wiggling like the sweetest but naughtiest prize in the world, and that crinkled sole, the sweat shining on it, looking like heaven itself.

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Goddess, those feet were so sexy. My mouth was starting to water just at the thought, and it really began to drool as Ms Daisy took off the other shoe. The smell hit me again, redoubled and I groaned as it buried itself in my nose and burrowed right down to my groin. I needed to get more of that scent in me, taste one of those toes, kiss each fragrant sole. I finally, achingly, inched my eyes upwards to stare pleadingly at my trailer park mistress’ eyes.

“What is it? C’mon, Mikey, if ya want somethin’, ask. Ah might even give that cute ol’ stiffy o’ yours a little workout if ya ask real nice...”

I gulped, hoping I was going to be nice enough. “Puh... Puh... Please may I kiss you feet? I could clean them off. Lick them. I-I don’t mind. I want to. And I’ll do a really good job! Please?”

I was nearly begging by the end.

“I thought ya didn’t like my nasty feet? ’Specially all sweaty and smelly like this, Mikey?”

“N-no, I love them! They smell so good. Like sex and worship and need and you and just breathing it makes me harder than I’ve ever been and I want to taste those perfect feet as well. They look so lickable and beautiful. Please let me?”

I meant it. Every word. I nearly cried with joy when she slid the foot not on my chest towards my mouth. The fragrant ped became my whole world. Each toe got my tongue lavishing attention on it individually before being sucked so furiously I thought they’d come off. Each crinkle and contour of her sexy sole and instep got my tongue scouring it at least three times, and each pass was worth it. And through it all, my breathing was deeper than I thought possible, trying to trap that smell in my belly, in my cock.

“Good Mikey. Wonder if ah should tell anyone the football stud is really a nasty li’l subbie footslut? Just a perv who gets of on trashy whores bossin’ him around and rubbing their smelly, hot feet all over him? Would ya be OK if ah did that? Maybe printed off some flyers to advretise?”

She was now rubbing my iron-hard cock with the free foot. Each slippery stroke felt better than my last orgasm. I couldn’t even think as she spoke to me. But even if I could, I wouldn’t have cared. If she told me to admit it to the whole student body on Monday, I’d stand in front of the cafeteria and yell it.

I’d tell you what she decided, but after that, my memory stops being of sounds and tastes and smells, and becomes pure sensation. Stroke after stroke, pleasure upon rapture. And then I exploded, cumming so hard I felt like I might squirt my own brains out of my cock. My whole body trembled and ached as I emptied myself under her foot. I probably passed out for a bit.

In fact, I must’ve, because I came to untied. And with that notepad next to me, a page torn out. The page beneath read, ‘See you in class, Mikey. Oh, I’ll be wearin’ pumps this week, just to get ready for you. Lotsa love, Ms Daisy. PS By the way, if I don’t get this pad back, I’ll really unhappy...’